I have no memory of not being able to read. According to my family I started in early and never quit. We didn't have a tremendous number of books in the house, but my mom and I made frequent trips to the library, usually on Monday nights when Dad worked late and we went out for what we now call a "girls night out."
The best part of our library trips was the freedom to browse the children's section all by myself. Now I'm a mom and I just realized that my mom was probably enjoying browsing the adult section all by herself. But I digress... The worst part was when I didn't check out enough books to make it until the next trip. Dang.
The last big book I read was Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. It took the better part of my first pregnancy and I frequently discussed the finer points of the book with my unborn son. Now I read all the time, but the books usually contain a fast talking pigeon or Jedi Knight. I miss having the time to absorb an entire novel at a few sittings. Most of my adult reading falls under the excuse of "book review."
Still there are Books I Like. There's no pattern here and it's by no means a complete list. But these are books that resonated somehow. I've either read them multiple times or think about them as the door to which a genre opened. They're a mixed bunch: Pride and Prejudice, Fahrenheit 451, A Christmas Carol, Ender's Game, Time and Again, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, This Present Darkness...
On a shelf of our bookcase sits a collection of children's Books I Like: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe; From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler; Alice in Wonderland; The Phantom Tollbooth. They're "newer" books; my childhood copies are long worn away by repeated page turning, so these replaced them in college. Old friends--and I look forward to the day when my kids can meet them too.