Raising A Reader

Yesterday, I looked at F and said, face flushed with pride, “We’re raising a reader.”

In my heart of hearts, the one thing that has defined me throughout my life is my love of the written word. Regardless of all the personas and transmutations I’ve been through as a person, the consistency of my zeal for books has never stretched nor shattered. When we first found out about Chloe, I knew that of all the things I could bestow upon her, a love of reading was at the top.

I was sweeping up the kitchen when I realized things were a little too quiet. I peeked into the bedroom, to see if maybe she had (finally) gone down for her nap. Instead I witnessed a bright, smiling face, chattering to herself as she turned the pages of the book. She had amassed a little pile, and a few stuffed animals, on the bed and was animatedly reading to them in her own sing-songy, babbling voice. I watched her for a while, though she was totally oblivious to my presence, completely lost in her little world. And content she stayed, for about 30 minutes, flipping pages, pointing and chatting, getting to the end of one book and promptly reaching for another.

My little reader. May your life be filled with the beauty of words and the wonder of places unknown.