My son, thus far, loves books. His biggest disappointment has been in his inability to read on his own just yet, although that seems to be changing daily. His love of books warms this mother’s heart since, well, books are what rescued her and continues to do so even in this late stage of life.
Books, books, and more books
Every morning I find the floor around his bed littered with books he had gotten off his bookshelf and had browsed through before falling asleep. The stack above is what I found the other morning. His love of books is an emotional connection I hope never wanes in spite of the competing static of video games, after school team sports, and chasing after the opposite sex.
By the public school standards, he was slow in learning to read–not by my standards, I might stress. Despite the school’s push for him to be reading better at their arbitrarily set standard, I pushed back against all of this by trying to make sure the school’s pressure was not getting in the way of his love of books and reading. It has been a challenge, I might say, since public schools seem intent on sucking the joy out of such a joyful and life- enhancing experience. Those state mandated tests must be passed, so fostering passion and love instead of meeting targets is what becomes paramount.
What affirms my belief that he will be a life long reader is that he is surrounded by books (and more so once all of my books come out of their long exile and storage) and two parents who read constantly. Unfortunately for all those smug parents, you know the types who like to boast about their little genius reading the New York Times, whose kids may be reading now may not end up as life-long readers. I find the bragging about Little Johnny or Little Jessica’s extraordinary reading talents really masks these parents unease that their child may not be readers at the end of the day, none of which is a surprise since you quickly realize that the parents themselves don’t read a lick beyond the quickest appraisal of their local newspaper or perhaps the Wall Street Journal. With that said, there are those mothers, who started reading books again after a long, very long absence of reading, since they are now a member of some suburban book club or such. I’ve walked into too many homes where books are rarely seen, although there were a few houses in LA where books were merely decoration for a library or study–you know the type where there was obviously a flurry to purchase a small collection of canonical works in bound leather, none most likely read or even opened. For these same families that see books as accessory, well, Little Johnny or Little Jessica will also view them as artifacts to merely decorate a shelf.
So, as my son makes his way through “Lord of the Rings” with his father and The Magic Tree House series with me, I can be somewhat reassured that he will read well into his adulthood, thus carrying on the family tradition of becoming a full-fledged a bibliophile.
