Jingoists… uhh… where was I going with this? Scrap it.
“The reading of all good books is indeed like a conversation with the noblest men of past centuries who were the authors of them, nay a carefully studied conversation, in which they reveal to us none but the best of their thoughts.”
Rene Descartes (1596 – 1650)
I read aloud to my children every now and then. Sadly, I have yet to make it a habit. For one reason or another, I allow myself to be distracted by… well… one reason or another. Yet I find a great deal of satisfaction in reading, and I find a significant amount of happiness in my children. When the two are wed, joy overflowing. Plus, I find myself playing the part of a thespian, animate through-and-through. The kids, judging by what I may evaluate via sight, appear to be, at bare minimum, fascinated and, at maximum, enchanted.
There’s something magical, I suppose, about reading poetry aloud to children; the push and pull of tone and pitch, the tossing and turning of emotion, the rolling cadence and theatrical body movements, all both spontaneous and contrived. It’s highly doubtful that this in any way reflects my own personal genius – after all, I’ve met many a drunkards at Karaoke night who’ve said much the same of their experience – but it’s definitely worthy of a few brownie-points with ol’ Mister Sandman… and my adorably crazy kids!! Seriously, Papa’s exhausted…
FTR – Today’s reading was “On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year,” by Lord Byron. Ah, and for our multitasking friends, a reading of the poem (by Chris Moran) that I found on DailyMotion.