Junior and I were snuggled in the rocking chair last night, iPad before us, great British narrator's voice reading the words of our bedtime story aloud. I was watching my son follow along, whispering quietly to himself as each word became illuminated. He was enthralled, loving that he could keep up with the narrator and feeling quite big for "reading" the story himself.
It took me back -- waaaay back, I have to admit -- to the pink and green bedroom I shared with my big sister in Oklahoma and the Fisher-Price record player that stood beside my bed. I was a huge Soupy Sales fan in those days (who wasn't?), and my parents presented me with a great new find: Soupy Sales Reads a Wonder Book.
It was a simple children's book accompanied by a 45 record. Pop it onto your record player and voila!, Soupy Sales was right there in your room reading Silly Sidney or another title aloud. I could not get enough of Soupy. I holed up in my room each evening to get my daily dose, and before long, I was venturing off to read other things beyond Sidney.
And it will be the same for my little guy. He looks forward to reading time, whether it's my voice or anyone else in the family reading to him, or even this anonymous Brit who joined us last night. He simply loves to have a story read to him. But soon -- all too soon, I fear -- he'll be ready to climb into the rocking chair on his own and read a book like Silly Sidney all by himself.
He'll have his own Soupy Sales to thank.