As a preschool age child, I felt a sense of frustration and loss that part of the world wasn’t available to me to understand, because I couldn’t read. I had a book called 365 Stories for Every Day of the Year. I didn’t know the exact title. I can, however, remember climbing up the side of my cupboard to reach for it on the highest shelf. I used to page through it mystified and wish that I could read it. I remember asking to be read to and always being given some reason or other why tonight wasn’t a good night.
I learnt to read later than most of those around me even though I was at a nurturing school. Learning to read felt like an insurmountable hurdle when I was 6, and I would avoid doing my reading homework and cry on the inside when asked to read aloud at school. I built up my academic confidence when my maths skills improved and became an adequate reader around the age of 10, but I was never going to do it for pleasure. The twist in the tale is that when I was 12 years old I developed a bout of insomnia, and it was suggested that I read to get to sleep. I thought this was a terrible idea but had recently started reading the first book in the Adrian Mole series. I loved it and for the first time experienced the pleasure of reading. I became a regular at my school library and looked forward to visiting bookshops too. I am still drawn to the sensory pleasures of feeling the crisp pages as I open a book and experiencing the subtle new book smell that follows. Books became my gold, my riches.
When my daughter was born, I started receiving and buying books for her. I absorbed the parenting advice that we should start reading to her as soon as possible. It seemed a reasonable start on the path to literacy, required very little effort to read her a regular bedtime story and was a good setup for much-valued one to one time. In the beginning it was hard to see how it was worthwhile when our 8 month old wouldn’t sit still and barely looked at the pages, but we incorporated it into our bedtime plan. Story time may not have been part of my childhood, but perhaps creating this ritual with her could help me to mend some of my own disappointment.
Over time my toddler started to engage with bedtime stories and looked forward to that time of the evening. I was told by my daughter’s nursery that she would often sit in the book corner and page through books. I was surprised but delighted, as she never did that at home.
When she started reception, I was concerned that she would struggle to read like I did. I was preparing myself for this outcome at the same time as reminding myself that my daughter is not me, and I need to follow her lead on her learning path. However she seems to be reading at the appropriate level and I marvel at her growth and interest in books.
I recently read Mamaleh Knows Best by Marjorie Ingall (thanks to PJ Library’s parent book programme), and so many of her suggestions felt right for me. She suggests that you don’t force your kids to read certain books - if they are not interested, let it go. Her tip is to leave books you want them to read lying around the house, and it is likely that your kids will pick them up and give them a try. She advocates that we read to our children for as long they will let us, and that chimes with me too.
We read together at any time these days, and sometimes, halfway through my daughter reading to me, she will tell me that it is my turn to read. I now dutifully continue where she left off. A page later she will casually take over again.
I don’t know if my approach will help my daughter become a lifelong reader, but I hope that sharing with her my love of literature will help her in many ways, both in school and beyond. I wanted to share my riches with her, and I wouldn’t have done it any other way.
About Laun Ruttenberg
I am a mother, wife and podcaster-in-the-making. My focus is on modern social challenges and how we cope with them.
January 28, 2019