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My children love to have me read aloud to them. Even my twelve and fourteen year old love to hear books they have already read themselves before.
As I was reading aloud today from one of our favorites, Little Britches: Father and I Were Ranchers, I came across this passage:
“I don’t remember Mother ever reading anything I couldn’t understand, and I never heard any of the others say so either, but I don’t think many people would have read us the same books she did. That day it was John Halifax, Gentleman. Maybe she skipped spots we couldn’t have understood, and maybe some of it drifted over our heads, but at least we remembered the stories she read. I think part of the reason was that we could raise a hand whenever we wanted and explanation of any word or situation.”
This made me think of how I like to read aloud from the King James version of the Bible. I like for my children to hear words that are “too hard” for them. I like for them to try to figure out what they mean and I like looking it up together to make sure.
Here is an excerpt from an excellent post at The Common Room about reading books that are “too hard” for children.
“I had very good reasons for thinking this stuff was too hard for her. And every one of my sympathetic, concerned, and loving reasons was just another way of underestimating what she was capable of doing, of keeping her trapped in the same ghetto of the mind she’d come from. For most people ‘the soft bigotry of low expectations’ is just a cheap slogan. For me, it’s the very real way I nearly failed my child.”
Please, read the rest of Deputy Headmistress’s post here.