Maybe you have a poor imagination? Maybe you have ADHD? You just haven’t read the right books! No, reading just isn’t my thing. Throughout my time on earth, reading has been the bane of my existence. Reading reports, articles, books and essays have made my hatred for reading grow stronger. There are three particular instances that have secured my envy for reading. All three of these instances had occurred during my high school education.
The first major occurrence was during ninth grade. I had entered my first year of high school headstrong and completely neutral to all subjects in terms of preference. My classes were no different from any other classes I had taken in junior high; or so it seemed. The very first week of my ninth grade english class, we were given a reading assignment. The only requirement for the book we would choose is that its theme was ancient folklore. After blindly browsing the shelves in the school library, i came across a familiar title. Beowulf had recently been made into a movie so naturally, without doing any research on the book, or even flipping through it, I checked it out. My expectations for this book were high to say the least. I imagined a gripping tale of monsters and a great hero. I also imagined that reading it would feel like less of a chore and more of a fun activity. This book was no such thing.
Although I hadn’t read the entire book, it was the most painful reading i had ever done. One section into the book and my mind became pudding. Forcing my fourteen year old mind to try and process the complex gibberish written across the page caused my brain to spill from my ears. After much analyzation and great effort to comprehend the foreign text, I decided to give up and consult the internet. Through minimal effort and mere minutes of reading the books’ summaries found on the internet, I was ready to write the essay and present it to the class. Needless to say, my teacher could easily tell that i had not read the book. ”Aaron, you picked a difficult book. Next time you should consider doing some research before just picking a book.” my teacher said; thus igniting the flame that is my hatred for reading.
The second major affair was in my tenth grade english class. My english teacher was awful to put it lightly. Each and every reading assignment we were ever allotted had to be thoroughly scrutinized. Throughout the school year I had critically analyzed innumerable texts over countless nights and untold hours. My loathing for my english teacher nearly surpassed my ever growing detest for