Reading With the Boys

The other night, just as bedtime was fast approaching, we told the boys to read a few pages in their books. One of our boys struggles to read well, so his teacher recommended he read out loud as much as he can.

I let both of them read to me as we took turns with the books, passing them back and forth between myself and each of them, Allan on the couch in the office and then later, Riah in his bed. And then something happened.

I was annoyed because Allan left his clothes on the floor in front of the bathtub instead of putting them in the laundry hamper that is exactly two feet away, and by the time it was Riah’s turn to let me hear him read, it was already passed their bedtime and I still had to clean the kitchen.

But listening to them read to me, so quietly and with so much determination, somehow made all those little frustrations slide away and disappear. The sound of their little voices sounding out words, stretching vowels, willing them to make sense and pronouncing letters in the words that aren’t even there, it felt like the world was small for a minute and nothing else mattered except them trying their hardest in that very moment.