As a parent of two, with an 11-year-old eager for literary adventures, I’ve experienced firsthand the joy of sharing books. My son’s enthusiasm for reading has inspired me to delve into his favorite titles, creating a bond that transcends our common interests in television. I’ve enjoyed the entirety of the “Percy Jackson” saga by Rick Riordan and “Wonder” by R.J. Palacio, both of which have sparked wonderful discussions between us.
Reflecting on my own childhood, I realize that not all the books that shaped me were strictly for children. Sure, I reveled in Madeleine L’Engle’s “A Wrinkle in Time,” the enchanting “Chronicles of Narnia” by C.S. Lewis, and the delightful British series “Swallows and Amazons” by Arthur Ransome. However, what truly enriched my reading experience was having unrestricted access to a vast library of books at home.
In our house, toys were stored in one room, while another was lined with shelves brimming with books. No one ever instructed me to read them, nor did they discourage me. I explored everything from Howard Pyle’s “The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood” to John Irving’s “The World According to Garp,” a lifelong favorite. I absorbed Greek myths, Aesop’s Fables, and works by E.L. Doctorow and Kurt Vonnegut. As a child of the 1970s, I even found myself engrossed in “I’m OK, You’re OK” by Thomas Anthony Harris, along with “The Women’s Room” by Marilyn French and the James Herriot tales.
I didn’t have a predetermined reading list; I simply knew I was free to explore. While some of the books were classics and others less so, I was fortunate that my parents provided a selection of quality literature. Reading became a natural part of my life, and once a book captured my attention, I was completely absorbed.
I vividly remember discovering a copy of “Gone With the Wind” by Margaret Mitchell tucked away in a bathroom drawer. I read it every time I was in there until I was nearly finished. Then, to my dismay, I reached an abrupt end on page 1024, leaving me in suspense with an unfinished sentence. Determined to find out what happened next, I quickly grabbed another copy from the library. Decades later, I can still pinpoint where the story left off.
Throughout my upbringing, books were omnipresent, and there were no restrictions on what I could read. Therefore, while I monitor my son’s screen time and the games he plays, I believe it’s essential to grant him free rein over my bookshelf. Yes, some titles may contain violence or mature themes, but reading allows for personal reflection and a gradual exploration of complex subjects. It fosters empathy and enables readers to engage with narratives on a deeper level—experiencing the story from within the characters’ minds rather than just observing as in films or shows.
I won’t dictate my son’s reading choices; he can explore whatever interests him, and he’s free to set aside anything that doesn’t appeal to him. The books I encountered didn’t traumatize me; literature does not leave scars like a frightening film might, and the reader’s interpretation plays a crucial role.
Encourage your children to seek out books independently. Let them “discover” your collection on their own, perhaps by finding something on your bedside table or in a drawer. Keep your library accessible, and if you’re fortunate, they may wander in to explore.
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Summary:
Allowing children to read books that are not exclusively for their age group can foster a love for literature and develop critical thinking skills. By providing access to a diverse range of reading materials, parents can cultivate empathy and a deeper understanding of complex themes. Encouragement to explore independently enriches the reading experience.