The best thing I have ever done for my kids, and probably
for myself as well, is read to them. When I was pregnant, I had my husband read to me. (People told me that was a good way to have
the baby recognize daddy’s voice when he or she made her appearance.) When they were too tiny to scoot away, I held
them and read to them, pointing at pictures and making big faces along with the
book. By the time they were able to
scoot away, they didn’t want to.
Storytime was such a warm, happy place that we could sit for an hour by
the time they were one, when everyone was telling me babies had no attention
span. A few years of books bringing
close, loving, quiet time, and my kids associated books with happiness. Neither one of them has lost that, even
during those perilous ‘tween years, when pressure increases to do more and be
more cool.They are 14 and 16 now, and they
both read more than I do. And while we
don’t have faithful, nightly storytime (starting about a year ago), I still
read some--just bigger books: The Odyssey and The Iliad. A Tale of Two Cities.
There have always been books all over my house. My parents used to talk about “decorating
with books.” They had whole walls of
bookshelves in most rooms of their house, so I grew up knowing books as a part
of daily life long before college--where I first dubbed myself a reader. My house looks like that too, now, but with a
lot more kids’ books, and a lot less order. There are books in every room, and some of them are not neatly stored on
shelves, but stacked on tables or desks, resting on the couch where they were
last read, or piled on the floor, practically becoming furniture themselves
because we can’t bear to put them away and have them not close at hand. That was the one request I could never
refuse, if I had the money. I could say
no to the Nerf gun or the latest Littlest Pet Shop critter, but if they wanted
a book, that was something else.That was an investment.
And it has paid off more than I could have anticipated. At the end of third grade, my daughter was
testing at 12th grade level, and her teacher thanked me for doing
all that “enrichment” at home. Reading
to her? Really? I certainly never did flashcards or drills or
any overt reading instruction. All I did
was read. We talked about the books,
defined unfamiliar words as we went, and talked about anything scary or
troubling as well as laughed together about the funny moments. And we built a repertoire of stories that became our shared frame of reference for the world. That kid is just like Ferdinand the Bull; he
just wants some quiet time to himself. Today I feel like Angelina the mouse, when she submarined herself and missed
her chance to be in the big ballet. Poohsticks is just like Calvinball is just like our made-up games.
Both kids called the shots on their relationship to
storytime, in addition to helping choose the titles. The girly went through a phase where she
wanted to “be” the people in the stories.
She would point and assign: “I’ll
be Frances, Mommy. You be Gloria.” (Can you name that picture book series?) And we would start from the plot of the book
and make up new adventures for the sisters. My son left the couch at around 8 years
old and never came back. He built stuff
with Legos on the living room floor while we read; his sister eagerly followed
along with the words, but he was happy to listen and keep his hands busy.
I don’t think there’s any right way to read to kids. I think any time we spend reading to kids is
good. If we ham it up with voices and
emotions, they get involved viscerally, but if we don’t do so much, they bring
their own faculties to bear. If we let
them read some too, they get to feel like they run the show too, but if we
don’t, they get more time listening to an experienced reader, and their skills
improve more quickly. Kids benefit from
being exposed to a wide variety of genres and cultures, so it helps if the
reader brings in new stuff the kids have never seen. But kids also thrive on repetition, the
familiar, and the power to choose texts for themselves, so reading time is best
when it’s a mix of both impulses. In
fact, the only way I can think of screwing up storytime is simply by not having it.
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ReplyDeleteGreat blog. You know, the other day I was reading a novel (Flight Behavior) and I actually stopped- looked up- and realized out loud to myself, "Reading really saved me." I took a moment to just appreciate my mom's efforts to keep me reading, I also thought about what my life would look like today if I hadn't been such an avid reader, and I couldn't imagine any thing good.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Celina. What a lovely thought. I hope you told your mom. :) And I'm sure you're not alone in this feeling.
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