When thinking back to my childhood memories, I think of the times that Dad would read to us. We would sit on his lap after dinner, or gather near his chair. Sometimes it would be tales from a story section of the newspaper, or Aesop’s Fables, or Brer Rabbit. I loved the attention he would give us. I especially liked how he would “speak” for the characters and read with a lot of inflection. The story that comes to mind is when Brer Rabbit gets caught by the wolf but gets out of his pickle by convincing the wolf to throw him into the briar patch. “Don’t you throw me into that briar patch!” I also love the Aesop’s Fables he would read, because he would explain the moral to the story. The story of sour grapes comes to mind. I think I remember it because I could relate to the fox who couldn’t get the grapes. They were probably sour like he reckoned! I didn’t see what was so bad about his thinking.
There are times now when I read to my grandchildren and times in the past when I read to my children, that I can channel my dad. It has become a tradition for me to read The Night Before Christmas on Christmas Eve. The children gather around me while I read the story, just before they go to bed. I can feel my dad during those special moments, and I try to do him proud.
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