The other night, as I was putting my kids to bed, my 5-year-old son grabbed a book off of the bookshelf. He pulled the book, “Are You My Mother?” by P.D. Eastman. For the record, my son loves books and will sit on his bed, browsing through them, looking at the pictures. He loved nothing more than to listen to one of us, my husband or myself, read the Captain Underpants chapter books to him. But he hasn’t quite yet learned how to read on his own. So when he took “Are You My Mother” off the shelf, I will admit I was a little curious.
He turned halfway through the book and started reading. “I will go and…l…lo…look for her,” he read slowly and quietly, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear. “O…o…u…t. Mom, what is this word?” he turned to me.
“Out,” I said, trying to hide my smile.
“Out of the n…n…e…s…t. N-e-s-t. Nest! Out of the nest he w…went. Out of the nest he went,” he continued a little longer.
I couldn’t believe it. My heart swelled with pride. My son was reading! My sweet son was reading all by himself. I could not be any more proud of him than I was at that moment. He has come such a long way since the beginning of the year and I can’t believe he’s reading. There were many moments when I wasn’t sure if this would happen this school year, but here he is now, reading on his own.
I am so grateful to his teachers for pushing him and believing in him. I really attribute all of his growth to them and I will forever be indebted to all of them. Thank you to his teachers and all the other teachers out there who tirelessly give of themselves, day in and day out.