An accident(?) that could have changed my life.

On the way to my primary school was a book store that I used to stop by to get a book when there happened to be enough money for me to buy one. One day, My mom, who had noticed that I had been regularly bringing home some books, announced that she would help me to start a 'complete series of literature for children'. The following day, I showed mom several catalogs of children's classic that I picked up from the book store and we decided to take one of them.

After a couple of weeks, during which I could barely sleep, the books we had ordered finally arrived and we opened it. In the box are, as 'I' expected, fifty pocket size world famous classics for children. It was, however, not very long before I realized that what my mom actually wanted was not something that would lead me to a person full of imagination but something that would help have 'her' book shelves decorated nicely when aligned. My mom, whose face abruptly turned into pale as she witnessed the books that had poor appearances rather than beautifully designed hard covers, eventually, returned them to the book company, making little effort not to hurt my feeling.

Another a couple of weeks later, I was skimming one of the twenty biographies of great men, which are all far from what I hoped to read and, any of which I have seldom gone through since then.