I love books.

Honestly and truly, books make me happy.

No scratch that, books bring me joy.

I think there is a difference between joy and happiness. Happiness can be fleeting. It’s like a creamsicle on a hot summer day, amazing, but short-lived. Joy is something else.

Joy is lasting, joy is something you can reflect on later and recall the feeling.

Joy fills you up like a really good Thanksgiving dinner.

Books do that for me.

I’m an introvert, I prefer my adventures to take place between the pages of a book.

Walk with me down memory lane for a second.

When I was in first grade I was a terrible reader. Like truly awful. I was in the Bear group, it wasn’t a good year. And I was convinced that reading was horrible, boring, and hard. My dad decided that wasn’t going to be a thing (side note, don’t you love it when parents decide something isn’t a thing?)

Anyway, he decided that his child was not going to hate reading (I’m the oldest so they were still experimenting with parenting at this point) and told me I had to read 7 chapter books alone by the end of the summer.

Let’s be real, at that point 7 picture books were a bit of a stretch, but he was serious.

So I slogged through that first Boxcar Children book and it was painful for everyone within a 50-mile radius, but eventually, I finished and moved on to the next one.

Everything just clicked with the next book.

It was like a light switch.

I went from hating reading to loving it and that’s where the story ends. 

I spent more time than I probably should have reading when I was a kid.

I would go to the public library and check out more Babysitters Club books than I could realistically carry and go home and devour them.

I eagerly awaited the next John Grisham book (because that’s age appropriate for a 10-year-old), I flew through Harry Potter, and I read enough Robin Cook thrillers to keep myself up all night for fear some rogue doctor was going to harvest my organs and sell them on the black market.

I read at recess, traded books with friends, and thought that the free book coupon our local bookstore sent out for birthdays was the coolest present.

I read everything I could get my hands on, fiction, non-fiction, and textbooks, I read them. I read any time I could. I took a book in the car, to the table, and kept at least one in my backpack all the time. 

Libraries and bookstores are my favorite places.

There is something about walking through the stacks of books waiting to be read that is exciting, a library is like a thousand adventures just waiting to happen.

My first semester of college I walked through the stacks in the HBLL amazed that so many books could exist in one place.

Today I love all books, but especially used books. I love used bookstores where the books show obvious signs of being read. I seek out discarded library editions for my home collection.

Some people might think I abuse my books, they show signs of the journeys they take. They follow me throughout the house, in the car, and everywhere in between. I highlight and write in the books. I bend the spines, they get wrinkled, wet, and look well loved. I think that’s ok, books are like a favorite ratty hoodie, these imperfections are a sign of love and use not abuse and neglect. 

When I had my first child, I was determined to make him love reading.

Notice the make and love in that sentence.

I didn’t want to inspire love or joy for the written word, I was going to force the kid to love books as much as I did.

Ok so here’s the thing. Have you ever attempted to make an 18-month-old love reading?

Yeah, you can’t.

You actually can’t make them do anything. But by golly, I tried.

I read to him all the time. We read about everything he was interested in.

Y’all we checked out every transportation, owl, and dinosaur book our local library had and read them many many times.

We attended as many storytimes as we could get tickets for, and since we lived a bit in the country, we played audiobooks any time we were in the car. We listened to all the Harry Potter and LOTR books before his second birthday.

I was determined that books would be a normal part of his life. I wanted him to see books as a chance to escape, inspire his imagination, and provide much-needed information.

I wanted him to know that answers could be found in books and that when in doubt look in a book. FYI i also loved Reading Rainbow… shocker. 

By his 2nd birthday, I had a little bibliophile on my hands.

I may have quite a few [daily] parenting fails, but this is not one of them.

He loves books.

He can whip through a thick fantasy novel in hours. It takes a bit of motivation, but when he finds the right book he is all in. 

Somewhere along the way, he acquired two younger brothers and a sister, and while one of his brothers is too young to judge, the other two love reading just as much as he does. 

I love this.

I think reading provides connections to people outside our daily circle, it transports us to places that only exist in the author’s imagination, and forces us to become a part of something bigger than ourselves.

One of the best books I ever received was a marked-up copy of a book by my favorite author.

But here’s my question, how do we inspire all kids to read?

I have a lot of dream jobs, but one would be as a middle school reading teacher.

Can you imagine taking a kid that hates books and helping them unlock that hidden world? I think it would be satisfying to finally find the story that draws them in.

But let’s circle back, how do we inspire kids to read? What exactly makes some kids interested in reading and some kids loathe it? Let’s pretend that all kids are on an even playing field (yes this is unrealistic, but it’s also just a thought experiment).

Let’s pretend for a minute that all children go to a quality school, have safe homes, and have at least 2 age-appropriate books in their homes. If we assume all parents have roughly the same literacy level, what is it that makes some people love books and some people prefer to use them as door stops?

I think it might go beyond access.

I think this is where parents, teachers, and other adults might come in. These authority figures can provide examples and can ]direct kids to the “right” books.

I think surrounding kids with words, books, and stories, whether or not the child is forced to open the book is beneficial.

I think that kids that are taught that books have secret powers will eventually open the book on their own. Books and words need to become a normal part of life, not relegated to something that is left to schools. 

My middle son hated books until he found out there is this whole genre out there of books about kids trying to overthrow corrupt governments.

Yes.

He has a problem with rules and authority. As soon as he discovered that was a thing, he was all in. 

My daughter told me she can’t read a picture book and then proceeded to yell at me as she went upstairs to read a chapter book. She’s in first grade and very dramatic. 

My kids know that if they want me to buy them something, offhandedly mentioning that they want a book inspires me to immediately order the book.

Our house is filled with books, no really we have far too many books, but is that really a thing?

If you get a chance, go to the library this weekend. You can’t go wrong with free. Pick up one book, you don’t have to read it cover to cover, but consider how cool it is that an entire universe exists between the covers.

Can you have too many books? 

I think we should expose kids to books and words as soon as we can. I think this helps with language acquisition and cognitive development.

I need to look at the research on this, but that’s my guess. I’m going to continue using my kids as lab rats and continue my reading experiment.

11 years in, preliminary data suggests that brainwashing your kid into loving books is possible and beneficial.