Learning is easier for some than for others. For me, fortunately, learning poses no problem; there were very few obstacles in my way of gaining knowledge. As a student, I sit in class, listen attentively, and absorb the information. Why is this so? Why do some struggle more than others? Is this somehow related to childhood? When I was young, I loved reading. I read books with the ferocity of a jungle cat, prowling the library and pouncing on the books that appeal to me. At Lincoln Trail Elementary School, we had a program called Accelerated Reader, where you picked a book from the library and tested it on the computer once you were finished reading. It has become one of my favorite pastimes. I tested daily, sometimes several times a day, reading a book at school, then picking up another to take home and saving for the next day. However, my voracious reading started before school. My mother tells me that once I learned, I read everything I could get my hands on. My favorites, however, were the books written by the talented Dr. Seuss. His mastery of rhyme practically made me dizzy and I collected his books fanatically. My mother would sit and read them with me every night before bed. But one evening, I decided to read to him. “Go ahead and pick a book to read,” my mother said. I walked over to the small white shelves that housed my assortment of books. As I looked through the titles, I found my favorite. I removed him from his other literary brethren and began to return to bed, where my mother lay. Next to my small bed, a nightstand supported my small white lamp, the bulb of which warmly illuminated the room with a slightly yellow-tinged glow. Seeing the book in my hands, my mother...... middle of paper. .....I couldn't really win, but it was still a game: I would shout something to draw and then everyone would draw it. It's simple, I explained to them how to play and off they went. “Draw a… cat!” I screamed and we scribbled in our notebooks. Mine looked like a misshapen potato, and Mom's looked like a so-so cat, but my uncle's was the best I'd ever seen. It didn't matter what I called it, whether it was a pterodactyl, or a bicycle, or Godzilla, and it didn't matter what I called it, whether it was a pterodactyl, or a bicycle, or Godzilla. how hard I tried to match my uncle's artistic prowess, the pencil in my seven-year-old hands couldn't create works of art as beautiful as his. So I continued to draw. I guess little moments like these fueled my passion for I just wanted to pick up a pencil, write (and draw) and read until my eyes gave out. Being exposed to these things from childhood made it easier for me to go to school than most...