Reading per se never was difficult for me. But, reading a whole book? Resisted that like crazy. Aunts used to give me books and encourage me to read. My parents never pushed, ostensibly quite content with my progress in the world of a pre-teen. Then someone gave me a book called The Treasure Hunt of the S-18. It was about a submarine searching for sunken treasure. I was 12, I think. I braved it. I read it three times, then went on to the Hardy Boys etc. A few years ago I ordered a used version of “S-18″ on the web and read it a fourth time, for old times’ sake. In the world of literature it doesn’t rank, but it got me past the intimidation of something thick. It’s in my collection until someone throws it out after I’m gone.
Thanks to wordsofhonestunwisdom for stimulating my memories.