Reading together

Last night at a little after eight o’clock, I climbed into bed to read Lionel Shriver’s latest novel, So Much for That. The act itself – sliding under the covers with a book -- wasn’t unusual; the early hour was. Usually at that time I’m helping my eight-year-old with a bath, or reading to her, or helping her clean up her room, or suggesting she pick out clothes for the next day, or overseeing her homework, or finishing the dinner dishes while she works on an art project of her own design.

But this time, I was reading, and the reason I wasn’t busy overseeing any of Holly’s activities was that she was snuggled up in bed next to me, reading the latest installment in her current American Girls series.

This was a big deal to me. One of my stated goals at the beginning of the summer was to find some way to gently push Holly in the direction of reading to herself more often. According to her teachers and my own observations, her reading skills are perfectly proficient for a child beginning third grade, and during silent reading times at school she reads on her own, from what I understand. But at home, she always wants me to read to her.

Finally, over the summer, it started to change. I learned to say “I’ll read the first chapter to you, and then you read the next one to yourself.” We drove to Maine several times, and she discovered how quickly the time passed if she read on the drive. Slowly, the habit began to embed itself.

So last night, I read to her for twenty minutes and then suggested she continue reading on her own. It was just after eight, and her bedtime isn’t until eight-thirty. To my surprise, she agreed that might be fun.

So the two of us lay reading in companionable silence, just enjoying our books and the stillness and the company.

I’ve come to realize over the years that depending on their own particular interests, parents have different activities that they dream of doing with their anticipated children even before they have children. My cousin once told me that he had always imagined a day when he would go skiing with the children he would someday have, a dream that soon enough became a reality. When I see my husband swimming with our kids, I imagine that splashing in the pool is the equivalent for him.

I don’t think I ever specifically fantasized about reading side by side with my child. My parenting fantasies ran more along the lines of baking Christmas cookies and going for bike rides. Nonetheless, it’s certainly something that over the past year or two I started hoping for. Last night was a quiet, calm evening, Holly and I each with our books. It was a most rewarding moment for me. And it’s a scene I hope we have the opportunity to repeat many, many times in the future.