Mom reads a book to me. But says the words as she sees them.
Mom, you’re not good at this, I say. Do it like this.
I point to the pictures. And make up new stories about them.
It has nothing to do with the words. Just the mind.
I can think up wild and fun stories. With each new page.
See? I ask.
“Yes, I get it,” Mom smiles. And points to another picture.
“Tell me about this one,” she says.
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