One of my favourite things to do these days is read children's books to my kids. I love every part of it. Stopping the day. Like Superman flying around the world to spin back time to save Lois Lane. Pausing the clock. Like taking a breath. Each kid runs over to the couch, each pushing their chosen book into my gut. "Mine first." "No, mine first." Two kids nestled under each arm. And where does the third one fit? Sliding in beside, under, or over. One shifts onto my lap. Each finds their place. Their niche. And the book opens. "You hold it Daddy." And the story begins. And we're all there for the ritual. There is a rhythm to my voice. A cadence that lands. A father's chance to breast feed. To stop and nurture. "Another book please Poppa. One more. Please."
And it is the most beautiful moment. That I often miss. Because I have not landed yet. I am still in my head. Still running through the things from my day. Reviewing the list. What I did. What I didn't do. What I did wrong. What I missed. What I still need to do. I have the most amazing ability to read an entire children's story, and have no idea what it's about. Like I've mouthed the words, turned the pages, even emphasized some words. Because I'm not really there. I've stopped. But haven't landed the plane. Like it's still gliding down from the day. About to land, and reading children's books is part of that descent. Lifting the wings. Dropping the wheels.
I remember reading a particularly long story a few months ago. And half-way through the story, I realized, these kids can't read! Maybe I'll just skip a few lines here. Maybe just read this side of the page, skip that side. And the kids looked almost asleep. So it's just the sound of my voice anyway. And I'm a few pages along, when Rowan raises an arm and speaks as if she's sleep-talking, "What about the girl with the red balloon Dad? You missed that part." And I realize, that I can't cheat them. I can't cut corners. Because they know. They know the stories intimately. Inside and out.
And I wonder what it would be like to land first. To be there for those magical moments. To treasure each word, each page of the story. To read the dialogue like I'm rehearsing for an acting role. To be inside the story like they are, like the kids are, because they are. They are present. They are immersed. Totally in the world. And what if I were to actually join them?
Mike, thank you! I love this! I can relate to every word. I remember reading entire books also when my son was little and realizing I hadn't been listening, had no idea what had happened in the story. But I still loved, and still continue to love, reading to him every single night, even now that he's 11. In his entire life there have probably only been a handful of days when either I or my husband haven't read to our son at night. I got to read to him the entire Harry Potter series a few years ago and we'd stay up way too late to find out what happened. I recently read him The Hunger Games, same thing. It remains my favourite time of day, one of my all-time favourite things in life ever, and I dread the day he tells me he doesn't want me to read to him any more. I'll be like that weird stalker mother in Robert Munsch's' story Love You Forever who drives across town to hug her adult son in bed. Except I'll read him a book.
ReplyDeleteLaurie
I have such great memories of going to the library with my Mom on the weekend and poking through all the kids books, picking out the most exciting ones or old favorites. We'd curl up on the couch together and read them throughout the week. Next weekend: back to the library to do it all again. I couldn't wait and started to read to Finn in utero!
ReplyDeleteThis is what I miss most about having 'adult' children. It sucks. Land first Mike. It's still early.
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