Some of my greatest childhood memories have been associated with me curled up with a good book. The greatest birthday gift I could get when I was younger was a gift card to my favorite bookstore or a new customized bookmark. I still remember the feeling I had when I first discovered The Count of Monte Cristo, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Good Earth, and The Great Gatsby. When I walked into my 6th-grade class with a copy of the unabridged version of Les Miserables, my teacher smugly told me that I would never be able to get through it. However, as I finished the 1488 page masterpiece and completed my 6-page book report, my teacher was quite impressed and never again doubted my ability to finish a good book.
Even as an adult, I am rarely without a book. I have one in my car, next to my bed, and usually one in my purse. I have found it more and more difficult to steal moments away to be able to sit and read, but I still enjoy the pursuit of a good book. Even though it was not originally my plan, my love for reading has led me to become an English teacher where I get to continue my love of classical literature to my students.
People say that if you are super passionate about something, your passion should become contagious to others.
Needless to say, my love of reading should have been passed onto my children, right?
Wrong.
I have somehow raised two boys who hate to read. Now, I know that you might be thinking that I have probably pushed them too hard, or forced them to read boring classical literature that no one in the world would like but an English teacher and that is why they hate reading. I’m sorry to disappoint you in these assumptions, but I really have never pushed my boys with reading. I never punished them with reading homework, never forced them to write book reports, or made them finish their books before playing video games.
I have loved reading to them since they were little, introducing them to my favorite childhood books like Dr. Seuss, The Berenstein Bears, and Sweet Pickles. I introduced them to The Magic Treehouse, and Fly Guy, and The Hunger Games. But to no fault of my own, they would rather do ANYTHING but read. When I tell them that they have to sit down and do their reading homework, you should hear the groans and moans that come from them. It literally breaks my heart.
However, my boys are not anomalies.
I can’t tell you how many adults I work with and associate with that have not read a full book all year. Recently, I had a friend complaining to me about an interview question: “Why on earth do they care about the last book I read? I couldn’t even think of one book title! Not even one!” A report published in TIME magazine showed that 45 percent of American 17-year-olds read by choice less than three times in a year. The Huffington Post posted an article a few months ago about why millennials can’t read and they found that it might be because people don’t have the time to do it anymore, that reading is too boring and not stimulating enough in our technologically advancing world. As painful as it was to hear my 11-year-old ask, “Well, if it’s that great of a book, why isn’t there a movie about it?” Sadly, I have heard similar things from my students for years.
So what can you do when your love of reading doesn’t transfer to your family?
I, for one, am never going to give up the fight. I am going to continue to introduce my boys to some of my favorite new books, I am going to challenge them with new genres, and I am going to invite them to read a book that is based on their favorite movies. Just like I do with students in my class who hate to read, maybe someday, they might find the book that opens their world and they will actually learn to love to read, at least a little bit.
If not, my love for reading will never decline and you will always be able to see me curled up on the couch enjoying every page of a good book. I’m just sad that my own children can’t experience those same feelings with me.
