Thinking Childhood, the Initial Read
As somewhat an expert in the subject of brilliant childhoods (having had one of my own and spawning yet another), I have, of the late, been debating with my conscience (or whoever that is living alongside me in my head – rent free I might add) the idea that a youngster who is just learning to read has less of a grasp on the ability to make sense of the symbols on the page than he generally does with the ability to grasp concepts. So a child who has been read to all of his life might be used to the grandiose works of Aesop or Lewis Carrol or the Brothers Grimm resonating in his bedtime ritual ears, but when he approaches reading himself, he’s forced into simple rudimentary mush about Jane, Dick and (if he’s particularly lucky) their dog Spot.
I relate this to the idea of Jesus, after being told the wonderous stories of how his father created the universe and all things in it, being limited to miracles such as healing the sick or making two fish out of one.
Perhaps this is why television is so much more appealing – you grow up watching Teletubbies and slowly graduate to Power Rangers, Adult Swim, and eventually reach the pinnacle of success with The Simple Life.
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