As a 7 year old kid, my bedroom looked more like a trophies room than somewhere you would sleep. From my shelving unit filled with trophies and medals, you’d assume that I was a successful junior basketballer, footballer and drag racer.
On another shelf lined a large collection of Goosebumps books, another pride and joy. On winters days, I would fill my school bag with as many books as my bag could handle. I’d then lay them out on a spare bookshelf at school, allowing classmates to read them during wet timetable. Some people describe a person’s library of books as trophies — an indication of your intellect and a marker of success.
The love of my Goosebumps books may have been the reason that it wasn’t until halfway through grade one that my teachers realised that I couldn’t read. While many days were spent fussing over my books (that were actually acquired from my older brother), I hadn’t actually bothered to read them. You might ask: Between basketball, football and drag racing, when would I have time to read? However, just like the books, you could describe me as a collector; They were won by my Dad and Brothers.
I loved the idea of being a successful junior sportsman or avid reader, however, it’s clear that the idea of something can be miles apart from actually doing it.
Just like collecting trophies doesn’t make you a sportsman, buying a camera doesn’t make you a photographer, buying a Garmin watch doesn’t make you a runner (annoyingly) and buying a Moleskine doesn’t make you a writer.