Read

“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.” ― George R.R. Martin

 
A week after I delivered my daughter, my mom drove me to our local library so I could return a very late book that I had checked out pre-baby. I love the library. I love to comb through shelves and shelves of books, looking for a new author, a new book I've never even heard of. I love knowing that someone else read the very same book that I'm about to check out. I love that everything there is FREE! And you get to swipe a library card, which is sort of like getting the same dopamine boost from swiping a credit card but there's no bill, no interest rate and no late fees. I take that back. There are late fees, but they're like $.10 a day. Ten cents a day! That means I can pay for a late book after cleaning my car and collecting my change. Score!

One week after this tiny baby girl came into our world, I decided I would check out a whole bunch of books to read to her. They let you check out 14 at a time and I was so excited that I got to check out 14 books that I did a little post-C-section jig past the DVDs and cassette tapes (remember those?) and audio books into the children’s section. There is nothing better than children’s books. They have the most colorful pictures and the best rhyming schemes and such good, solid moral boosts that I knew I would easily be able to get 14 books. I hit up Dr. Seuss and grabbed a copy of “The Cajun Cornbread Boy” (I highly recommend this book. It's hilarious and has a delicious cornbread recipe in the back) and a book about a dog because I love dogs so my daughter would love dogs, too, right?

The librarian looked at me when I walked to check out the tower of books, and then she looked behind me to see if I was toting a little one. When she saw I wasn't, she gave me a strange look and asked if I needed help.
I said, "Nope, all set. I'm just getting these books for my...daughter." Wow. I. Have. A. Daughter. A. Real. One.

"How old is your daughter?"
”One week,” I responded.

I think she almost fainted because what followed next was one long and excited sentence: "It'sgreattogetthemstartedearly!!!!!!Literacyratesarerisingbecauseparentsarereadingtotheirkidsearlierandearlier!!!!! Youaredoingtherightthing!!!!!! Doyouwanttoenrollherinthereadingforrewardsprogram?????Shecanearnfreestufflikeicecreamandpizza!!!!!!”

She paused, holding out a piece of paper with blank spaces to write in the names of books and authors, and I stood there for a moment, finally answering, "Um, she's a week old so I'm not sure she can actually eat the pizza or ice cream. But sure, OK. We'll do it."

When I got back to the house, I propped up our little glow worm into the center of the Boppy pillow and started to read to her – first “Wacky Wednesday” by Dr. Seuss then “The Cajun Cornbread Boy” and then the one about a dog (actually my husband read that because the dog died at the end and I cried so I don't recommend that one), and my newborn daughter just slept and cried and pooped and wanted to eat. Basic little newborn things. But I wrote all those books down on the reading for rewards pamphlet the librarian gave me. It was fun, and it got me through the first few weeks of motherhood.

As she grew, reading became part of our family routine. We read in the morning, at naptime, before bed. We joined a Toddler Time reading group at the library, sitting crisscross on carpet squares as a spirited librarian sang and read books to one-year-olds. We celebrated milestones, graduating from that Toddler Time group (she got a cap!) and learning ABC’s and we grew our at home library – filling it with board books and classics, touch and feel books, graphic novels, chapter books.

When our son was born, she read to him. He was the perfect audience, and I often found them on the floor of the living room, couch pillows positioned next to each other, their heads touching and his blanket nearby as he listened to his favorite person read his favorite story. Sometimes, I found them perched on the fireplace together, her in teacher mode and him happily playing the part of the student. We spent a lot of time at the library those first few years of their lives, lounging on beanbag chair and flipping through pages of books.  My son loved the “I Survived” series and “Dog Man” books, my daughter loved Junie B. Jones and fantasy books. They both loved to read but as my son grew older, he preferred throwing a ball to turning a page but my daughter’s appetite for stories grew. She read in empty dugouts at the ballpark, while riding in the car, and always before bed, her book propped up against her favorite stuffed animal, bunny bear.  She spent all of her birthday and Christmas gift money at Barnes and Noble and she grew her library collection. If anyone in our family wanted the borrow one, she would “check one” out to us, using whatever collateral we had to swap for the book.

Our children’s library is packed away now, just a few favorites remain on a bookshelf in the spare bedroom. Her bookshelf is a work of art, her favorite tattered copies of Harry Potter and the Twilight series rotate between her bed and the shelf, depending on what she is reading. Now that she’s 15, I ask her for book recommendations.

She has a goal to read 50 books this year and she already finished two. Reading has broadened her world and transformed her life. Her books have become teachable moments for me as a parent, her curiosity opened doors into real life issues about relationships, injustices and the human experience.

Every year, my kids’ schools send home a permission slip, asking what books I will allow them to read. And I always write the same thing.

All of them.

January 23, 2025