More

My son’s first real word was “more.”  He articulated it clearly and with a force that surprised me, his finger jutting out like a sword for emphasis to make sure I understood.  Like most parents, I expected to hear “Mama” or maybe “ball,” but he was very direct with me about his desires back then, and he remains so nine years later.

It would be natural to assume that what he wanted was another spoonful of ice cream or bounce on my knee, but what he was instructing me to do was to continue reading to him. 

I fondly remember that he would eagerly climb into my lap to listen to my voice animate the text, following my index finger as I pointed out amusing illustrations, and laugh when I mimicked animal sounds or a train’s whistle.  While I was reading, he would flip the pages, chew the book’s bindings, and joyfully scream out when he saw or heard something that thrilled him. When he got older and could walk, he would run to the bookshelf to retrieve his favorites, waving them at me and summoning me to the sofa to read to him.  My second child, a daughter born two years later, didn’t seem to mind that our heavily used books had been drool-soaked and battered, and found them similarly enjoyable.

While these were special and treasured rituals we shared, his appetite for books soon required reinforcements.  My husband read regularly to him, and grandparents, aunts and uncles were recruited for reading dates.  Babysitters were given explicit instructions that it was easy to keep him happy – feed him, change his diaper when needed, let him sleep when he’s tired, and read to him.

Nine years later, not much has changed, but thankfully the diapers are an artifact of our family’s distant past.  As predicted by everyone, he has turned into a reader, with strong opinions about authors and genres.  His taste in books is decidedly pre-adolescent and male, but he now has his own library card and I don’t interfere with his choices. I do, however, hope that reading is something that will bring him pleasure and enjoyment for the rest of his life.

Though both my children are now able to read quite well on their own, my husband and I still read out loud to them before they go to bed, or at times when a quiet moment is needed.  I find that nothing works better to pull our family together that reading a good book, and then talking about it over dinner.  We take turns making selections, and this expands horizons for everyone.  For example, I have learned more about maritime disasters than I ever cared to know, but this is one of the unexpected benefits of reading as a family.

As for my son, the “more” of his babyhood has turned into “five more minutes,” his standard bedtime response when I tell him to put down the book and turn out the light.