I realized something as I walked the dog this morning: though I religiously read to my children throughout their “formative years,” one turned out to be a bookworm while the other did not. The bedtime story was a fixture in our household for ages. I read everything from board books to tongue-twisters to Latin-laden dinosaur books to young adult novels.
Of the zillions of books that I read to them, a few stick in my memory. All of the Dr. Seuss books have delightful plots, rhythm that the kids love to hear, and morals which are worth imparting. Green Eggs and Ham is one of my favorites. Oh Say Can You Say? was generally high on the request list and there is no way a dad cannot laught when his kids are laughing at him tripping over words that he could not say while awake, let alone at the end of a long day. The Giving Tree is a must-read for anyone with a tender heart or a tender heart in training.
I read Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass to the boys; that was tough sledding. The language is not kid-friendly.
I downloaded Peter Pan from Project Gutenberg and that was an eye-opener for all of us. This is a compelling story and definitely not your Disney version.
I kept several of the books that were my favorites, looking forward to the day when I can read them to another generation.
In hindsight, was reading to my children worthwhile? Absolutely! Did it reliably turn both of them into literary fiends? Nope. Instead, it brought joy and closeness to our family in a way that nothing else could have.
