Reading My Escape from Reality

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Reading My Escape from Reality If you go into my room you will find shelves covered in books so much that it bows some of them, it’s hard to believe that when I was younger I hated reading. I would much rather be outside up in a tree, it was the only way to escape the house where mom was always yelling at one of us girls. My parents divorced when I was around one year old so I lived with mom and my two older sisters in small country village in southwestern Ohio. My sisters and I would still get to visit our dad every other weekend and a few weeks out of the summer. While growing up I didn’t see my family as poor but we did scrape by at times. We would eat at home, shop at goodwill; also we didn’t watch much TV. So I grew up not caring much for the latest and greatest in fashion, games, or movies. The greatest thing I liked doing most was playing outside, and it was free. Playing outside I was “free” to do whatever I wanted until it was time to go back inside. Being the youngest I was always the one to blame even when I wasn’t the one who did the wrong; such as a chore that didn’t get done or something breaking and I would get reprimanded with the paddle or told to stand in the corner for long periods of time for timeout. Mom used to joke around saying that she raised us using a dog training book, I’m still unsure if that is true or not. I was taught that I wasn’t to get in the way of others and to not speak to others about my emotions and that we were to have the appearance as a “happy loving family” that had no problems. Also since I was the youngest I was always told that it was my fault our parents divorced by my sisters. So to escape all the craziness I would go play make-believe outside or I would hide somewhere for a while till things settled down. I didn’t know at the time that a fiction novel would have been a much greater escape. I thought reading big
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