My parents read to me when I was little, they read a ton. Some of my most favourite childhood memories involve reading. My dad read to my sister and I every night for the longest time. When we had bunk beds, we would use our duplicate books to tandem read; my dad and I taking turns. Green Eggs and Ham just doesn’t sound the same to me when it is read by one person. My mom read to me all the time before she started her battle with addictions. She introduced me to the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder when I was in grade two, and I devoured the content. Everly and I have been reading chapter books for the last few months, and it just seemed obvious that we should start on the Little House books.
We began with Little House in the Big Woods (of course), and now we are about half-way through Little House on the Prairie. And I have a confession… I believe that I am enjoying the books more than she is. I think she likes the fact that I am reading to her, as she lays very still and listens, but she’s not quite as invested in the story as I am. I came to the realization when she fell asleep last night without being read to. I was like hey? we were supposed to hear all about how Pa was going to make the fireplace. (side note… I feel that I could actually become a pioneer with how descriptive this book is. I feel that I could make cheese, and prepare for the winter. You might want to disagree with me, but please don’t, just let me have this). Anyway… she fell asleep, and I was sad.
There have also been times where she has fallen asleep beside me, and I have kept reading, because I was so into the story that I didn’t notice! Oh and don’t even get me started on the death and resurrection of the brindle bulldog Jack. I sobbed for both occasions. She wasn’t sure what to make of my emotion at first. She hasn’t yet been moved to tears by a movie or book. She may be a tough nut like her dad… Maybe I should pop in a DVD of Old Yeller, and find out just how tough she is, maybe a little Where the Red Fern Grows???… okay, maybe not, maybe that would be mean, and that would make me ugly cry something fierce.
I have been enjoying this time with her immensely. It makes me feel connected to my own parents. I feel that I am carrying on a legacy. I hope that one day, if she chooses to have children, that she will remember these moments, and be inspired to carry on the tradition with her own littles.