My mother Jean Browne, 85, died in her sleep last week here in Atlanta. She was the parent who read to us as kids and read to her grandchildren as well. I have a tape (somewhere) of her reading the “Little Ginger Bread Boy” from the My Book House Collection to my daughter Cynthia.
There are probably studies that confirm this, but I never could see how a person could learn to enjoy reading without having being introduced to those pleasures as a child. And to this, I attribute part of my interest in books to her, though I believe it was my paternal grandmother who showed me later that a person who did a lot of reading was naturally interesting.
There are sad experiences surrounding my mother's late decline (though she lived independently until this year) but in my memory she will remain the person who read to me as a child and for this, and many other things, I am indebted.
(In this 1959 photo I am the little guy on the left, my sister Kay is on my mother's lap, and my brother Neil is on the right.)