When I was younger, reading books was my favorite pastime. From Junie B. Jones to Diary of a Wimpy Kid, I could spend countless hours turning pages and studying how each author crafted their pieces. Now at 17, I never realized how the perception of “reading for enjoyment” would change as time went on. 

In hopes to kickstart my education, my parents had implemented books into my life for as long as I could remember. I loved watching “Little Einsteins” every Saturday morning with my dad, but the experience I remember most is reading the paper with my mother every Sunday. With a coffee in hand and me in her lap, my mother would point out the steals of the week at Target and Hy-Vee. Although it was something that now seems insignificant, from a young age it connected words to pictures and my three-year-old self’s imagination into the real world.

Since I went to elementary school all the way on the other side of town, there was no better way to pass the time in the car than to read. Every day on my way to and from school, my nose would be in a book. As I got older, the books grew thicker with heavier plots and more advanced vocabulary. However, the one element that still remained through my six years of 25-minute car rides to school was my purple reading light. 

I received the light as a gift from my grandparents who would take me to the public library every weekend to check out new books. However, as my schedule became busier and the trips to the library became more and more sparse, reading was pushed farther and farther out of my brain. Looking back, I blame myself for never taking time to continue to read the books I once loved. Now, not only has that purple reading light been physically lost but metaphorically lost within the abyss of my childhood memories. 

As new opportunities to play sports or go out with friends became more and more enticing, reading was seen by seventh grade Jada as only something you do in school. Something you only do when you are that bored. Something you do because you have to have enough hours on your reading log. Something you are forced to do. In English classes, the books integrated into the curriculum are not always the most interesting, which made me believe that all literature was bad; however, I never really did appreciate what good literature looked like. 

Although my days reading the Sunday paper with my mom are long gone, my love for reading is now definitely not. By changing my mindset from reading being a chore to it being a source of entertainment, I have been able to find a way to escape from the insanity of my everyday life. When I flip the pages, I am able to immerse myself in the words and their meanings that provoke the same strong storylines I fell in love with in elementary school with my purple reading light.