lovely blog post.
I ran across a "Yellow Underpants" description that resonated with me this morning. It's not an embarrassing kind of identification, only a fond recollection of the kind of little girl I was. I've fallen in love with this woman just a bit, both for her personal investment in reluctant readers and for these two paragraphs:
"Some books change us and others capture who we were when we read them like photographs in a scrapbook. I will always define third and fourth grades as my horse years--endlessly re-reading every Marguerite Henry book I could find. Living in a Texas suburb, the only horses I ever saw where at Girl Scout camp once a year. Still, I knew everything books could teach me about horses--their ancestral lineage, famous horses like Seabiscuit and the Lipizzaner stallions, and horse anatomy.
I wanted to be a veterinarian for most of my childhood and many of the books I read during that time reflected my interest in animals--James Herriot's memoirs, The Yearling, Where the Red Fern Grows, Old Yeller, Rascal, The Call of the Wild, and The Incredible Journey. I have forgotten that I was that kid until now. The books help me remember."
Change Texas to Virgina, and you have a pretty good picture of young me. The whole article is a gem, and I suggest you go over there and see if you brush up against your own brand of book magic.