My mother was a second grade teacher. She loved children’s books and reading to kids — lucky for my brother and me, because even after we were reading on our own, she still read to us often. Mostly I remember this as a sweet summer bedtime ritual, when the long twilights would lend themselves perfectly to us wheedling later bedtimes. In this way, I experienced a lot of books with complicated ideas before I may have been able to comprehend them on my own. Even with the ones that I read again independently, I find that to this day my memories of the stories are as my mom read them to us. These books undoubtedly shaped the reader and the person I became as I grew older.
Happy Mothers Day! We are never too old to enjoy hearing a good story read out loud.