The Reader

My son loves books.

He loves them so much, he can't help but look for someone to share them with.

I'm the sharer -- for now.

Adam loved stories from the time he was born.  I was in college at the time, and read him my homework.  I remember pausing a time or two during Othello and thinking "Whoa! That's a little mature!"  He didn't seem to mind.

As he grew, his tastes changed.  At first, he loved what I loved.  It wasn't long, though, before he started to wrinkle his nose at some of my favorites.

He didn't care for girlie lit.  Wasn't a fan of Pooh.  That still makes me sigh.  He hated Beatrice and all things Judy Blume.  He ran out of interest for Junie B. Jones and all her interesting childhood feats.  Wasn't a fan of comics. 

Really?

And then we found it -- fantasy.  The boy loves fantasy.  Think Inkheart.  Think Harry Potter.  Think anything dinosaur/warrior.

He became an instant lover of Batman.  MUCH to my dismay, the boy wore a cape for an entire year. 

He can't read and love something without wanting to share it.  His latest passion is the Ranger's Apprentice series.  He kept asking me to read it.

Adam wants discussion partners, and is INCREDIBLY persuasive.  I mean, he's a nag.  He broke me -- mostly because I got busy and ran out of my own reading material.

I started reading his series.

Last night I said to him:  "Adam.  I love this series.  Why didn't you tell me to read it earlier?"

Ahem.  Imagine the most disgustingly deserved Eye Roll.

He suggested.  I just don't listen sometimes.

Interestingly enough, he doesn't care for the latest craze in vampires.  Neither do I.  We both find the undead anti-Christian, anti-life, and completely unworthy of our time.

I'm thankful he's discerning.

He's thankful I can be persuaded to walk his path.

It's a win-win situation.