Reading aloud
I went by my mother’s yesterday to bring her some Turkish cookies. Jake couldn’t wait to get there because he knew once she had seen the box of cookies, he’d finally be able to get one. When we got there, a young Hispanic man was sitting in a chair under her stairs reading a Spanish novel aloud. It struck me as the oddest thing – he was intent on what he was reading, almost like it was a prayer book, but it wasn’t – he was saying things like, “Y ella lo miro y….,” some steamy Spanish romance.
People used to read aloud – reading to yourself is a rather modern phenomenon. Still I can’t imagine visualizing while reading out loud – even though I love to hear someone read to me – I miss that about school – listening to poetry – to passages from novels where each word falls heavy into each sentence and forms an idea, impression, or image never known until that moment.