One day when I was 12, my mother gave me an order: walk to the public library, and borrow at least one book for the summer. This was one more method for her to help solve my strange problem—inability to read.
In the library, I found my way into the Children's Room. I sat down on the floor and pulled a few books off the shelf. The cover of a book caught my eye. It was a picture of a beagle (小猎犬) which looked just like my dog. I had recently had a beagle, the first and only animal friend I ever had as a child. He was my secret sharer. But one morning, he was gone. He was given away to someone who had space and money to care for him. I never forgot my beagle. I ran my fingers over the picture of the dog on the cover. My eyes ran across the title, Amos, the Beagle with a Plan. Without opening the book, I borrowed it from the library for the summer.
Under a tree I sat. I started to read about Amos. I read very, very slowly with difficulty. Though pages were turned slowly, I got the main idea of the story. It's about a dog like mine who had been separated from his family. It seemed that Amos was my dog, and I was the little boy in the book. At the end of the story, he finally found his way back home. The final scene of reunion continued on and on, until my own lost dog and I were running together again in my mind.
My mother's call returned me to the real world. I suddenly realized something: I had read a whole book, and I loved reading that book.
Though I never told my mother about my mysterious experience that summer, she saw a slow but great improvement in my classroom performance during the next year. Years later, she was proud that her son had read thousands of books, was awarded a PhD in literature, and wrote his own books, articles, poetry and fiction.
