by Maria Tussing

Created on: May 27, 2008

"Once upon a time..." The very words are magic. Long before I could read I learned that the most magical words are neatly encased between the covers of books.

Growing up in the modern age of the 1980s without a TV, my brothers and I learned that reading was a choice. And with my mother carefully selecting the first books we heard, it was an exciting choice. My earliest memory is of my head on my mother's chest, delighting in the vibration of her voice spinning the stories of "Where the Red Fern Grows," "Charlotte's Web," and "Old Yeller." While that list may indicate a macabre fascination with dying pets, those were the books that spoke to us. On long evenings we learned about the empathy, triumph and pain of being human. For me, that was a magic that held true long after the TV entered our home, long after reading was the choice I made.

I learned the value of imagination from Anne Shirley, the glory of the mountains from Heidi, the pain of poverty from Christy and the necessity of independence from Laura. I had friends who never grew up, never betrayed me and stayed true to themselves. In learning to love books I learned to never be bored. My vocabulary eclipsed that of my classmates. I learned to read faster, think faster and reason with more imagination.

Now that I'm an adult with three young children, I'm learning that reading is about togetherness. We've traversed the ups and downs of "Charlotte's Web" and are now delighting in the antics of the goats on the mountain with Heidi. Together we wrap ourselves in a world apart from the one in which we set the table, wash the dishes and deal with bad dreams.

It's with mixed feelings that I anticipate my oldest son learning to read. While he will discover the glory and promise a book can hold, he'll no longer need me to reveal it to him. It's another part of growing up and letting go, and I can only hope that I've made reading the obvious choice for him.

For now, I'll cuddle my kids in my lap while I read about Heidi and her goats. When my daughter is older she'll meet "Anne of Green Gables," Laura Ingalls Wilder and "Christy." Together we'll hear the stories that have tied generations together with the threads of humor, intelligence, empathy and forgiveness.

And as odd as it sounds, I hope my son will cry at the end of "Old Yeller." Because that's one of the things books teach us-it's okay to be human.

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