I blame the parents: The real reason Scottish children aren't reading books |
After reading 62 pages of Winnie-the-Pooh, I was beginning to feel sleepy myself when my seven-year-old grandson finally agreed to snuggle down and close his eyes. He knows this classic novel off by heart, and he recited snippets of A. A. Milne’s timeless narrative along with me: “I’ve just been thinking, and I have come to a very important decision. These are the wrong sort of bees.”
A bedtime story is a nightly ritual, without which he won’t consider signing off (me neither). After this marathon session, he burrowed beneath the duvet but turned on his Yoto, the reader’s voice - relating Winnie-the-Pooh far better than I ever could - eventually lulling him to sleep. It’s not that he can’t read for himself; this past year he has come on fast. But that isn’t the point. At his age, the joy is not just in the story but the companionship and affirmation of reading together.
I remember the thrill of my mother reading The Hobbit to me when I was eight. The story was captivating, but so was her attention, as we sat squeezed in an armchair by the fireside, wondering if Bilbo could rescue the trussed-up dwarves from the spiders’ lair. The image of a contented child being read to encapsulates the ideal of a nurturing home environment. It’s a special, calm corner of the day, when all other distractions are shut out and the child enjoys your full focus. Yet reality falls far short of the ideal.
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