When I was a small child, I struggled immensely with my ability to read. I was born with a lazy eye and astigmatism, which meant that for the first four years of my life, I wandered around half-blind. When I finally got glasses, it felt like a whole new world opened up to me. However, while I could now see clearly, I was developmentally behind my peers in many ways, including reading.

In first and second grade, I remember reading the Sam and Ann books. I was only on book two or three when another student in my class was already on book thirteen. I was amazed by how far ahead he was and genuinely happy for his accomplishment, but at the same time, I was frustrated by the slow pace of my own reading. The task of reading seemed daunting. For a little boy who couldn’t sit still for very long, struggling through words and sentences could be painfully difficult. I wanted to read, but getting there seemed to take so much more effort for me than it did for some of the other children.

Determined to improve, I worked hard to catch up. One year, my efforts paid off when I received an award for reading 1,000 books aloud to my mom and my two oldest siblings, Ramona and Sherry. It was a big accomplishment, especially since the next closest person had read only 400 books. I later learned that my mom secretly wanted to show the other moms how much effort she had put into helping me succeed. Her support made all the difference.

I was fortunate to have many caring and dedicated teachers who helped me along the way. One teacher introduced me to a special reading machine that became both a tool for learning and a source of mischief. The machine worked by sliding a card through it, which triggered a strip of recordable tape to say the word written on the card. I was fascinated by it. But I soon discovered that I could erase the correct word and record the wrong word in its place. While my teacher was not amused by my newfound “skill,” I secretly enjoyed being a little mischievous. That experience, though naughty, also reflected my natural curiosity and desire to learn in my own way.

It’s interesting to reflect on how far I’ve come since those early struggles with reading. Despite my challenges, I eventually overcame them and developed a love for reading, writing, and sharing what I’ve learned with others. The little boy who once struggled to make his way through those early Sam and Ann books eventually discovered that words could open doors to an entire world.

Looking back, I’m grateful for the teachers who were patient with me, for a mother who quietly encouraged me, and even for that reading machine I occasionally used for a little mischief. Reading didn’t come easily to me, but perhaps that’s one reason it became so meaningful. What began as one of my greatest childhood struggles eventually became one of the things I value most.

Sometimes the things that are hardest for us in the beginning become part of the story we are most grateful to tell.