Before I could read, my dad turned books into performances. I still hear Go, Dog. Go! read in the rhythm he gave it, and in my head, It's Not Easy Being a Bunny will always begin, "P.J. FUNNYBUNNY! P.J FUNNYBUNNY! was very sad."
When I was in elementary school, my dad read me a few chapters every Friday night. I got to choose the book, which often meant a Baby-sitters Club book (in part because he was easier to convince than my mom). My dad drew on the oldies to make the reading his own, setting Mary Anne's and Dawn's names to song.
In 2008, when I had a poem published for Anne of Green Gables' centennial, my dad asked me to bring the book home so he could read it and understand the poem better. Not especially into novels, and certainly not normally inclined to read about an eleven-year-old girl's yearning for puffed sleeves, he made his way gamely through, occasionally commenting, "That Anne is a chatterbox."
Happy Father's Day, Abba. Meet you at the bookstore tomorrow!
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