When I was a child, mum would read to me every night. After a bedtime
prayer, I would be tucked up in bed while mum sat on the edge of the bed.
She would open a book, draw her breath and begin to read.
I never had any idea whom I'd meet on those magical nights. There was Alice
going through the looking glass; Robinson Crusoe on his island; Oliver Twist
starving in the workhouse or Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in the lab.
As the years passed, I grew up, went to universiy, and found work as a
newspaper reporter. Mum grew old and frail. Now she is an invalid, confined
to bed. Her body may be weak but her mind is as bright as ever. I read to her
now, from some of the well-worn and dog eared books she read to me so
long ago.
Sometimes I think back to my childhood nights when mum would be weary
after a long day's work but was never too tired to open a book and read to me.
I thank God for the most precious gift I have ever received - the gift of words
and books.