Bedtime Story

Careful not to bump my head, I duck into his domain. Awkwardly I get seated, back to the wall and legs stretched before me, feet thrust under the hanging sheet that defines our cozy little den. While the cat sniffs my toes, I reach for the first book on their stack, and they settle in on either side of me. Anticipation personified as little boys. The act of opening the book is the threshold of magic. Sometimes, I think the actual story is (at this age) of little consequence to them. It is language that enthralls: words, rhythm, intonation. The music of the printed page. Language and art, for picture books dominate our bedtimes still. I am as likely as they to get lost in an illustration, to feel the pull of these worlds conceived and translated so beautifully from the imaginations of others. And therein lies the true magic of course: it is my love, my admiration, my anticipation and satisfaction from these books that feeds my little boys. Without my presence and love, books would not hold such value for them. So the books bring us back again: a small tousled head on each mommy shoulder, three faces focused together on one book, marveling together at the beauty and power of the written word.

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Thumbs-up tonight for this commencement speech by JK Rowling. Scroll down to find the text of the speech. I really liked it a lot!
Find the NPR story here.