When my daughter and I visit the library, we usually choose enough books to last the week. Each evening, we’ll select a new book from our stash which I’ll read outloud to her.
Yesterday, I noticed I’d taken out a book that was much too simple for Rada’s tastes. It had very few words, and it was quite short. Rada likes stories rich in description, action and intrigue. She enjoys plots with seemingly insurmountable problems that get resolved through extraordinary means: young girl crawls under villian’s cart to free beloved pet chicken; heroine rides horse through the night to save the village from disaster; etc.
But this book was a simple story about a cat, what it saw, and where it went.
I sighed, and started reading the story outloud to her. And then Rada stopped me.
She said, “I’ll do it”.
She read: “Tuna the cat. What did Tuna see? Tuna saw the rain.” (I helped her with ‘rain’) We turned the page.
She read: “Tuna ran outside. Tuna felt the rain.” (I helped her with ‘outside’ and ‘felt’.)
She read several more pages and then said “Ok, you finish.”
I tried not to make too big a deal out of it, but it was the first time.
She’s reading.
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