We Begin

The first day of fifth grade, Simon carries the books I've put out on the table onto a day-bed in our spare room, arranges the pillows, and pulls a blanket over his legs. There is a horizontal element to homeschooling, at least in our house, at least for now, before Simon decides he is too old to cuddle with his mother and read.

“One question, Mom.” He holds up his index finger and stares at me, all serious.

“What's the one question?”

“You're gonna read to me, right? You HAVE to! This book is SO FAT.”

For a textbook I've chosen The American Story: 100 True Tales from American History by Jennifer Armstrong. I agree to read it out loud, knowing it has an eight's grade reading level, chock-full of figurative language. I know I will spend the year helping him tease apart the meaning of words, metaphors and similes.

I explain to Simon that if I do him the enormous favor of reading The American Story, then Simon must read to me about all the presidents.

“Stinkernoodle Simon--deal? You know, I'm not your ancilla,” I say—Simon knows ancilla means slave girl in Latin. “We have to share. Fair is fair.” “One president, one book a week—deal?”

I've secured an almost complete set of Getting to Know the U.S. Presidents by Mike Venezia from e-bay, library editions no less. They're all at the fifth grade reading level. They contain plenty of text but also pictures and cartoons.

Simon flips through the one on George Washington, stopping to read all the comics, slapping his cheeks intermittently, all absorbed, smiling wildly—he obviously thinks the comics are terrific. Then he gazes at the set of books on the shelf. Finally, he looks up at me.

“One a week—no problem.”