I’ve never been much of a reader. Part of it might be that I don’t see so well but I’m not sure that’s it. Even with 20/20 vision, you wouldn’t catch me reading this column.
In high school, all of my books were large print. That meant that even short books seemed long. “Of Mice and Men” is supposedly a quick read but when it takes three volumes to complete the large print version, I just couldn’t think of it as short.
To me, reading was the washboard of entertainment. It was the best thing going in its day but why would you mess with it once something better came along? I couldn’t see the point in spending two weeks reading a story that I could watch on TV in ninety minutes.
Fortunately, I’m not the one teaching literature to our kids.
Cooper, our second grader, just finished a book that I remember reading in fifth grade, “Where the Red Fern Grows.”
To celebrate, we watched the movie this weekend. Once the movie had ended, I saw that Cooper was upset.
I knew what was wrong. Surely it had just dawned on him that his past few weeks of reading had been a complete waste. He obviously had learned the truth about reading – that it’s a scam.
To my surprise, that wasn’t what was fueling his anger. Instead, he ranted about how many details were left out of the movie. He went on and on about how much better the book was than the movie.
That sparked a rant by Charlotte about how bad the Harry Potter movies were in comparison to the books.
What is wrong with these kids? Don’t they appreciate modern conveniences?
It’s not that I am completely opposed to reading. Without it, how could you tell which snack foods are “flaming hot and which are not?
My biggest concern is this:
If everyone in my house is spending hours reading books, who am I supposed to play with?
I guess I’ll just pass the time by walking to the river to fetch water for the wash tub.