Two years ago I’d bought a Hooked on Phonics reading kit thinking we’d use it to teach our daughter to read. Only I stuffed it into the same closet that also holds my wedding dress, my high school letterman’s jacket and all things I considered precious from middle school, and, well, we never saw the thing again. Until yesterday…when I dug in that closet for the carpet, and behold, our Hooked on Phonics reading kit. A mild surprise.
That our daughter had entered the reading world before the reading kit entered the house is beside the point, if there is one. That she lit up like a set of Christmas lights with all its bulbs working when I found the kit, is something else.
Namely her own agenda.
Which, in three seconds, became: to teach her brother to read. Amen.
That my husband has sounded out letters with our son each evening–rain, shine, snow or clouds…certainly laid the foundation for what I stumbled on in the living room.
Here’s my daughter with the Hooked on Phonics reading book saying the name of each letter and its sound. And there, sitting as close as velcro, is my son repeating after her, “‘w’ says wuh…”
Which may not be miraculous in itself. Except I’m the bystander…
The bystander with a front row seat to the coolest thing–one of my kids teaching the other to read. I’ll be..
I’ll be darned. That’s what.
I just never knew how engrossing ‘a’ for apple could be.
I’m assuming it has something to do with the teacher.
Here my daughter’s reading the simple sentences that correspond to the pictures and my son is pointing to the pictures she’s reading. Nothing remotely fancy.
Only my son can’t get enough. So he’s jumped back on the couch and is repeating each word she says. “Rat. Fat. Pat.” And liking it.
Because there’s just something about learning…
from his six year old sister with her right knee in his gut…
as she sounds out each word for him…
and shows him how fun reading can be.
My goodness…may I not melt away in this moment.
Or, shame…forget it ever happened.