Sunday, May 9, 2010

The books my mother read me

The books my mother read me weren't really books at all. They were lessons learned and adventures taken and quiet moments spent together. They were cold Saturday mornings spent cuddled together under her blankets with Laura Ingles Wilder and stifling summer days spent on long road trips with C.S. Lewis.

From Berenstain Bears to Harry Potter, my mother created an entirely new world for me through the stories she shared. She taught me how to deal with grief, look for happiness, learn from the past and hope for the future.

Best of all, she taught by example. She suffered through me learning to read even when I thought I couldn't, sacrificed hundreds of hours in library time waiting for me to find the perfect book, and made sure I knew she loved reading by reading for herself.

So here's to my mother--the original bibliophile. The one who taught me to love books. The one who still lets me drag her to libraries and book signings and literacy fairs. The one who never questioned if I could write one myself.

Happy Mothers' Day!

No comments:

Post a Comment