Raising a Reader When Battling Dragons and Evil Librarians
Challenging Expectations and Letting Kids be Kids
Beside my bed, there is a stack of books, mostly unread. It’s a mix of Tudor history, psychological thrillers, and horror. On the very top is a beat-up mass-market paperback, aquamarine, and teal covered with a beautiful blue dragon staring at me. The dragon looks at me, imploring me to read her story.
It is a dramatic one. There are fights and prophecies and long-lost dragon parents reuniting with their dragon children. There are also betrayal, love, and angsty coming-of-age moments that make me roll my eyes.
This book was not written for me. And it is not one I would have chosen on my own accord. It was forced upon me with no regard for my own tastes or for the pile of books already beckoning from beside my bed. Luckily the person responsible for this injustice is an adorable 8-year-old, so I am doing my best to work my way through it.
Not too long ago, it would take an earthquake, an emergency, or a bribe of snacks to pry my daughter away from her iPad. She would rather play Minecraft or Roblox above all else. Like all the good parents of our generation, we imposed strict time limits on her devices, and of course, we NEVER pretend not to notice that she quietly added more time when we were not watching.
She played so often I feared her body would slowly morph into the blocky, pixelated beings that she spent all her time with. She started calling us noobs for not understanding some esoteric spell or how to make a crafting table (whatever the fuck that is). Jokes on her, because I am proud of my noob status, as I have never left that zone in all my years of playing World of Warcraft.
As a parent, I have tried really hard not to project my own dreams and desires onto her. I strive to let her be herself, and embracing games is her thing.
My thing, like so many others on this platform, is reading. I have filled our house with books of all sorts. There are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on each floor, and they are FILLED. Every few years I attempt to donate a box of books just to make space for more, but I spend weeks agonizing over which ones to place in that box, and it always ends up only half full of mostly outdated textbooks that I am finally ready to part with.
Sorry, book donation centers! I know you don’t want these either. For the record, I actually recycled my corporate accounting textbooks because our fireplace is gas and I couldn’t burn them as I wanted.
I wanted my daughter to enjoy reading too. Not take away her love of games, but rather unlock the particular joy and impact that the written word can have on people. I bought books that I thought would pique her interest. Books on dogs, graphic novels, retellings of classics in modern formats, tomes on dinosaurs and animals, short stories, long stories, so many Magic Tree Houses…
She seemed modestly interested, but it still wasn’t taking off. My next step was to take her to the public library. We had avoided the library because of covid, so it had been a while since we’d gone. I got all three kids excited to meet the librarians and find super cool books. Is cool even a cool word to say anymore?
We arrived and my oldest bravely approached the librarian, an older woman with short, tightly curled white hair wearing slacks with a matching blouse. I may be imagining this, but I swear she had glasses on a gold chain and a sparkly broach.
My kid boldly asked what no kid in any library anywhere has ever had the audacity to-
“Um, do you have any Minecraft books? Or My Little Pony for my little sister?” she demurred quietly.
The librarian huffed herself up, a look of disgust flashing across her face.
“Of course not, you little fool! This is a super serious library where all books are only meant for learning and learning only. We would never carry anything that has to do with television. Now how about some Melville or Dostoyevsky?”
My jaw dropped. What a bitch! Maybe we had stumbled into Nightvale’s library and were about to be consumed by the librarian. I started to look for exits and gather the kids closer to me.
“Ok,” my daughter replied. “How about books about dragons then?”
The librarian sighed and slowly stood from her chair. I positioned myself in between her and the kids, just in case. Without making eye contact, she walked us over to some dragon books and then resumed her post at the circulation desk. I kept one eye on her, still half waiting for her to transform into a monster or to come over and judge my parenting skills loudly.
She did not.
And that librarian actually retired a few weeks later, so she was probably done dealing with privileged young families and all of our bullshit.
The dragon books that day did not quite turn my kid into a reader. The next librarian, a younger woman with a son of her own, suggested letting my kid listen to audiobooks and read books through the e-library on her iPad. This, and the discovery of the Wings of Fire series, was what ultimately did the trick.
Now she is a voracious reader. It took the right suggestions, and the right media to make it happen.
Never mind that I am now answering questions about what ‘disembowel’ means. Or that my reward for reading the book about the water dragons will be the next in the series. I’m just happy she likes reading, even if she will still choose her screen over a book every damn time.
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