Pretty much from the minute she came out of my belly, my husband and I read to our daughter. All through the infant and toddler years, books were everywhere. My girl had 3 bookshelves full of books all to herself long before preschool. Now she is nine and a reading dynamo. She reads at a 7th grade level and has read over 300 books in each of the past 2 summers. So you’d think she doesn’t need us to read to her anymore, right?
Wrong.
Reading aloud to your child at any age is still a bonding experience. Sharing the story, living it together, is a joint adventure. It’s a memory you make. It’s also a good teaching tool. The vocabulary building is a major benefit. Teaching the child how to properly pronounce words they’ve only read is a secondary benefit. For example, teaching my daughter that “yacht” was not pronounced “yack-et.” Haven’t we all been there, wanting to use a word in conversation but not having any idea how it’s said?
Another good reason to read with your older child is because it sparks conversations about deeper issues. We talk about why people behave the way they do in the story. We discuss why people in the story feel the way they do, and maybe how she would feel in a similar situation. Sometimes it will open a conversation about something that happened to her at school. It is a good way for a child to explore confusing or intimidating social situations from the safety of their home and their parents’ arms.
But one of the main reasons I like reading aloud to my older child is a sneaky one. My daughter loves to read, but she is resistant to trying new authors or series. I have been trying to get her to read Misty of Chincoteague for months, because I was sure she would like it. No dice. So on our President’s Day holiday, she asked me to read to her and I brought out Misty. I read to her for an hour and a half (pretty near lost my voice). She kept interrupting with questions about what was going to happen, paid close attention to everything, exclaimed and reacted in all the right places. And once I stopped reading it (about 3/4 of the way through), she took it with her and finished it by the next morning. And now she’s reading the sequel, Stormy, Misty’s Foal.
Success.
This is not the first time I have read her into a new series. I did it with the Little House books, too. My daughter is an anxious child, she dislikes going out of her comfort zone. So me reading a new book or author to her allows her to feel safe while exploring new works—and more often than not she then jumps in with both feet. So reading aloud to your older child is a great way to pique their interest in new books, series, and authors.
I will gladly read aloud to my daughter until she no longer wants me to. And I will continue to read “with” her by reading books she has to read for school. I want the book conversations to continue. I want the shared experience to continue. I want the bond to continue.
And then, someday, perhaps she will read to me when my eyesight is failing, and the circle will be complete.





Separating the Art from the Artist
With the recent documentaries on R. Kelly and Michael Jackson, the perennial debate has resurfaced: when an artist does reprehensible things, what is the appropriate reaction to his art? Do we boycott, or can we indulge with a clear conscience?
This dilemma is not new. Roman Polanski, Woody Allen, Bill Cosby. Many of the greats have turned out to have feet of clay or worse. So where does that leave their art?
I have struggled with this, as have many people. In the end, when it comes to movies and TV and music, I have decided it is okay to enjoy the art despite the artist. These ventures are the product of multiple people’s efforts, and it seems unfair to punish all the others involved because of the actions of one.
Writers who have been called out for racism or misogyny are more problematic for me. A book is usually the work of a single person, and their worldview and biases almost always creep into their books. Names that come immediately to mind are H.P. Lovecraft, Orson Scott Card, and Laura Ingalls Wilder, all of whom have been subjects of controversy in the past few years. Lovecraft’s bust was removed as the statuette for the World Fantasy awards in 2015, Laura Ingalls Wilder’s name was removed from the Children’s Literature Legacy Award in 2018, and Orson Scott Card’s politics are acknowledged to be racist and homophobic. But where does that leave their works?
People are not black and white. We all are a mix of the ugly and the angel. Our society needs to stop with the either-or and realize it is “and”. These people did or said horrible things, AND they created art that moved us, touched us, became woven into the fabric of our lives. They were both beauty and beast.
Instead of jettisoning the beauty, we need to begin the difficult and painful task of contextualizing our celebrity heroes. Is it possible to condemn the actions, condemn the artist, while embracing the art? I believe it is. There is even a possibility that their lasting works of art grew out of the very damage that also caused them to behave in the ways they have—two sides of a coin.
Disgusting people can create beautiful art.
Brilliant artists can be awful human beings.
Evil people can do good things.
Their art can still teach us, touch us, and illuminate something deep about the human condition.
Art transcends time, space, and the artist themselves.
In the end, every consumer of art needs to draw their own line in the sand. That line will be different for each person. Predatory or bigoted behavior should absolutely be called out no matter who does it. But removing the good with the evil leaves the world a darker, bleaker place.
So my take is not to boycott the art, but to contextualize it, to teach the people coming to it for the first time where it came from. The artist’s actions will inevitably color the relationship of people to the art, as it should. This experience of placing the art in relation to the artist causes the viewer’s mind to wrestle with the deep complexity of human nature—which is exactly what art is supposed to do.