My daughter read me a book today.
She’s been “reading” me stories for months now, but until today that meant her telling me stories of her own invention about the characters in the book. These stories usually lacked a narrative throughline and some thematic consistency, but they made up for that with mad innovation and exciting events.
Tonight though, the words she read were the same words that were on the page.
Holy crap.
Now, admittedly, it was a pretty simple book (one of the “Clifford the Big Red Dog” helps you read books), and I think she probably had memorized the story more than read it, but still… it blew my mind.
And then, to top it off, while I’m losing my mind about this, she looks at me and says “I knew you would be so proud of me when I read this book.”
I believe my heart exploded.
That is all.
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