Reader’s Dawn

“Prepare to blast the beasts away!” That line makes my hands grip the book tighter. Then, my alarm goes off, tearing me from my fantastical world of giants, and making me put down The BFG. That is what home means to me: Reading a book in my bed, snuggled in a warm, warm blanket, and surrounded by my stuffed dogs and cats (Not actual taxidermy, just toys!) Then, on weekends, I love finishing a book or two, but then I get restless and hungry, so I walk into the kitchen, hearing people talking through the TV about gardening or renovating. “Ooooh! Can I watch?” I ask my mom, already knowing the answer. “Of course!” She replies, and I half watch, half make breakfast. One time, I had just read the horror stories of Haunted Canada, and I was walking into the kitchen, as my dad was walking out. I thought he was a ghost, so I screamed and woke the rest of my family. That is one of the reasons I will never read another horror story when it is still dark out. That is also why I love books so much; because they leave your imagination running for a very long time. My history of reading goes way back, to when I was a toddler, and my grandparents would always come and baby-sit my brother and I, bringing an emerald green bag with them, full of books to read to us. A couple of my favourite books were The Very Hungry Caterpiller, and The Very Busy Spider, both by Eric Carle. Another example is bedtime stories; My mom or dad reading to us before we went to bed every single night until we were seven or eight. There isn’t a room in my house without books. I can’t wait to crack open my next book (Probably The Wild Robot or Mr. Popper’s Penguins), and follow my daily morning routine. I’m so glad my home happens every day.