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I grew up reading almost everything I could get my hands on. Thrilled that I showed so much interest, no one prohibited or directed my passion. Unfortunately, my ability to read words and understand plots did not mean that I was mature enough to assess the morality or "truth content" of the works I was encountering. At fourteen, who is equipped to weigh the ideas of the German philosopher Nietzsche? And even some of the "great books" I read too early left me confused.
My experience at least had the advantage of prodding me to take a more savvy approach with my own children. Especially when they were younger, I went to the library with them and noticed what they were checking out. I helped them to choose books that were good for their age—for example, adventure stories for fourth-graders, rather than stories about young people who are dating and making life decisions. And I didn’t insist that they start with the classics. If they preferred to read Redwall (a well-written epic about mice), that was fine by me!
Let’s Talk.
As the family has gotten older, I’ve tried not to impose restrictions so heavy that the kids are tempted to sneak. Within limits, I’d rather allow some books I’m not crazy about than have them reading things on the sly. Along with this,…
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