Her daughter’s birth was the turning point in the English teacher’s life story. Nestled with soft terrycloth-clad baby weight in the glider, she knew the life in the child’s veins was her own A- blood. An adopted child herself, the new mother finally had a wonderful gift, one she had longed for from childhood: the ability to see pieces of herself in another person. What could this former English teacher give her now, as a new mother, to show the child how enveloped her soul was with love for her?
She read her stories. First board books with colors and shapes, then little stories with bunnies and moons. She told her stories, sweet ones like when she first opened her eyes in the hospital and funny ones like when she yelled her brother’s name so close to her mother’s pregnant belly that the baby kicked. The child would giggle, “Tell me again about me.” And again. And again.
She started school, and every night she would beg her mother to read to her in bed. The child’s hair grew longer, straighter, as did her legs. Her eyes turned a strange greenish-bluish-gray to match her mother’s. They read longer books. Suddenly, the words unlocked for the child, and she could read: chapter books, paperbacks that her mother catches herself reading when the girl is at school, books about fairies and magic tree houses. Now she is seven, and she reads herself to sleep. She only needs her mother to put out the light.
One night the child came downstairs waving a novel about a kid’s diary. “Mom, this is sooooo funny! Please, please, please, come to my room so I can read it to you!”
And that was the best gift that a former English teacher mom could ever have.
(298 words)
Author’s Note: This flash was originally written for the 12 Days of Christmas Blog Hop section. The prompt was "Stories" and the instructions were to write "a tale of tales."
*Images from Pinterest*
This post reminds me of how much it meant that my sister Sharon always read to me. If not for her, I probably wouldn't have developed such a love for stories.
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