When I picked up my youngest from preschool this week, I was delighted to see on the colorful, hand-written poster labeled “What We Did Today” that the class read the good old classic, Leo the Late Bloomer, by Robert Kraus and Jose Aruego. I asked my little guy about it and he said, “at the beginning he couldn’t do anything but then he could.” An apt retelling, indeed.
I remember this book. From early, early on. It may be the very first book I truly remember having read to me, though my parents buried me in books from the time I was born. What has always stuck in my mind was how much I identified with little Leo the tiger, who couldn’t do the things that other kids could: read, write, draw, eat nicely, or speak. I was a late bloomer myself, especially when it came to talking. I have no memory of this. But I do remember my own parents reading this book to me and knowing they chose it on purpose, for me. Leo wasn’t just a passing character to my reticent little self, he was a direct message of encouragement from my own family.
This is the power of reading books to kids.
(By the way, the above link will take you to my new favorite online source for books, Bookshop.org. It supports local bookstores through its sales. Check it out!)
