I had a parents meeting at my children’s school this morning and so I was wandering the halls for a while waiting for it to start.
As I walked past my son’s fifth grade classroom I peeked in to see the teacher looking at the novels that each child had brought in for reading time.
Now I love to read and my two daughters love to read. My husband and son? Not so much.
So I stopped and waited to see what would happen when the teacher got to my son. As I suspected he didn’t have a book. She tapped him gently on the shoulder, told him to bring one in tomorrow and moved on to the next child.
Since school hadn’t officially started for the day yet and everyone was still milling around I called my baby boy over.
‘So,’ I said. ‘I see you need a book.’
‘Yep,’ he replied looking at his shoes.
‘Do you have a book?’ I asked.
‘Nope,’ he mumbled.
Now, not only do I love to read but I also have a thing about buying books. I buy a lot. My son does not have one book, he probably has two hundred books neatly put away on a huge bookshelf in his room. My girls have the same.
In my estimation my boy could have supplied each kid in his class with ten books and still had several left over for him. But he didn’t take one of these books to school today because bringing a book to school might mean he would actually have to READ it. No book – no reading. What can I tell you, he’s ten and he’s a male.
So I went out to the book store today and bought not one, not two, but three books I thought he might like. A little overboard I admit, but I’m still hoping that if I just find the right book it will spark a passion in him for reading. I want him to share this interest with his sisters and myself. I want to some how make my boy into a ‘reader’.
When he came home from school today I gave him the books. I watched as he took the books out of the bag and studied each front cover. He looked at each book’s spine, read the back covers, flipped through a few pages of each and then picked up each one and smelt it.
When this ritual was complete he thanked me and put two books on the stairs to go up to the abyss of his room and then he carefully put one in his back pack to take to school tomorrow.
‘Why that book?’ I asked, hoping to glean some sort of insight into my son’s literary tastes.
‘It smells good,’ he replied and left the room.
It smells good?
Anybody out there really understand males?