I don’t know if Mom knew it instinctively, or if Granny Keeler had modeled it for her, but she seemed to follow Emilie Buchwald’s observance, that "children are made readers on the laps of their parents." I don’t recall when I began to learn to read, but I know that it was before my first grade teacher began reading groups. It seemed to be as natural as breathing to me, which I attribute largely to the considerable time I was exposed to reading and oral language from birth on. Mom was in her element when she put on her reading glasses, propped a pillow behind her back in the middle of her big bed, and let the pages fall open on the bookmarked page of the book du jour—be it The Tin Woodman of Oz, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, or Little Women. She’d flip back a page or two and recount the prior night’s adventure, then launch into the next chapter. Her penchant for drama would kick in, and soon she would transport her listeners to the Emerald City or the five little Pepper’s home or Aladdin’s cave. The natural vocal nuances in her oral reading drew in her audience so that, even when we were old enough to be well able to read ourselves to sleep, we would often sit just outside her bedroom door and listen with one ear while we worked on our homework. The fact that we all still enjoy reading and a good storyteller is likely a direct result of Mom’s efforts.
"You may have tangible wealth untold.
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be –
I had a mother who read to me."
— Strickland Gillilan
Dad also contributed to our love of words. Although we weren’t blessed to have him as our nightly storyteller on a regular basis, we occasionally enjoyed his reading as well. I remember him reading excerpts from Peck’s Bad Boy, Maori Tales and poems from the two fat Poems from Home volumes. My favorites were “The Raggedy Man, The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven, and the eerie Highwayman:
“ The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.”
I remember many nights of Mom propped up against stacked pillows and at least four of us crowded around her while she read to us. I especially enjoyed the series of Wizard of Oz, The Chronicles of Narnia, and The Lord of the Rings. After reading a couple of chapters she would inevitably start to doze, slurring the words of the story. We would take turns exclaiming, "Mom" and nudging her awake, showing her where to pick up from the spot she left off. We were old enough to read to ourselves, but it wasn't the same as hearing Mom tell the story with her great inflection.
ReplyDeleteI have read all of these series to my own children. And I'm positive that they will remember with fondness, like I do, cuddling and reading together with Mom.