What Does Reading Mean To Me Essay

Growing up, reading was hard for me. Ever since I can remember, I’ve always had a hard time reading, and that also affected my spelling. This all started in kindergarten. I can look back at some of the papers my mom kept and see that I spelled cat as “kat”. I remember the continuous name calling when I was little of how I wasn’t the best reader in the class and how all the kids would call me stupid. I would come home and tell my mom and she would get so mad. This really hurt my feelings, but that just made me into a tough and strong-willed person, and if someone says I’m too stupid to do something, then I say…watch me. Part of me believes that this is the reason I’ve learned to like reading a lot more than I used to, but it wasn’t always that way. I remember one summer, I had to go to classes at ASU. I walked into the
Every Friday, Miss Miller, who is now Mrs. Rogers, would come get me and my other friend for help with reading. As the kids in the class liked to call us “my stupid friend” and I would go downstairs and Miss Miller helped us with our reading. I hated it. Why put me in a room with a woman teaching me about a subject I have now grown to hate the most? Why couldn’t people just accept the fact that I’m not a good reader or speller and leave me alone? The first day, all we did was read and spell. My friend looked almost as bored as I did as she told us about some of her reading tips. All three of us got a book so we could take turns reading, and with that book came with a little yellow and grey strip. To help us read, we would put the yellow clear part over the line you were reading, and the grey parts in both sides of the yellow would cover about one or two lines above and below the line you were reading. Suddenly, all the words were so jumbled together like they used to