When I was a child, my parents taught me to read. More than that, they inspired within me a desire to read. They read to me, and by doing so, they awoke my imagination. Living in a small town in Oklahoma, we had about an acre of trees out back that we lovingly referred to as “the forest.” In the forest, we had a fire pit, a table, and an area that we could hang out in. But most of all, there was a hammock. When I was young, my father hung Christmas lights around this area. Late at night, we would walk down to the forest together. He’d carry a flashlight, but sometimes the moon was all of the light that we needed. In autumn, we’d climb up into the hammock and wrap ourselves in a big blanket. He would read to me.
He read to me some of my favorite stories – some that I still love today. He’d read to me out of the Bible sometimes. Sometimes, he’d read the Chronicles of Narnia. But sometimes he’d read my favorites: The Hardy Boys. The Hardy Boys reminded me of myself. They were always looking for adventure. One of them had blonde hair and one of them had brown hair, just like my little brother and me. I truly believe that by reading to me, my dad awoke the passion and curiosity that I still have today.
Sometimes, when we’d finish a book, my dad would make up stories. I loved to be the protagonist, and he’d make my friends the supporting characters. Though we weren’t technically writing, these efforts helped shape and mold my creative and imaginative qualities. I’m most definitely going to do these things with my children because I believe that it is imperative to a child’s development by nurturing his or her imagination.
Image Information: Leslie McFarlane, Author of "The Hardy Boys"
Source: Keeline
