reading to my children

When I’m older I wonder how I will read bedtime stories to my children, or if I will. Will I curl up in bed with them that first night that I read to them and crack the fresh spine of a new children’s book, or gently open up the first musty smelling page of one of my old books. Will they like my favorite stories of “Ferdinand the Bull” or of “Goodnight Moon”? Maybe culture, the world, will have changed so much that those books will no longer inspire the minds of young readers. Maybe they will already be born with different minds. What if babies came out reading? Not in our lifetime, but it is something to think about. No, I think our children will be raised on kindles and ipads and goodness knows what else. I think that books will begin to fade and they will become harder to find, they will become expensive. Only the rich kids in the private schools will have books and they will carry them around like some sort of status symbol in the fifth grade. The rest of them will be left to work with the bright screens that everyone else sees around them everywhere, all the time. Maybe there won’t even be a point in reading our children bedtime stories, I really hope that it isn’t the case but it’s such a mystery.