When I was a little girl I struggled with the difficulties to read and was not able to do so until the end of second grade. Mind you that my first language was German. My father, a very busy man who only came home on weekends, sat down with me each day, opened a book and did his utmost to stop his little girl from crying and teaching her that words were not quite as evil as she thought. He made reading fun and told me stories such as I have never heard before. I had no idea that he was making them up. When my mother married an American it broke my heart for two reasons. First, why would she divorce the most perfect person in the entire world, my father, and second, it took me away to another world where I had no one, but my mother and stepfather. Once again I was unable to read. I had to begin anew with English in the sixth grade (In Germany, English, the Queens English that is, is a required field and is taught from fifth grade on) when I transferred to an American school. Not having made many friends, I started going to the library daily, completing my school work there and running through books at an alarming rate, determined to learn this strange, but not all too unfamiliar language. No, I could not read them, perhaps 10-20 words a page, but I tried regardless. Eventually my word count increased and to my utter surprise I could read English in mere weeks. My studies never suffered. Miraculously, I received A’s and B’s despite my reading level. I could speak English, just not read it (at the beginning). My favorite teachers were L. M Montgomery, author of the Anne of Green Gables series, R. L. Stine, author of Goosebumps and The Fear Street Sagas, but most of all The Brothers Grimm, for I love a wicked twist on fairy tales. My love for literature was derived from a little girls struggle with two languages, determined to master both and my best friend at the time who thrust one book after the other underneath my nose, the librarian, also known as the nice lady at the counter who waved my late fees.
