The Magic of Becoming a Reader


By Maria Elena Miles-Dunlap

My son was 12 when his attitude towards reading changed.

Before 1998 he had liked books: That’s liked, not loved.  He was the odd man out in a family which considered reading as important to life as breathing. In 1998 he read a book that made him realize that books, or more specifically, the stories that books told, were capable of being so special that one’s response to them must be, could only be, love.  He was so enthralled by the story he was reading that he spent one fall weekend reading the book from beginning to end.  No sports; no computer games; no television.  Just a 12-year-old and a book. Continue reading

I Once Met a Dead Victorian

I once met a dead Victorian

Who claimed to know Khachatorian

But when asked to hum Spartacus,

…uhm, de dum de dum de whatus? I can’t finish it. I’m a terrible poet and I know it; I’ve little rime, no rhythm, and less reason. My favorite couplet is by Grahame. “The clever men at Oxford know all there is be knowed./ But they none of them knows one half as much as intelligent Mr. Toad.”

Such eloquence, such insight, such a delicious violation of logic – by the way, Spell Check says Mr. Toad made up that word, “knowed”. Anyway, today I’m in a silly mood, while yesterday I wasn’t so much and wrote what follows. Continue reading