When I was little I was obsessed with books. I had to read. My parents would always read to me. I once got a book. I was about threeand I was omad because I couldnt read it. My dad started to laugh at me because I was crying. I was somad I couldn’t read that I started crying!! He walked up to me and said that i would eventually be able to rea. He picked the book up and began to read it to me.
When I was younger, I always noticed that my mother always had a book in her hands. I always liked, and still do like, reading. I think that she had a lot to do with that. She always read to me and she even brought me to the library once a week. That was one thing that we really loved doing together. Reading.
My 8th grade English teacher, Mrs. Reese, really had a huge impact on my writing and reading style. Entering the 8th grade, I was a horrible writer. I wrote exactly how I spoke, which in some cases was okay…but when I would have to write formal essys about Julius Caesar by Shakespeare, rambling paragraphs about the demise of Brutus and Cassius really didnt sound that good. She helped me to not only realize that the occasional period was key, but also that I could express myself in ways other than just rambling sentences and extremely short paragraphs.
It was the second official month of 8th grade. My English teacher Mrs. Reese, with her spikey brown-grey hair, perfectly manicured nails, and sweet southern accent, was telling us about an essay that we were going to have to write in the near future. I was in no form or fashion filled with excitement. I hated writing. At the beginning of the school year, I would barely write a paragraph about something that interested me. Did she really expect me to write a 5 paragraph formal essay about a less than enjoyable book?