The Memories Books Hold: a Reflection

He’d just sat down to his lunch. I was finishing up something in the kitchen before I’d join him at the table, my daily lunch date with my youngest son.

That morning we’d played a matching game, rammed a few cars together, sung a few songs, and now nap time was creeping closer. But first lunch and stories.

“Did you pick a story for us to read?” I said.

“Oh, yeah!” he said. It’s become a ritual: He pretends to forget, I remind him, he races to the bookshelf ten or so feet away, in our home lib...