Worth 1,000 Words
November 3, 2016
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I’m all about the reading. Reading aloud to my children is one of my most favorite activities, even when the story selection passed its threshold of tedium in the rear view mirror. Beyond the general short and long term benefits of reading to the young’uns, I have ulterior motives. I was illiterate through the fourth grade, and a fairly lousy reader through college. I’m ignorant of the scientific explanation for my troubles, but it impacted everything from my egregious writing to my pathetic understanding of social cues. It’s all part of my path, and I’m proud of who I am. That said, it wasn’t an easy path, and some of my struggles endure. Aware that my genetic composition is the cause of some of the more harsh parts of my reality, I try the best I can to offset their effects should my children inherit some of my dysfunction. Reading is one of those interventions. If my children can’t read as most, I want them to love a story. With any luck it will be a beacon if the literary world presses down its fog.
With this theme ever present in my mind, I’m heartened on days such as today. Certainly there are copious of other events to warm my very core in this arena. Little Man loves tales above all else, and the Warrior Queen at a ripe old age of six-months shows every inclination of possessing the same passion. She has since she was brewing in my belly; developed enough to hear and appreciate my vocal cadence, yet small enough to have room for her interpretive dancing in response to my rhythm.
Warrior Queen is on the cusp of reciprocating as her big brother’s playmate. Little Man itches for these interactions. Today is a new one. When my son was an itty bitty exterior soul, I purchased these Black on White/White on Black books…if you can call them that.
(This is an example of a couple of the book images.)
I couldn’t tell you if these books are actually helpful for babies or just in name, but such a thing doesn’t hurt. Why not invest in a couple? Mr. Man was indifferent as a baby, but my fierce girl is much more delighted by objects in general than he ever was. I gave this accordion cardboard collection another whirl. My son was thrilled by the suggestion before I had the chance to formally present the book to either child. He ecstatically shrieked his request to show the Warrior Queen, and I may have lost a frequency or two in my hearing capability.
I sat on a chair at my desk. My daughter on her belly facing away from me, the book standing on its edges, fanned before her. Her doting big brother sharing in tummy time immediately next to her, reading the images. He was engrossed in the task, oblivious to her vacillated gaze between the pictures like the ones above, and awe of the sweet boy she resembles so closely. And, I melted.