Although my mother taught her children to love books with a fierce and covetous passion, it was a rare occasion when she read to us. She was a woman who had five children in nine years, who lived in Alaska with no electricity or running water, who baked everything we ate from scratch and was either cooking or washing our clothes or doing her best to keep us in a presentable state. She had time for little else.
My father read to us in the winter when the nights were long–Heidi, The Rose and the Ring, Treasure Island, –my earliest memories are of these books that enthralled me long before I went to school. Then he went blind.
By the time my father was no longer able to read aloud, I was hopelessly ensnared in the tradition. The minute I finished a book that I loved, I would promptly begin reading it aloud to my younger sisters and brother, my captive audience. They were, however, a strongminded group and would certainly have rebelled if necessary, but instead they would frequently ask me to read to them, even after they could read to themselves.
While certainly it is a wonderful thing for parents to read to children, it is also a special act when children read to each other. Marjorie mentions that in a recent comment when she talks about the”special harmony that is engendered” when her oldest son reads aloud to his little brother. Aline tells of a class that she visited and read to where “ a young boy, who normally has trouble focusing, asked me if he could read to the class, instead, and wow!… did he capture their attention! Then they were all lining up to see who would do it next!” And one of my happiest maternal moments was when my oldest son took over our annual Christmas Eve tradition of reading aloud A Child’s Christmas in Wales.
If parents don’t have time to read aloud, children do. All that’s needed is that they be infected with the joy of reading–then watch out! They will indeed pass that virus on, by reading aloud to everyone who will listen.