Not the Way Momma Did It

When my oldest son Travis was about two or three years old, his favorite book was Richard Scarry’s Best Word Book Ever, basically a dictionary with lots of wonderful pictures. He’d go get the book, pull me to a chair, then sit in my lap and flip through it, pointing out which definition I was to read next. Over and over again. Day after day. He’d laugh delightedly; I longed desperately for narrative, even the Little Golden Book kind.

Over time the game morphed. Now, I was supposed to flip through the book and point to a picture, and since he’d memorized all the words and their definitions, he would “read” them to me, word for word, in any order.

Gradually we moved on from Richard Scarry and picture books, and as the kids got older I read them books like Charlotte’s Web, Ramona the Pest, and Amos Fortune, Free Man. We read Bridge to Terabithia, The Witch of Blackbird Pond, and Sounder. They loved Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends and all of Gary Paulsen’s Hatchet series. And of course I read them the Chronicles of Narnia. And yes, I even did the voices.

Partial payback for all that time spent reading aloud came a few weeks ago. Travis told me he’d finally gotten to see the new film version of Prince Caspian, but said he’d had trouble getting into the movie.

Why? "The Reepicheep voice was all wrong," he told me. "It didn’t sound at all like the way you did it."