Confession Of A Late Reader: A Late Adult Reader

Topic Of The Day: Being Embarrassed Of Reading The Childrens’ Classics You Missed Out On

My name is Vendela B. I attended school until the fourth grade and was removed after my parents decided to homeschool me; this homeschooling was ultimately me teaching myself with the resources they bought me (I have to say I believe I’m just as educated as any other person who attended public school out there. If you ignore me flaking out on math because I just didn’t see how I would need to know what’s 4 + the square root of pie in my adult life). One thing about my homeschooling routine was reading books wasn’t mandatory. One of the main problems I had when I did attend public school was I was a slow reader, I couldn’t keep up with the rest of the class, and this frustrated me. So when I was given the opportunity to just skip reading books all together and only worry if I can read a simple menu and a sign to make sure I don’t accidentally drive pass signs that say, “Dead end” “Haunted House” “Go Back” ultimately landing me in a spooky driveway of a haunted house causing me to go on a tiring creepy adventure, I was happy. Only I didn’t understand at the moment the future I was heading for; which was me watching everyone share this connection and love for childhood classics and reading in general.

When I reached 20 I decided I wanted to finally be apart of the world of reading and get that appreciation from reading that I longed for and watched others have from a distance. I decided I’ll read all that I wanted to read, all that I missed out on; only nobody told me the embarrassment and shame that would be present as I pursued my reading goals.

I’m the late adult reader you see shopping in the children’s section of Barnes and Nobels tending to that curious little girl that was herself too afraid to pick up a book 12 years ago; I shall guide her through that story she could have never explored through herself because reading for her was so difficult. I am that late adult reader who endures the scowls, scoffs, and eye-rolls of those seasoned readers who grew up with an adult who encouraged the hobby for them through their childhood because I myself didn’t have such a figure in my life. I’m the late adult reader who on very rare occasions gets those emotional heart stopping moments while reading because my parents took me to watched the movies first when I was a child. I am the late adult reader who isn’t afraid to heal those shameful aspects and missed out moments that young me once had. There is nothing wrong with being, a late bloomer in my book.

This week I will be reading Coraline by Neil Gaiman, a book that inspired one of my favorite childhood movies. It might take me awhile because I’m still a slow reader and have the responsibilities of an adult now, the responsibilities of tending to and nurturing my career, the responsibility of being the oldest (a.k.a the baby sitter to my siblings and some of their kids), pets who need me, a house to constantly care for, and so on. And that is all okay. As Frank Sinatra, half of the state of New York, and wannabes from both central and north New Jersey would say, “That’s life.”

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