“My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might, like Ginger, drop down dead at my work, and be out of my misery and one day my wish very nearly came to pass.” – an excerpt from Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty.

Daniel is nine years old.  He is turning out to be a regular boy.  He prefers to plop himself in front of the TV rather than play a board game.  Or worse still, sit for hours in front of the computer playing games rather than read a book.

I am somewhat disappointed by his preference of these electronic items over an interesting book.  It is hard to believe that this is the boy I spent afternoons reading to every other day.  I read various types of printed materials to him, all this time trying to instill in him a love for reading. 

He spent many hours reading the renowned ‘Peter and Jane’ series.   I spent many hours coaching him.  We had finally come to book twelve which is the final level of the whole series two months ago. 

“Now you can read any book you want,” I said excitedly.

He did not seem to catch my enthusiasm.  He gave me a look that said, ‘What’s the big fuss all about, mum?’.

The last book of that series had extracts from some well known stories and poems, one of them being Black Beauty.  By chance, I had a copy of Black Beauty in paperback in my drawer upstairs.  I bought it at a fraction of a original price at a warehouse sale.  It still gives me a warm feeling in my stomach to think that I bought the book at such a bargain. 

I shoved the book at the young budding reader and said, read!

He decided that he had better things to do with his time.  The TV and computer were more enticing items than an old boring horse story.  And so, the book lay untouched and in mint condition for weeks.    

Being out of the drawer and onto the table in the open did create some changes if not for the boy, then the mother.   For every time I see the book, it shouted ‘read me!’. 

The instruction from me to read seemed to have fallen on deaf ears.  I was fed up of fighting a losing battle against the TV but as yet, did not know what to do.  After countless attempts to get the boy to read the first chapter, I felt like a fake myself.  A fake because I have never read Black Beauty myself and did not know what lies in between the pages. 

Late one night, I picked up the book and opened Chapter one.  I   started reading the first page.  In the beginning, I would not say it was pleasant reading .  I know nothing of horses and have never experienced a live one before.  I came across unfamiliar vocabulary and terms used to describe a horse and their everyday living.  I stumbled a lot while trying to grasp the meaning behind the words but I continued reading, albeit at a tortoise pace. I was mortified at my slowness and lack of understanding of the printed words. 

“Surely this is not because I am losing it?” I asked myself.  I know I haven’t had any serious reading for years now after my babies were born but surely it is not so easy to lose one’s skill of reading.

If reading this book was giving me such a hard time, then how could the nine year old boy handle this, I wondered.  I was casually looking at the back page when I discovered that this was reading material for ages eight and up. 

I looked at my wrinkles and stretch marks and laughed.  I was so over eight years old!  Now I know I really am losing it.  

I doubled up my reading time.  Days later, I had familiarised myself with horse terms like a bit, bridle, saddle, crupper, bearing reins, dogcart  etc.  and found that to my pleasure, I was starting to read with reasonable ease.

I no longer harassed the nine year old reader to pick up Black Beauty.   I needed the book to myself now that I had started reading it.   I read it as and when I had the chance.  I read it one night while nursing little Simon.  The rest of the boys were upstairs with their father.

I opened Chapter twelve and started reading.  I read of Black Beauty carrying John and his master to town and back when a storm caused damage to a low wooden bridge that ran across the river.  The rushing waters had broken the bridge in the middle but the men were not aware of this.  John coaxed Beauty to cross it but the horse didn’t budge. 

Then I heard a voice from up above.  It was my spouse.

“Are you down there?  It is so quiet.  Do you know that it is past Daniel’s bedtime?” he asked.

I glanced up to look at the time.  Indeed it was!   It was going to be a quarter to nine o’clock!  I had never missed half past eight every night to put Daniel to bed.  He has to wake up for school at six o’clock every day. To ensure that he gets enough rest, I follow this strict regimen of half past eight bedtime every night.   For the first time today I had not kept time.  I was having too much fun.

Suddenly it did feel quiet.  It was quiet where I was sitting nursing my baby.  I could hear the clock ticking and the baby’s regular breathing.  It wasn’t like that a while ago.  There were winds blowing, and branches swaying before a tree uprooted in my world with Beauty. 

I had finally rediscovered the joy of reading for the mere pleasure of it. 

Oh, how I loved Beauty and his adventures.  I read of his good friends, Merrylegs and Ginger.   I read of the goodness of John and James, of the cruelness of man in Nicholas Skinner and  of how Beauty, a prized possession ended up with the old broken-down horses at a horse fair and sold for a mere five pounds.         
         
I should have read this book when I was nine, I said to myself.  There is simply so much to learn and enjoy from a horse like Beauty. 

Well, my son simply considers reading a pre-requisite to the computer for now. 

“If I read one chapter of Black Beauty, can I play the computer after that?”, he asks every weekend. 

“Don’t you want to know what happened during the fire?” I asked once, trying to ignite some form of interest in him.

Nothing magical has happened yet. 

What happened to Black Beauty in the end?  If you haven’t read the book before, it’s never too late to read it now.   It sure beats watching the TV.