It is hard to imagine a home without books and it is harder still to imagine a childhood where reading is not a daily activity that is eagerly anticipated and joyfully undertaken.
Because Barbara and I are both avid readers, it was easy and natural for us to instill the habit in our children. Reading the kids to sleep became part of our routine practically from the moment of their birth. Just the rhythmic sound of our voices soothed them, comforted them and, ultimately, induced slumber. Of course, as time went on, the reading became more cognitive in nature as they learned shapes, colors, the alphabet, numbers and the idea of “story.” It wasn’t long before we had the happy experience enjoyed by so many parents of being “corrected” by our children who spot our errors as we read an oft-heard book.
Once the kids were old enough to read on their own, their wonder at discovery became our wonder, their excitement became our excitement and their emotions became our emotions. One of the early books that our son read on his own was “The Adventures of Robin Hood.” Each night he would bring us up to date on the chapters read that day and we would listen in silence, as he would relate detail after detail of his hero’s adventures. One evening, perhaps a week after Brian had begun reading the book, we heard soft sobbing coming from his room. Alarmed, we knocked on his door and asked what was wrong. When we entered the room, Brian was sitting on the floor with the book in his lap. He looked up at us and, with tears in his eyes, said, “Why did he have to die?” It was a touching moment for us and a demonstration of the awesome emotional power of words for a young boy.
When our daughter Ann reached “read alone” age, she became enthralled with “Charlotte’s Web,” ”Wind in the Willows” and “Misty of Chincoteague.” She, too, was deeply touched by these books, and her imagination was fired by the adventures and misadventures of their characters.
Brian now has two children of his own who have two sets of readers, their parents and their grandparents at their disposal. It is clear that our own love of reading has become a seed that has been planted within our grandchildren’s lives. These days, when they visit with us from their home in New York City, Priva and Yitzchak eagerly seek out both the same books that we read to their father thirty-five years ago and the steadily increasing pile of new volumes that we are accumulating for them.
One of Brian’s favorite books when he was about five or six was entitled “My Side of the Mountain.” It was a story about a boy who “ran away from home” to live in the Catskill Mountains as a sort of junior Robinson Crusoe. It was a “big” book and we took turns reading to each other for quite some time. We both thrilled to the hero’s bravery, ingenuity and skill. It brought forth mostly true tales of my own youth in the mountains of Ulster County, New York, and its many lessons regarding self-reliance, courage and family became the subjects for a number of very interesting discussions, some of which, in one form or another, continue to this day.
The knowledge contained in those books that we shared with our children was important to all of us. However, of greater importance was the joint experience of learning and discovering, understanding and discussing, and simply enjoying the majesty of words on a piece of paper.
Last month, in anticipation of a visit with the grandchildren, I bought a current edition of “My Side of the Mountain” for 4 1/2-year-old Priva.
I just couldn’t wait.
Family Reading Partnership
Ithaca, New York
Phone: 607-277-8602
Email: office@familyreading.org
