May 17: My Son, Saint Paschal Baylon, Reading

Paschal Baylon, today's saint, was born in 1540 in the Kingdom of Aragon.  The thing that sticks out in his biography, for me anyway, is how much he wanted to read.  According to my book, "[s]o great was his desire for instruction that while tending his sheep he carried a book with him and begged those he met to teach him the alphabet.  Thus, in a short time he learned to read."  The reason I'm focusing on this fact is that my son doesn't seem that interested in reading, and I think it's my fault.

When my daughter was born, I read to her all the time.  When she was an infant, I read to her.  When she was three years old, I read her Charlotte's Web.  My daughter is now ten, and she loves reading.  She's currently working through the Harry Potter books.  She's always at the top of reading in her class.

I haven't invested as much time in my son's reading.  Right now, he has very little patience for even sitting down to look through a picture book.  He'd rather be up, moving, destroying.  One of his favorite books was a board book of trucks.  It had wheels and pictures of different vehicles.  He ripped the wheels off the book and tore it apart.

Now, some people will tell me, "Well, that's just what boys do."  I'm not convinced that his inability to sit for even the shortest story is just a "boy" thing.  Until he's forced to sit or lie down, he's in constant motion.  At times, his infinite supply of energy is exhausting.  This weekend, when we were travelling, trying to strap him in his carseat was like landing a marlin on a deep sea fishing trip.  Now, I may be overreacting.  I may be seeing things in his behavior that just don't exist.  However, Paschal Baylon makes me feel guilty.  My daughter never had a problem with reading, because I always read to her.  I haven't done that for my son.

Last week, I read him a Dr. Seuss book, Hop on Pop, I think.  After he stopped trying to rip the pages out, he really liked it.  He sat through the whole thing.  That tells me he would sit still if I took time each night to read to him.  I know my son will never be Paschal Baylon.  He won't beg people to teach him the alphabet.  But he will sit in my lap and let me read One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish to him.  I'm going to read to him tonight before he goes to bed.  I'm a freakin' English professor.  That's what I should do.

Nobody ever told Saint Marty being a father was going to be so tough.  So much work.  So much guilt.  So much love.

My son, sitting down for once