The time I spent in the preschool this week was especially darling. I have started to keep track of the clothing they wear that depicts unicorns. There are usually at least two. Why is it that children get the joyful things to wear? 

 

Well, grown-ups can get in the act. There is a faculty party each December in which the teachers pull out all the stops. Once, a woman was dressed like a Christmas tree. Others have light up necklaces, and Santa socks. It is a hoot.

 

When I settled into the chair to begin singing, the teacher explained that we should cut our fun short by five minutes today.

 

"The fifth graders are coming to read to the kids."

 

I was charmed. A dozen children, now solidly in the We Can Read camp, would arrive with a favorite version of The Night Before Christmas, or The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey, or Clown of God, or The Polar Express under their arm. I could imagine them with heads bowed over the illustrations, while the four-year-old basked in the full attention of a cool older kid.   

 

Many years ago, I recall my oldest daughter telling me that she absolutely could not miss school on Thursday, no matter how she felt. Was there a test looming? What pressure could exist for her that made her attendance essential? 

 

"That is the day we read to the first-graders."

 

I smiled. It was unclear to me whether she felt determined not to disappoint her reading buddy, or that the moment was precious to her. Maybe it was both. This was the girl who floored me by reading the book a neighbor gave her on her fourth birthday. A simple book, not even new. But she understood that letters blend to sounds, which become words. 

 

Her own daughter is newly reading. And it is just as magical now as it was then.