My husband and I are in the process of trying to make all of our stuff fit into a condo that really only fits one person comfortably (or two if they do not have a lot of stuff, such as 5 bajillion* books). Since Jeff and I have more books between the two of us than the average small town community library, one of the things we are attempting is to pare down is our books.
Both my husband and I are learning disabled and came to reading late. Each of us has that special book that broke through the barrier and helped us gain the ability to read without tremendous effort. For Jeff that book is The Hobbit.
We have the fancy binding edition of the Tolkien trilogy and Jeff was going to sell his original mass market print editions. As he was getting ready to put it in the "to go" pile, he shared his story of the breakthrough, of how his mother, despite money being tight, rushed out to purchase her son these books that he was excited to read. Although Jeff would probably deny this, I could hear the lump in his throat as he told me about the moment when he finally was able to read at his grade level. The books that he held in hand were the exact books responsible.
Knowing the pain of struggling to do something that your heart calls so strongly to do (both of us come from families of voracious readers) and the elation of finally breaking through, I immediately told him to put the books back on the shelf, that we could make room for such influential books.
*yes, I made that word up.
