Daily Archives: May 8, 2015

When I am a youngster Mom reads to me every bed time and sometimes even in between. Maybe I am sick so much because I want her to read to me more. She reads lengthy story books, endless nursery rhymes, pages of poetry. I love it all. She has the smoothest speaking voice. Very melodic and well paced. One of my favorites, and Mom’s too, is this poem by Leigh Hunt. Possibly I love it because the author spells her name like mine. But really I love it because the message is so on point.

Abou Ben Adhem by Leigh Hunt

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw, within the moonlight in his room,

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

An angel writing in a book of gold:—

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the presence in the room he said,

“What writest thou?”—The vision raised its head,

And with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.”

“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,”

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,

But cheerly still; and said, “I pray thee, then,

Write me as one that loves his fellow men.”

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night

It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blest,

And lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest.

During our reading sessions, I never tire of anything by Robert Lewis Stevenson. His stories and his poetry. And more. Peter Pan. Alice in Wonderland. All the classics. It’s a wonderful part of the day. Mom knows little about parenting. A teen bride and mother she learns everything on the job. Teaching me to love reading is intuitive for her. And I come to treasure hearing the written word but reading it is another matter. My second grade teacher suggests that I am slipping down the proficient reader slope. Mom will have none of that. She makes it a point to listen to me read out loud to her every afternoon for months on end until I am back up to speed. It’s a chore for both of us but she stays on task until she, not the teacher, is satisfied that I am a strong reader.

Thanks Mom for that and every other love caress you gave me.