Books

On those chilly evenings my legs would be tucked into my over sized tee shirts. I would snuggle closer to Papa while my feet searched out a crevice of warmth near his leg. I could stare into the wood stove and let my life go. The daily world faded and Papa's voice was my magic carpet to worlds of passion, hardship, and strength. He would read on and on. I loved it.

Eighteen eyes and ears all bent towards me, contented faces some tucked into their arms, others resting near their desks. The students watch me and listen. I never hold their attention so well as when I read to them. Sure they can read on their own, but the power of these voiced stories bewitches them. And I am happy to give them a glimpse of my own childhood.

If my kids possess a passion for stories when I leave, I will have succeeded. If they would rather hear a story than watch cartoons I will have given them the gift that can explode their world.