“Today’s just for the two of us,” I’ll say to my son or daughter. “Where should we go?”

“To the bookstore!” is the usual answer. 

We go to the bookstore and browse, discussing what to get, remembering what we already have, and what we don’t, on our own bookshelf. We talk about what we’ve dreamed of reading and new titles by favorite authors. Then, with our purchases in tow, we head to a cafe for coffee or hot chocolate, where we can sit and read our new books. Or we’ll discuss what we read the day before. This is how we strengthen our bonds through reading.

Sometimes my mom calls me.

“Thanks for that book you gave me for Christmas!” she says. “I read it and here’s what I think....”

I listen. Then we argue, we laugh, we plan when I can pick up the book to read it myself. The effect is the same: it’s not about what we’re reading. It’s about reading bringing us closer.

Or, I’m leading an activity and I read the kids a book about the death of a dog named Ajax [Ulf Stark’s En stjärna vid namn Ajax (A Star Called Ajax)]. My throat constricts. The children wipe away tears. After the read-aloud, they hug me tight. Reading brings us together, not as a series of words on paper, but as a deep-felt shared experience. Neither I nor the kids will forget that day. It reinforces an invisible connection between us, which will long be felt.

And then there’s the opposite scenario. Parents bring a child in and tell me: 

“We have a problem. He’s constantly reading. Tell him that there’s a world outside of books. We’re sick of having him hiding from real life in those books of his!”

It’s hard to listen to…. Reading has taken over yet again, but this time it serves no unifying purpose.

Or I’ll hear:

“She doesn’t read at all! Teach her to read well! Or she’ll grow up dumb, just like her father. Oh, by the way, we don’t live together!”

Times like that, you just want to cover your ears, so as not to hear the relationships coming apart at the seams.

There are other variants:

“I”ve told him a hundred times: read books! He’s glued to his tablet! How can you be such a moron?”

“Reading makes you smarter, but all they care about is getting new things! It’s always “buy this, buy that.” If they’d just pick up a book….

“I bought her a ton of books, if she’d just open one of them out of respect for her father! It’s shameful! Now when I was her age….”

So is the issue even reading? That’s the question I’d like to ask. Should we worry that a child doesn’t read once we give ourselves that right to call him a moron or say he’s dumb, to devalue his activities and hurt his dignity? In this case, what is he supposed to learn from someone who was a “voracious reader at his age”?

Reading books is like a magic potion. It can give us strength and wings to fly. It can give us a toolbox to learn about the world and ourselves in the world. It can allow us to immerse ourselves in the mysteries of human nature. But if we don’t use it according to instructions, that magic potion becomes a poison, which corrodes the ties that bind us—the ties between people who love each other, but, for whatever reason, can’t see eye to eye.

Yulia Kuznetsova
Translated from the Russian by Alisa Cherkasova
Cover image: flickr.com

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