I have no idea what book we're reading in the picture but I find it funny that we're sitting on a rock, in the middle of the great out of doors, reading a book. Funny, but fairly normal as well. With an English professor for a father and a mother who rereads "Rise and Fall of the Third Reich" for fun every once in a while, what else would we do?
The earliest stories I remember my parents reading to me were from Winnie the Pooh (Help, Help a Horrible Heffalump!). Those were cannon in our family--even used occasionally in Sunday School lessons by my father. I had a whole set of stuffed animals to represent all the characters--Pooh was actually a Teddy Bear and Tigger was some sort of Tiger, Kanga was a stuffed Siamese cat from what I remember and it kind of went downhill from there. They were very good act acting out the stories though so all was well.
There were always plenty of books to choose from between our bookshelves at home, the books in my father's office at the college and of course the local library. My goal in life was always to have at least as many books as my parents did.
Fast forward enough years for a couple more generations to show up. We had a family party this week, last one in the house my parents are living in before they downsize a bit. As part of downsizing, they are getting rid of a lot of their books that they don't really read much. The grandchildren were free too choose any of those books to keep. When we got to the party a bit late, we saw piles like this all over the place, marked by a purse, a jacket or being hovered over by the person who picked them. And the legacy lives on.
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