On Fire!

At the end of the first chapter, a spark was lit.

"What's a tornado? Is this book real? Where's Kansas? Did the dog survive?"

I smirked to myself as he asked these questions and I made him wait for the answers.

(Oh, the glorious evilness of being the teacher AND the mother!!!)

On it went, chapter after chapter. He was drawn to the story like a witch to her broom. I talked myself hoarse reading The Wizard Of Oz, croaking out page after page in an attempt to satisfy his curiosity.

There is something so fresh, so invigorating at participating in someone else's growth. What some may consider to be a simple childhood story has become a spark in his soul. He asks for more stories, more answers, more ways to learn.

"Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire."

(William Butler Yeats)

It hasn't always been this way. In his baby days, he "devoured" books, in the most literal sense of the word. He was partial to the ones from the library, of course.

Then to the stage where he wanted to do nothing but "move." It's hard to read to a toddler running helter skelter through the house.

Next phase? The I-Hate-Listening-To-These-Long-And-Boring-Stories, Whatever-Do-They-Mean, Can-I-Have-A-Snack-Yet-Please.

(Well, minus the "please" part.)

But over time, the spark was lit. And unlike Dorothy, I won't be throwing any water on the fire.