Tonight I had the pleasure of listening to my oldest son spontaneously read bedtime stories to our younger children.
I came into the room, ready to read to them myself accoring to our nightly routine, and found the stories well underway. Sam and Julia snuggled on either side of Joey, completely enthralled with Oswald and then Blue. I joined the crowd and watched as he patiently read, hesitating at only the biggest words.
In many houses this may not be an unusual scene. In our house, however, it has been more than rare. So far, Joey has not developed a love for reading. OK, let's be honest: he hates to read. This I have had a hard time understanding. I was an early and avid reader. There is nothing I would rather do than lose myself in a book, and this trait was well developed by 2nd grade. So imagine my surprise when 2nd grade rolled around for my firstborn and he was simply not interested. In his eyes, reading was a chore required by school, and most certainly not something to do for fun.
At first, we assumed that he didn't like reading because it did not immediately come easily to him. But as his skills have progressed (and they have progressed significantly this school year), his feelings toward the activity remain unchanged.
I am ever hopeful that he will discover the joy that is reading. Tonight, as he reveled in being the only kid (i.e. superhero) able to effectively read to the younger ones at this moment in time, I dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, it is yet to come.
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2 comments:
I wrote about this same topic a few weeks ago: http://mreitemeyer.blogspot.com/2006/04/finally-learning-to-love-to-read.html
The frustrations of parenting.
Thanks for the link, Michelle, I am encouraged by your post.
And thanks, glorybe, for reading! I have been enjoying your blog recently as well. (BTW, I have just finished reading the Little House series to my oldest two and forgot how much I liked them when I was a child--I noted in your profile that you, too, are a fan. Life was a lot simpler then, wasn't it!?)
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