I. Hate. Reading.By Seaira Baker

It was the first day back from summer vacation. The noise of people discussing their

eventful breaks filled the room. I sat in Mrs. Brown’s Sophomore English class, scanning the

room for people that I actually wanted to talk to. I always signed up for honor’s courses unlike

my friends so of course I was forced to sit and listen to the annoying preppy girls gossip about

their dramatic days around the pool. How they managed to get into the advanced classes is still a

mystery to this day. “Good morning class. My name is Mrs. Brown.” That was my cue to start

daydreaming. I zoned out as she began to give the class an introduction. This was rare of me

because I had always been a very attentive student. However, this was my second of what would

be three years with the same English teacher and I had already heard almost everything she said

before; and well, it was 7:40 in the morning. She continued to talk about signing the syllabus and

returning it the next day and what her expectations were for the semester. After some more of the

typical first day introduction she walked over to the projector and told us to get out our summer

reading lists. I definitely paid attention to that statement. My heart sank. I had only read one full

book from the reading list and half of another. We were required to read three and I thought I

would have a few more days to skim through and catch the main points of the books I didn’t

read. I did as she said and took out my reading list along with a blank composition notebook. I

did not like being unprepared especially for school so I filled the first page of my notebook with

doodles to relax my nerves. I usually drew the same thing because I was not much of an artist. A

few hearts and stars and a flower in the corner of the page was the usual, but this time I wrote

something else. I wrote in the center of my page the words: I. Hate. Reading. I covered the page

with my hand so no one could see the horrible words I just wrote. I was kind of embarrassed to

feel this way. All of the top students in my grade loved reading, and not having that same joy as

others made me feel kind of stupid. I was still feeling anxious hoping my teacher wouldn’t hand

out a pop quiz, or tell us to get into groups and discuss the reading. The only thing worse than the

teacher knowing I didn’t do an assignment, would be my classmates knowing I was not the

perfect student that I tried so hard to be. I felt like a failure all because of a summer reading

assignment. I sat still zoned out and began to think about why I hated reading so much. I never

found a clear answer that day and all throughout high school I really thought that I hated reading.

In my elementary school days I read all of the time. As a kid, I was fascinated by

everything and learning was something I did for fun. I loved school. I even played school at

home in my free time. I would line my collection of stuffed animals up on my bed and teach

them everything I learned at school that day. “Class, today we are going to learn the letter A.” I

said with my ruler in my hand and a smile on my face. My aunt homeschooled my cousins and

one day she brought over all of their old books. I was in heaven. I played school every day and

this time I was learning something new along with my furry students. The books she gave me

were filled with information I had never learned before and I read them over and over again.

Another game I used to play was library. I loved going to the real library so I decided to make

my own right in my garage. My sister and I would spend hours creating books with paper and

crayons. We set up our little library on the shelves and tables we had in the garage. We would

take turns checking out books and pretending to be the librarian. Playing these games made me

feel like I was inside of a book. I was in my own imaginary world and I could decide what

happened next. Each book I read broadened my imagination. Even my mom was amazed when I

told her I wanted to be an archeologist and actually knew what that was. The days of the book

fair were some of my favorite days in school. I begged my mom for money to buy the new Junie

B. Jones books, and by sixth grade I was still begging her to get me the Clique books that I just

had to have. Books amazed me. I loved reading. I loved hearing my mom read to me as I fell

asleep. I loved my teachers telling me I was an advanced reader and asking me to choose more

challenging books. I loved learning something new every time I turned a page. School was not a

chore to me I was always ready to get up and see what more was out there for me to understand.

I didn’t care that I was the teacher’s pet and I was not ashamed to be the first one to stand up and

recite the months of the year correctly on the first day of first grade. Learning was my treasure,

and books were the key to my understanding. So what happened to my passion? Where is that

little girl who craved knowledge? Why is reading so dreadful to me now when it used to be my

favorite thing to do? These questions were something I could not answer for a while.

Middle school is the transition between elementary and high school. It is a period of time

where you start to become a teenager and become more independent and grown up. Some people

describe it as the most awkward time in their lives while other say it was a time filled with

awesome memories. However, for me, it was the place where they took my joy away from me.

“Okay class, read chapters five through seven tonight. There will be a quiz tomorrow so read

carefully.” I hated being tested. I was so scared to get the wrong answer even when I did read the

assigned chapters. Not only were we quizzed on required materials, we were required to take

quizzes on reading that we chose. Middle school was miserable for me. I continued to be a good

student, and I still made decent grades, but the thing that was missing was my desire to be there.

Why did everything have to be so much of a competition to learn? Don’t get me wrong, I am a

competitive person, and sports are important to me, but when it came to learning I didn’t want to

win. I didn’t want to learn if it meant I was going to be graded.

It didn’t happen all in one night. I didn’t just wake up one day and decide I hated reading.

Over time, with all of the quizzes, and testing, and the constant judgment of my work, I lost my

motivation. Reading meant taking an exam, and taking an exam meant I was going to be wrong.

Nobody ever gets a perfect score on every test and although some people would love to have the

grades I had, not being perfect meant I failed. By the time I started high school, I was failing

every day. I never went through a day of school feeling like I succeeded. I accomplished many

things, but every day I missed at least one question. Every day I did something wrong. Every day

I had a teacher handing me a paper telling me I was not good enough. In elementary school my

teachers encouraged me to do my best and that was all I had to do to be perfect. The people who

were supposed to be our mentors and give us knowledge and inspiration were now the ones

constantly putting us down. School was no longer a place that made me grow, it was a place that

I was forced to go only to get judged.

College is the transition between high school and the “real world”. It is a period of time

where you grow up, become an adult, and along the way learn something meaningful. Some

people describe it as the best time of their life, while others choose not to go. However, for me, it

is the place where I am beginning to realize that all of the stress I put myself through in the past

was pointless. If I would have cared a little less about being perfect and realized that missing one

question didn’t mean I couldn’t wear that red gown and funny hat on June 13, 2014, or be able

tell my family proudly that I was going to college, than maybe I would not hate reading so much.

I still don’t think that being graded is as effective as it is meant to be; and I think being compared

to your classmates and ranked is the most degrading thing that is done in high school. But, if I

would have known that school isn’t as serious as it is made out to be, maybe I wouldn’t have

written those three horrible words in the center of my paper. Today, I have a new outlook on

things. Today, as I zone out trying to finish my assignments I will write a new statement. “I hate

being forced to read” I mumbled to myself as I wrote the words in the center of my composition

notebook. I opened the first page of a new book I got and reclined back onto my bed. I could feel

my imagination growing as I pictured the words in my mind. I took a huge sigh of relief when I

realized I didn’t have to finish chapter three by the end of the night. No more summer reading

lists, no quizzes on each chapter, and no papers telling me I was not good enough. I had the

freedom to learn what I wanted to learn. For some reason I had a flashback to my childhood.

“Class, today we are going to learn how to read.” I smiled as I pictured a little girl talking to her

toys. So what happened to my passion? Where is that little girl who craved knowledge? Why is

reading so dreadful to me now when it used to be my favorite thing to do? I sat on my bed

surrounded by assignments, finally able to answer these questions.