Why reading to children matters

I think I was seven or maybe eight years old when dad started reading for me before going to bed.
I don’t know if he had already read Pennac back then. Maybe. Or maybe not. Who knows?
When I ask him, he says he can’t recall if he had yet to read Comme un roman or not.
Anyway, for me, dad reading books was what made me love reading.
You know, I’ve always loved listening to stories… and tell them, too!
Mom says I’ve told my first story ever when I was two. I couldn’t even speak yet!
And yet, there I was, yelling at my doll as mum did to me… without really using words. She was shocked!
Let’s go back to my dad reading me books before going to bed. Dad’s a teacher, mom too.
He didn’t read me bedtime stories. He read me real books! Novels! I still remember them.
The two books I’m fond of are James Stephens’ Demi-Gods and Crock of Gold.
I can’t remember if they were the very first two books he read me, since he read me many books, in the three-year period before I started reading by myself, but how I loved them!
Would I love reading if dad didn’t do that for me when I was a kid? It’s likely.
I enjoy stories too much and books are (still) the best source around to find them.
I’m a storyteller too, so books are precious to me, since they’re the best source to learn from If you write. And it’s not me who says so, it’s Stephen King. Have you ever read On Writing?
Yet dad disclosed to me the magic of reading and for that I will be forever grateful.
Though, you know, he is my dad so I love him regardless. 😛