I love to read. But perhaps even more than this, I love being read to. Some of my most cherished childhood memories are of my dad reading bedtime stories every weekend. Whole summers I would spend listening to recordings of Shel Silverstein or Marlo Thomas and Friends. These days, I attend poetry readings or author events or festivals. But I also find myself turning down the radio or folding laundry in the hallway to better hear my husband reading to our children. Whether it's Redwall to his teenage son, or Misty of Chincoteague to our 6-year-old daughter, I am entranced.