One day in a class

I’m nine years old in this memory, sitting with my classmates for our moral education class. Today’s discussion theme is “father.” Once we’ve finished reading today’s reading material about the topic, our teacher opens the conversation with a question.

“What is something special your father does for you at home?”

Before I know it, my hand shoots up in the air.


“My father reads me a book every night before I go to bed,” I announce to the class, eager to share this information with everybody present.

The room falls silent. Perhaps it’s the more-than-usual enthusiasm in my voice that’s earned this unusual response.

“That’s amazing,” says my teacher finally after a little pause. “It’s so good of your father to do that.”


And I sit down, now eager to hear about others’ fathers. But no one seems to volunteer and the room remains quiet. After some moments, my teacher encourages others by giving examples, and several classmates share what their fathers do for them. I’m surprised to learn that nobody else’s father does bedside reading. The special silence that followed my sharing makes me wonder if bedside reading is perhaps a most remarkable father’s activity in the world.