Follow up to "Date a Girl Who Reads"

The other day my mother and I were talking about our favorite children's books, and I was struck with such gratitude that my parents read to me as a child. I remember so many times sitting on my Dad's lap, reading Make Way for Ducklings or Harry the Dirty Dog. Later, the baton was passed to me and I would get to take a turn reading a chapter of The Forest Runners. Or going to the library with my mom to get my first library card, and discovering the pure discovery that is reading.

While my older sister was flying through Agatha Christie mysteries and Jane Eyre, I was hooked on Harriet the Spy, Maniac Magee and Homer Price.

The first book I ever read from my Dad's bookshelves (stocked with classic literature) was To Kill a Mockingbird. And when people ask me what my favorite book is, that's still what I say.

I remember as a little kid, when I found a book I really liked, I worried that if I closed it before finishing, the story would go on without me. Somehow the characters would resolve their conflicts and fall in or out of love and I'd miss out, unless I sat there and read to the end.

I've always loved reading, but I haven't always made it a priority or given it the time it deserves (or the time I want to give it). This week I remembered why I love it so much and forgot how I really survived on a diet solely comprised of textbooks and news articles.

But I've mended my ways and I'm making a summer reading list (suggestions welcome!), because that's what summer is for, right?

Here's to my parents, for teaching me the beauty of great stories.