Those black tiny letters huddled next to each other like they were cold on the page gave me anxiety. They forced me to struggle and stumble until it seemed like a million tries later the right pronunciation finally creeped its way on out of my mouth; that is why reading used to be my adversary.

In the beginning of my elementary school career, I spent about three hours a week being pulled aside and out into the hallway to work on my reading with a few other kids that also needed extra assistance. We would be huddled around the small, faux wood desk taking turns reading rudimentary (even at this early level) books. For some reason I did not quite understand exactly why I was selected to read to this older lady, perhaps it was because I was distracted by the glitter pencils I received, but I did know reading was definitely no friend of mine.

It was not until a good family friend, also an elementary school teacher, introduced me to the Magic Treehouse series.  Before these books, reading was something forced upon me so I could keep pace with my classmates, but after reading one, I instantly became hooked.  The stories revolved around two young kids who magically got transported all over the world to relive events of the past and explore new terrains. What was once a chore, now became a pleasure. I sped through the series, gobbling up every word, rapidly flipping the pages, anxious to read what would happen next.

Although there have a few been new stories published, the books I read growing up still serve as the originals. The Magic Treehouse sparked my interest in reading and enabled me to fall in love with a former enemy.