I remember my mother taking me to our public library and sifting through shelves to accumulate stacks of books larger than my small arms could carry. It\u2019s important to mention that my mother is not (and never has been) a reader. But reading was a hobby she always longed for, so she worked to instill it in me\u2013 and luckily, it worked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Late at night, I remember turning on my bedside lamp decorated with flowers and reading The Boxcar Children<\/a><\/em> by Gertrude Chandler Warner until I was sure I was walking alongside them; living in old train cars and traveling beside shallow streams. As an only child, reading let me enter a new world full of friends, adventures, and destinations by merely turning page after page. I tore through any \u201cMagic Treehouse<\/a>\u201d book and classics gifted by my grandparents like Little House on the Prairie<\/a><\/em>, eager to uncover what was possible in this world and stretch my imagination beyond my bedroom. <\/p>\n\n\n\n