  By the time my brother was in fourth grade, it became obvious to my parents and the school that he was dyslexic. Coupled with ADD, school was overwhelming for him. His learning disorders were minor, but he was so embarrassed that he just refused to read.
My parents enlisted the help of a tutor. Being the child that I was, with my "that's not fair! " younger-sibling persona, it went without saying that I would get to have a tutor too. So between ballet classes, I trotted off to Ann Trail's home, American Girl books in tow. We would sit and read on the porch in her garden, sometimes drinking kool-aid or store bought cookies (These were a delicacy in my mind. I had been raised in a family that made our own baked goods. To have someone else do the work, and make them taste all the same, was a concept I just couldn't get over.
) Sometimes she would re-read passages to me, asking me what I thought of this character or that historical event. The earliest examples of analyzed came in these half hour sessions. She really listened to my ideas, too. She was born during World War I, and still remembered D-day. There was something magical about her. I wasn't used to the kind of attention she gave. Ann focused on my mind, what I thought and what I understod. I was eight years old discussing the French impact on World War II. To Ann, it was simply par for the course.
She wanted me to learn, and I did. Ann Trail was a retired teacher, and the most influential person of my life. This is said by a girl who is easily influenced by the actions and words of others-- too easily for my own good. I'm not really gullible, but I'm intimidated by nearly everyone I know to some extent. But the attitude-problems of overprivledged South Hill girls leave no lasting impact.
It is that summer of reading with Ann Trail that molded my childhood. In the years that followed, I have three lives: ballet, school, and reading. I would suffer through the school day, skip through demi-plies in uncomfortable leotards, all to get home to my bedroom and the books within. It was meant to be. I morphed into a walking cartoon of a nerd. I had glasses, hair in a permanent bun, and the earth-tone-colored clothes my mother loved to dress me in. Nothing was off limits as far as reading material was concerned. Everything from The Babysitter's Club to Moby Dick. What my parents wouldn't buy, I borrowed from the Library. I appreciated school, I liked ballet, but reading was what I loved.
----------------------------------------------------- I would like to extend my personal condolences to Kate and her friends. The missed Ben Kweller/ Death Cab for Cutie show is a tragic affair, indeed. You're in my thoughts, and if I were that kind of girl, you'd be in my prayers, too. Affectionately... Anna 
