To satiate our loneliness for our ninth-month-old-grandson, who was whisked away to the almost-farthest-away point on the East Coast, we frequently face time with him and his mom.
On one face-time occasion, he picked up his favorite book found among his toys in the room we call Leo's Disneyland. He dragged it to his mom, who then old me she had to go because she had to read The Pout Pout Fish to Leo.
"No, let me listen," I insisted.
She positioned the phone in front of her and Leo and proceeded to read. For a nine month old, his attention was ultra impressive.
On another face-time occasion, in a teasing and experimental mood, I said to Leo, "Where'e the Pout-Pout Fish?" He halted. His brain clicked. He looked around. Found it! He crawled to the Pout Pout Fish book and dragged it back to his mom.
My daughter has practically memorized Pout Pout Fish and I sense has become a little tired of the oft-read story. For revenge she said, "Thanks Mom; I have to go now and read."
I laughed and let her go.
For thirteen years, I have passed along the plea of a dear professor who taught a college prep class for would-be teachers. On the last day of class, she earnestly looked into our eyes and asked us to tell our students to please read to their children. Especially the would-be fathers. Statistics of children entering kindergarten indicated that children who were read to had thousands more words in their vocabulary arsenals.
We always conclude with a discussion and students often express the wonderful memories of a reading parent.
The Reading Mother
by Strickland Gillilan
I had a mother who read to me
Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea,
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth,
“Blackbirds” stowed in the hold beneath.
I had a Mother who read me lays
Of ancient and gallant and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,
Which every boy has a right to know.
I had a Mother who read me tales
Of Gelert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trust till his tragic death,
Faithfulness blent with his final breath.
I had a Mother who read me the things
That wholesome life to the boy heart brings –
Stories that stir with an upward touch,
Oh, that each mother of boys were such!
You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be –
I had a Mother who read to me.
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