“Are you okay?” my 12-year-old asks. We’re in the car, heading to the gym so he can lift weights and play basketball. My plan? To head to the neighborhood pub for a lonely glass of wine while he’s busy sweating.
My post is up on Nerdy Book Club! Do you read Nerdy Book Club? They’re fabulous. Smart, funny, with great taste. I’m honored to be a part of it!
When I was about 12 years old, I decided to read A Midsummer Night’s Dream. My mom was impressed. We went to the library and picked it up, along with Hamlet, just because, and I carried them home with a reverence usually reserved for books by Madeleine L’Engle and Noel Streatfield, my usual favorites that year.
But…what were these words? This wasn’t even English, was it? I didn’t understand any of it. Within a page or two of Midsummer, I was done, discouraged, disappointed. I didn’t even attempt Hamlet. Shakespeare, I decided, wasn’t for me.
It wasn’t until about five years later, when a high school English teacher got up in front of the class and performed the “To be or not to be” soliloquy with passion and total commitment that I was willing to give it another shot. And with daily read alouds, a steady…
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