It's very important for parents to read to their children, for not only does it help the children develop the skills they will need to learn to read, but it also expands their understanding of the world around them (in today's world, information can effectively be obtained in so many ways), but because of the family memories involved. When I think of childhood memories, the first thing I think of is how many are of books and family.
There is one book in particular that, to me, is synonymous with the word grandmother. Its a French children's novel entitled Sans Famille that my (French) grandmother gave me on my seventh or eight birthday. My grandmother wanted all of the children in her mixed family, including my brother, sister and myself, to become better acquainted with the French language. A lot of times we just don't realize how precious the time is that we can spend with someone we love. If we only knew what the future holds we would not be so selfish with our time.
She used to lay within the garden, sitting with a big cup of cold lemonade on the table next to her. I would stand behind her chair. The book, which was a coffee table size book with colored pictures and large print, would be open on her lap. Looking over her shoulder, I had to read aloud. Sans Famille was written in the late 1800s and is the story of a young orphan, Remi, who was sold to an old street musician and had to travel across France in the company of his master, a couple of performing dogs and a monkey. I suppose one can compare it to Charles Dickens Oliver Twist NOT cheerful reading.
I understand about 30% of what I read when I read aloud with my current knowledge of the French language. My grandmother would correct my pronunciation, and ask if I understood. Yes, perfectly, Mamie was always my answer. Then she would point at a word and ask, what does this mean? I would look desperately at the lovely colored picture on the page for inspiration. If I didn't guess the correct meaning of the word, we would have to read the whole chapter again, which happened more often than not. We didnt finish the book by the end of that summer, and I was convinced I never wanted to see it again, ever. Ah, but you know what? I was able to complete the book while in bed with the use of a dictionary. I had to find out how the story ended. It had a happy ending by the way. The orphan boy finally found his family, in London, and discovered he was the heir to a large fortune.
My father would read to us about Sinbad, the sailor, in Arabic when it was bedtime. We were not as old as we are now. I was five years old. Though I have never had the chance to read those stories personally, I will take them with me in memory. My father was smart to make it less like work and turn it into a game. After he was finished reading us the story, it was time for bed. We all three shared a single room. On a few occassions, Sindbad would visit us in our rooms shortly after we had gone to sleep. It was my father of course, wearing a wide old cape and standing in the shadow of the doorway. At that time we had no idea who he was. He would ask each of us in turn how we were, and what could Sindbad do for us tonight?
One night, when Sindbad asked my brother what he could do for him ,my brother answered that he hated his father and wanted him to go away. Whatever the problem had been that had made my brother say that, it was resolved the next day.
If you are looking to bring the family closer, then books for children is the way to go. Your children may resist books and reading, but I believe its important to make books a part of their lives. They will have fond memories of you with it.
There is one book in particular that, to me, is synonymous with the word grandmother. Its a French children's novel entitled Sans Famille that my (French) grandmother gave me on my seventh or eight birthday. My grandmother wanted all of the children in her mixed family, including my brother, sister and myself, to become better acquainted with the French language. A lot of times we just don't realize how precious the time is that we can spend with someone we love. If we only knew what the future holds we would not be so selfish with our time.
She used to lay within the garden, sitting with a big cup of cold lemonade on the table next to her. I would stand behind her chair. The book, which was a coffee table size book with colored pictures and large print, would be open on her lap. Looking over her shoulder, I had to read aloud. Sans Famille was written in the late 1800s and is the story of a young orphan, Remi, who was sold to an old street musician and had to travel across France in the company of his master, a couple of performing dogs and a monkey. I suppose one can compare it to Charles Dickens Oliver Twist NOT cheerful reading.
I understand about 30% of what I read when I read aloud with my current knowledge of the French language. My grandmother would correct my pronunciation, and ask if I understood. Yes, perfectly, Mamie was always my answer. Then she would point at a word and ask, what does this mean? I would look desperately at the lovely colored picture on the page for inspiration. If I didn't guess the correct meaning of the word, we would have to read the whole chapter again, which happened more often than not. We didnt finish the book by the end of that summer, and I was convinced I never wanted to see it again, ever. Ah, but you know what? I was able to complete the book while in bed with the use of a dictionary. I had to find out how the story ended. It had a happy ending by the way. The orphan boy finally found his family, in London, and discovered he was the heir to a large fortune.
My father would read to us about Sinbad, the sailor, in Arabic when it was bedtime. We were not as old as we are now. I was five years old. Though I have never had the chance to read those stories personally, I will take them with me in memory. My father was smart to make it less like work and turn it into a game. After he was finished reading us the story, it was time for bed. We all three shared a single room. On a few occassions, Sindbad would visit us in our rooms shortly after we had gone to sleep. It was my father of course, wearing a wide old cape and standing in the shadow of the doorway. At that time we had no idea who he was. He would ask each of us in turn how we were, and what could Sindbad do for us tonight?
One night, when Sindbad asked my brother what he could do for him ,my brother answered that he hated his father and wanted him to go away. Whatever the problem had been that had made my brother say that, it was resolved the next day.
If you are looking to bring the family closer, then books for children is the way to go. Your children may resist books and reading, but I believe its important to make books a part of their lives. They will have fond memories of you with it.
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