I've always been a reader, or so it seems to me. My mother tells me I was reading before I started Kindergarten, and I have no real memories of learning. It's just something I've already done. I always have a book in my bag, along with my knitting. I read prolifically, and cherish our local library for the books rather than for the free internet.
It was a bit of a surprise to find that my firstborn child was what some might call a "reluctant" reader. It is common among (though not limited to) boys of his age. He didn't find it fun to practise letter sounds, and dug his heels in when I suggested even games involved reading.
So, suppressing my growing unease, I just kept reading to him. I find books that will interest him: chemistry, spies, history, geography. Whereas his sisters will sit for an hour or more if someone reads aloud to them, Jude needs shorter chunks of time. Gradually, we've started sharing the reading, and I'm overjoyed to see his progress in sounding out harder words.
Flat Stanley and the Cam Jansen series seem to be right at his level. I've learned to resist comparing what he's reading to what other boys his age are reading. I have yet to see him curl up with a book, reading on his own for pleasure. My parenting mantra, Faith and Patience, is being put to good use these days, and I know our house is well-equipped with cozy reading spots. One of these days, he'll find one, and will find it irresistible.
For now, it's enough to see him smile when I beam at his efforts, and to know he cherishes this rare one-on-one time with either of his parents.