I had an English professor for my Senior Seminar who believed 700% in the power of reading books aloud. To your kids. To your students who are kids. To your students who are adults and sitting in their Senior Seminar class wondering why they are being read to instead of lectured at.
I found this awesome, so I took her again the following semester.
We read two books:
There is something special about being read to.
Hearing the words.
Shutting up and listening.
A bit of communion between reader, listener, and story.
~
An incomplete list of books my father read to me as a child:
Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift
The Neverending Story by Michael Ende (+ other books by the author)
Mary Poppins P.L. Travers (+ sequels)
The Wizard of Oz by Frank L. Baum (+ sequels)
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
The Boggart by Susan Cooper
The Giver by Lois Lowry
The one I remember most?
It is this totally bizarre German adult fantasy about a girl who rides around on the back of a giant tortoise.
~
An incomplete list of books my parents tried to read to me but I made them stop:
Hitty: Her First Hundred Years by Rachel Field
The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien
Bilbo Baggins lost my interest about 17 chapters into that cave. Or so I recall.
~
My boyfriend teaches music at an elementary school. He has a bit of “before school duty” that puts him in a 4th grade classroom for 5-10 minutes every morning with nothing for the kids to do.
He decided to read to them.
I made a book recommendation.
They love it.
He loves it.
I love him.
(And also: holy hotness.)
(It’s the Hot Guys Reading Effect)
(See: Ryan Gosling:
~
When I’m feeling anxious or listless or general in a bad spirit, this is one way I cheer myself up:
queue up a favorite audiobook.
Really. It’s almost medicinal.
It has to be something with a good audio recording,
something familiar,
something I’ve read or listened to before,
something I pretty much love.
Right now, I am listening to Harry Potter,
and it’s like having a talisman in my pocket,
waiting for me in case I need cheering.