Jane's Addiction

You know, it's odd how the things our parents made us do as hated chores become some of our great loves when we grow up.

In my case you could take several things. Reading for example. There was a time when I hated to read. Some of you who know me may find this hard to believe, but it's true. Now, my mother is a serious reader. When I say serious I mean that there is always at least one book she's reading within easy reach. To say nothing of those she's writing, but that's for another posting.

The story goes that sometime shortly after my birth Shogun was published. Now in addition to her voracious reading habit, my mother has a deep love for both Japanese culture (she lived in Japan for several years) as well as history. Of course my mother didn't waste any time in procuring a copy of said novel. She continued to meet my infant needs, but woe to anyone else in the house or the house itself. Somewhere around the third or fourth day, when my father had picked up pizza or something, again, my brother asked if mom was ever gonna make dinner again. My father sighed, looked at my mom, (who had the book in one hand and was feeding me a bottle with the other) and said, not until she's finished the book.

So, when I was in the third grade she decided that I needed to read. I didn't want to. Not like I had a choice. I was handed a large, hardcover, orange (to this day I hate the color orange) book and told I had to read a chapter a day and report it to her. Damn, this meant that I couldn't close my door, pretend to read and then be free. I actually had to know the material.

What's so bad about a chapter a day? The book was about Cowboys and Indians. It was pulled from the shelf because my brother had enjoyed it. Now, I was a nine year old girl. I was a bit of a tomboy, and I absolutely worshiped my brother, but this was going too far. Oh how I hated that reading hour. It dragged on interminably. I remember laying on my bedroom floor under the windows and studying the wallpaper much more industriously than that book.

And then, epiphany! My mother took me with her to the bookstore. Now, I'm sure I had been to many a bookstore with my mom before that fateful day. I mean, how could I not? But I have no conscious memory of ever being in one before. I, of course, was whining about not wanting to read the dreaded chapter that day. I wanted to do something with my friends. So mom tells me if I don't like the one I'm reading, then while we're here pick out something else. I started wandering aimlessly through the stacks, rather grumpily I might add, when I see a title. The Haunted Bridge.

Now, I loved scary stuff. Movies, stories (my brother told great ghost stories) whatever. So, not knowing how to judge a book except by it's cover, I bought it. And discovered Nancy Drew. Couldn't get enough of them. They were like candy to me. I stopped watching TV. I stayed up late reading with a flashlight under the covers. My friends came by and I blew them off. I hardly even got into the pool.

Of course, all good things must end, even my affair with Nancy Drew. Once again my mother stepped in. She banned Nancy from the house. Told me I needed to broaden my literary horizons. Which led to my lifelong affair with Stephen King. King was eventually followed by John Saul. At some point I discovered Sci-Fi then fantasy and so on. Now, I read anything I can get my greedy little paws on. I've outdone my mother in the bookworm category. I usually have at least three books going at one time. One on the nightstand, one in the car, one in the living room...

Some well meaning individuals have voiced the thought that perhaps I need help. Some kind of intervention. I've never argued my insanity. I'll check into the rubber room any time you like....as long as it's stocked with books.