“I don’t read,” said the woman seated beside me on the airplane, her tone decidedly dismissive. “Just don’t have the time.”
I made some small murmur of acknowledgment, and clutched my paperback protectively, worrying a bit lest it overhear the words of someone who was obviously so misogynistic toward all things bookish.
“But that one,” she continued, inclining her head toward the young girl curled into the window seat, her long blonde hair falling over the open pages of her book, “she’s always got her nose in a book. Don’t know where she gets that from!”
So how does that happen, I wonder. Despite all the studies regarding the importance of reading to children, that a child could be a bookworm in a home where there is “no time for reading”?
The girl glances up and meets my eye. We smile sympathetically, sharing the secret that is the power of reading, knowing we’re part of a special fraternity of readers the world over.