I love everything about it.
The smell and feel of the pages.
The learning of something new or the transportation to another time and place.
I never feel compelled to finish one I'm not captivated by because I will never run out of reading material. A beauty of books is that there is no need for boredom.
It still feels magical to be able to look at letters in different combinations and decode their meaning.
I love how many different words there are, and how you can read by looking at pictures without any words at all.
I get giddy when I walk into the children's room at the library and think of all the creativity in the stories and the illustrations.
I think about how if I was ever stuck somewhere I would want it to be the library with its quiet, and comfy chairs, and vast collection of people, places and ideas.
I am still amazed that you can leave the building with the books (99 at a time at ours).
As a child I loved how quickly I could switch back and forth between worlds by alternating chapters of two different books.
In fifth grade my teacher expressed concern that I was spending too much time reading and not enough socializing.
As an adult, one of my greatest joys was teaching a 70 year old man how to read for the first time.
When I was expecting our first child, my Mother asked me what I was most looking forward to about being a parent, to which I responded, "reading with them." And now I enjoy cuddling up and listening to her read to them with that same voice that I was riveted by when I was their age.
As I watched our first child "read" to her younger brother at the age of two, I recognized how love can be communicated through this intentional act of time together.
And now when he asks me to read him the same favorite book multiple times a day, I enjoy his delight in it, and the fact that it is the only time he stops running.
When I witnessed that little brother pick up a book to "read" to his younger siblings, I was reminded of the generational gift of storytelling.
I thought of my grandfather, with an 8th grade education, and the many hours he spent imparting his love of reading to my little brother and I.
This week I had the privilege of reading to our oldest child's first grade class.
Despite being a person who enjoys public speaking, I was nervous.
When I sat in the rocking chair, I was honored and humbled by the earnest attention of all the eyes looking back at me.
I read them the story of Calvin, a bird who can't fly, but who loves to read.
My intent was to tell them that they actually can't be or do whatever they want.
However, as Calvin learns, books can bring them "to places wings never could".
From cloth books to chapter books we have loved living the story of a girl who in six short years is now reading to us.
