I can't recall my parents ever sitting, reading books to me. Perhaps this was a rare or non-existent occurrence in my parents childhood themselves, as the nurture result of nature vs. nurture goes. I don't remember reading to my children much except upon much coaxing. Part of it was that I am not a good storyteller or maybe never learned how to tell a story. And my aging farsighted vision makes this a difficult time of life (curse you font less than 12). Aged (like a hardened cheese), reading is real work. So listening to a book being read to me is easy, pleasurable. The books I love to listen to are evaluations of life. More specifically, others lives. For I fear, with my lack of storytelling skills, my life examinations have not been so eloquently stated. Still, it is a core desire for me, and always has, to document my feelings, experiences, my life.
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