Reading

I don't know about most of you, but when I was in school, we learned how to read with books involving, Dick and Jane, and their dog Spot.  As I got older, Dick and Jane were replaced by books without pictures and with chapters.  Eventually, as I got older, the books got bigger, as did the words in them.  Now that I'm a lawyer, half my day is spent reading books filled with language and comments no one can undrstand so that we can earn the money we charge to explain that "estoppel" is just a fancy word for stop.

When Lela started first grade, I assumed that she too would be reading about Dick and Jane.  Boy was I wrong.  I'm not sure what happened to Dick and Jane; I assumed they got married, had some kids, went through a nasty divorce, and are now co-parenting kids who are in therapy.  I'm sure Spot is long dead, buried in back yard of the family home that was sold as part of the divorce.  The reason I am sure of all this is that Lela has no idea who these people are.  Instead, she is reading about the rain forest in the Amazon, how to build castles, and astronauts.  I know this because she has homework.  Yes, homework in the first grade.  And Lela, being Lela, decided that instead of doing her homework at home (what a novel idea), she would read to me every morning on the way to school so that I could try not to crash while signing her slip to prove she read to me.  I must admit, I actually loved hearing her read to me and was caught off guard by how well she could read.  Until one day, she was reading about libraries.  She began by telling me what a library is and why it's good to have one.  Then she read, with all the surety she could muster, "There is a library in almost every negrohood."

"What did you say,"  I asked, trying my best not to laugh.

"There is a library in almost every negrohood" she repeated, loudly this time in case I was just hard of hearing.

I couldn't help it; I laughed, and I laughed hard.  I know, bad mommy, but I couldn't help myself.  I told her that it was neighborhood, not negrohood, once I could control myself.  Lela looked me dead in the eye, and with all seriousness, said "Mommy, we don't laugh when people make a mistake."  Guess that will teach me.  Sorry, Lela, but they clearly didn't teach manners in my negrohood.