Personal Blogger Admission: I hated reading at one time. Yeah, I know.
My mother worked at a bookstore. My older sisters worked at the same bookstore. (You’d think that would have been a positive advantage, right?) For Christmas, my mother gave me books instead of toys. Any small, thin gift was suspect. It didn’t matter what she did: I didn’t like to read. I didn’t even like to read comic books. Yeah, I know.
And, then a time came when people hated me. An extreme statement, but in the new town to which we moved, there were few friends for a 12-year old. I retreated into books, and I fell in love with them. Fell in love with the words, the sounds…the feel. It was my first drug, my first love. (Well, besides a little unrequited six-grade love the year before.)
My wife was once asked if I had any vices. Her reply: reading.
Now I find that science backs up my love for reading: Your Brain on Books