When I was a kid I used to love to read.
I loved Beverly Cleary. Loved Judy Blume. Loved tons of different authors. I read just about anything I could get my hands on.
My bed was right by my bedroom doorway, so that if I had my head at the foot of the bed I could use the hall light to read until my parents would come upstairs and make everything dark.
Years passed. I got into computers. I had a less-than-stellar collegiate attempt. I worked crappy jobs and lived in crappier apartments. And somewhere along the way I just stopped reading books totally. I still thumbed through magazines and read thousands of webpages, but pretty much was lucky to read a book every couple years.
My brother-in-law bought a Kindle when they first came out. I played with it for about ten minutes and decided that books were better; mainly for the feel of them, and the fact that I seem to remember better if I know how deep into a book text is. It’s some sort of spatial-relations thing. You could probably Google it if you wanted to do so.
I think I also jokingly inferred that reading was for sissies. Or probably a less civil term.
More years passed. I finally made it to a college degree (or two). And I decided I wanted a Kindle because I was starting to read again, roughly 2 books a year. (w00000!)
My wife was not sold on the idea of a Kindle, but it was a gadget, and we’re both into those…. so I got one.
That was about a year ago. She has my original Kindle, and I’ve moved to the larger DX. We both use them several times a week.
I read about 60 books in 2011. Probably 55 were on the Kindle, though I only actually remember three of them being on paper at the moment.
So I guess I won the bet over whether or not the Kindle would be a good investment.
And I guess that makes me a sissy for reading.