I sent yesterday’s blog posting — about how students whose parents read to them regularly scored higher on those pesky international tests — to my children, and asked them about their memories of reading time with their dad. Here’s what I heard back from my second daughter, Emily:
“What I remember was that every night, after we had out bath and got into our pajamas, my hero would come into the nursery. Daddy would settle down in the rocking chair and my sister and I each claimed a knee. His arms went around us so we could go limp against his chest and his deep voice would start rumbling out a story. I remember that he read us the Chronicles of Narnia, A Wrinkle in Time, stories of King Arthur, and other great children’s literature. When I was little, though, it didn’t really matter what he read; what mattered was that Daddy loved us and loved spending time with us. Sometimes I thought he liked reading time better than we did. He would get really into it, making his voice really high for a female characters and giving strange Eastern European accents to the bad guys. We’d squeal and punch him (harmlessly) until he stopped, usually because he was laughing so hard at our reaction.
I’m a voracious reader now, at the age of 26, and I was an A student all the way through school. I don’t know if there’s a connection there, but I do know this: as I approach Thanksgiving, I am, as always, thankful for my dad. And when I have children of my own, I’m going to read to them every night.”
Again, this is a good week to give thanks.