Reading Snob

I've always had an independent streak. I like to be my own person and do things on my own terms. I want to decide who I am going to be and then stop at nothing to be that person, but I discovered through several humbling experiences that this attitude doesn't always bring me happiness. I get wrapped up in myself, wanting to be the brightest and the best, and care more about who people think I am. When you're motivated solely by impressing others, you can crash and burn. I've crashed. And I've burned. And I've eaten a lot of humble pie.

I hate pie.

But I've always loved reading. A lot. Though, in elementary school, I also loved when the teacher directed me to books three grades above me to read (Look at me! I'm so smart). I loved being put in the "special" reading group with the smart kids. I loved reading Harry Potter and the Hobbit while others were still reading Junie B. Jones (been there, read that).

But, somehow my mom convinced me to read The Little House on the Prairie books with her.
 (What? Only struggling kids read with their parents.)
And we read the entire series.
(What? These aren't the fad books. These aren't cool.)
 And I loved every minute of it.

My mom and I laughed and cried. We reread favorite parts, and my mom explained the old-fashioned customs and tools, and told me about things she remembered from her childhood. I got to know her better because I wasn't being Miss Perfect Smarty Pants.
And guess what? That pie didn't taste so bad.