by Laura Langston
Books have always been an important part of my life. Since I’m of the “children are made readers on the laps of their parents” school of thought, I assumed my kids would share my passion.
My daughter was captivated by books when very young. My son, not so much. For a long time, Zach only read books about fire trucks. Then came books about dinosaurs, sea creatures and cops, and only if I pushed him to sit down with me. But a story? Even a short one? Forgetaboutit. Zach had no time for a fictional world.
Until the summer of his fifth birthday. We were spending a week at the beach and taking a bag of books each was de rigueur. Having reached the end of the cops cycle, I didn’t know what to take for Zach.
My husband did. He went out and bought a couple of Pokemon books. They were more comics than anything. One didn’t even have a story – just a creature per page, in bright graphic detail, with the names spelled normally and phonetically. The second was an actual story, but heavy on the kid-friendly graphics. We gave the first book to Zach on the drive, hoping the pictures would hold his interest until we arrived. more »