I offer this timeless poem to celebrate mothers who read to their children. May I dedicate it especially to those who make reading aloud a domestic priority!
When Mother reads aloud, the past
Seems real as every day;
I hear the tramp of armies vast,
I see the spears and lances cast,
I join the thrilling fray;
Brave knights and ladies fair and proud
I meet when Mother reads aloud.When Mother reads aloud, far lands
Seem very near and true;
I cross the desert’s gleaming sands,
Or hunt the jungle’s prowling bands,
Or sail the ocean blue.
Far heights, whose peaks the cold mists shroud,
I scale, when Mother reads aloud.When Mother reads aloud, I long
For noble deeds to do—
To help the right, redress the wrong;
It seems so easy to be strong,
So simple to be true.
Oh, thick and fast the visions crowd
My eyes, when Mother reads aloud.Author Unknown
Reading aloud undeniably binds a family and instills the joy of learning. It reaches across a multiplicity of ages. While the four-year old doesn’t seem to be listening, he is. And more importantly, he sees the older siblings taking interest—the surest way to super-charge his desire to learn along with them.
This is not news to most of you, I know. But it’s something I’m encountering anew. And I owe a lot of that to seeing how someone special named Jane has organized her family life around reading aloud.
My mother surely read aloud sometimes to me, but it was a different era. Pedagogically (as I recall) the big thing in the 1950s was the explosion of sturdy, affordable books you could put into the child’s hands. I remember being in my room, encircled by Golden Books. Compared to the number of books kids have today, there probably weren’t so many; but in my memory, these golden-edged gems towered over me. I read and re-read them until they were worn out, or supplanted by Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys. They were my friends.
Even today there’s one Golden Book I remember so fondly. It depicted a family like ours: mom, dad, and two children (boy and girl). The pretty mom could be seen clad in her spotless apron through the kitchen window while the kids played on a green lawn. Dad was “off to work” as the paradigm dictated. When he came walking home, the dog ran out to greet him, along with mom and the kids.
They all seemed to live without problems. I sensed the aroma of oatmeal cookies wafting out the kitchen window (instead of the garlicky meatloaf wafting out of ours). The lawn was manicured without anyone mowing it. Nobody was mad, and the brother and sister did not fight. I wanted to live in this family.
Books present us ideals. The best children’s literature presents the ideals through challenges and heroism, quests and triumphs. This particular Golden Book lacked heroism, but it comforted me when I was worried or sad. It gave me something beyond myself.
And that is a main function of books. Some people call it “escape,” but I call it the Window of Dreams. Books showed me people far different than the ones I knew (even if unrealistically presented). In books, people traveled and did interesting things. “The world is bigger than your street,“ said my books. “The whistle you hear from the Norfolk and Western train downtown signals that people are actually going somewhere. Maybe you will go somewhere too, one day?” After all, Nancy Drew traveled. And so did Alice in Wonderland.
Life without my books would have been unbearable. But while I saw my mother reading to herself daily for long periods, sadly I do not have her voice reading aloud in my memory, spinning beguiling strands of the classics, bringing alive content that I was years away from understanding.
Still, I got the message. Reading matters. Having books mattered. And specialists in every field continue to tell us that nothing is more important than helping a child fall in love with reading. So here’s my salute to all you moms who help your children to
cross the desert’s gleaming sands,
Or hunt the jungle’s prowling bands,
Or sail the ocean blue
long before their skills allow them to read these adventures on their own. Never doubt that value of each minute you spend reading to your children, for you are giving them the tools of life.
