I was the first person in my immediate family to graduate from high school. My parents dropped out and my siblings followed suit. I was never surrounded by books or even people who actively encouraged that I read or learn. My mother always seemed to have a book close at hand, but I never saw her reading them unless it was just before bed and she needed something. It was not until a few years before I left home that she began to read out in the living room or at the kitchen table instead of behind the closed door of her bedroom. I was already in love with reading by that point. When I was younger, she would take me to the library or buy me a book if it was cheap and I asked, but that was about it. My dad seemed almost proud of the fact that he did not read, though he would give it a chance every now and then before quickly giving up.

My siblings and I were never close and drifted apart the older we grew. Even though my brother gained some interest in reading after discovering my shelved copies of Harry Potter, it was nothing we discussed. The same goes for my sister, who only came to me asking for recommendations and wanting to discuss books just before she left the state... dragging a few of my books along with her.

There were no librarians, teachers, friends, or distant relatives that went out of their way to encourage me to read or instill any sort of love in the act. As far as I am concerned, beyond the initial nudge to learn how to read, it developed on its lonesome.