So my son Emmett is 12, and every night I tuck him in, usually with a chat, a story, a trivia question.
Lately, though, I’ve been doing something different: I read him my next book.
To my great shock, he requested it a few weeks ago. So, four or five nights per week, I sit at the end of his bed and read and read and read. Oftentimes he quietly listens. On occasion he offers suggestions—generally good ones, like a certain word choice or repetitive pattern. I value his input and (more importantly) value the time together.
I’m aware how quickly the kids are growing. Emmett is entering eighth grade, Casey is about to be a high school junior.
So I sit and I read and when I’m done I usually hear the kindest words imaginable.
“Can you read a little more more?”