Parents often leave imprints on their children’s hearts. As a mom, I sometimes find myself wondering if this is true, but as a daughter, I know it to be true. This is because growing up, my dad left such a big imprint on my own heart.
He imprinted the love of reading into my life when I was a young girl. He would read stories to me at bedtime every night until I could read them back to him. We would become immersed in each story, and I savored this bedtime ritual through the years.
So naturally, it was the absolute best when he read to my class. He made obnoxious sound effects and could make any story exciting. My first-grade teacher welcomed him on more than one occasion to read to us because of how much the class loved listening to him bring stories to life.
My dad kept in contact with that same teacher, and she invited him to read again years after I had been in her class. My dad and I both visited, and it was so fun once again watching my dad in his element.
Fast forward many years, and now I am a parent myself. I had the pleasure of reading to my oldest son’s class back when he was in preschool. Of course, I read But No Elephants by Jerry Smath—one of the same books my dad would read to my class, and one that kids continuously adore.
I remember my son sitting in the front row, admiring me with the same look on his face that I gave my dad all those years prior. And I must admit my heart felt overjoyed.
It was one of those full-circle moments in life when I was reminded that sometimes the smallest moments truly are the biggest. When I no longer could doubt that I am leaving imprints myself—ones that happen to span generations.