Children are influenced by and imitate world around them. While a steady diet of violent cartoons may have a detrimental effect on children's development, carefully chosen stories and books can have a positive influence on children, sensitizing them to needs of others. For example, books can encourage children to be more cooperative, to share with others, to be kind to animals, or to respect natural environment.

Reading Can Enhance Children's Social Skills

Although reading is thought of as quintessential solitary activity, in certain circumstances reading can be a socializing activity. For example, a parent or grandparent reading a story aloud, whether from a traditional printed book or from an ebook, can be a great opportunity for adult and child to share some quiet, relaxed quality time together away from rush and stresses of business of daily living. They share a few minutes of precious time, plus they share ideas that are contained in story. In addition, older children can be encouraged to read aloud to younger ones as a means of enhancing their relationship.

At school or at a library story hour, books can bring children together and can be part of a positive shared experience. For some preschoolers this may be their primary opportunity to socialize and to learn how to behave around other children or how to sit quietly for a group activity. Make most of this experience by encouraging children to talk about what they've read or heard.

Reading Can Improve Hand-Eye Coordination

It may sound funny, but ebooks can be a way for children to improve their fine motor skills and their hand-eye coordination, as they click around a childfriendly website or click backward and forward buttons of online story pages. They may also be picking up valuable computer skills that they'll need in school and later in life.

Reading Can Provide Children with Plenty of Good, Clean Fun

I've saved most important point for last. Reading can provide children with endless hours of fun and entertainment. All of pragmatic reasons above aren't at all necessary to justify reading's place in children's lives. Stories can free up imaginations and open up exciting new worlds of fantasy or reality. They allow children to dream and may give them a good start on road to viewing reading as a lifelong source of pleasure; so read to your young children every day.

Inspire your older children to read. Give them access to plenty of reading material that they'll enjoy and discuss it with them. Sample everything - traditional printed books and ebooks on Internet, classic children's novels and fairy tales, as well as more modern stories.

If a child wants to hear same story over and over again, don't worry about it. Children take comfort from familiarity and predictability of a beloved story that they know by heart. There's no harm in that. Reread old favorites and, at same time, introduce your children to new stories. Your child's mind and heart have room for both.

So Reading Really Does Matter After All

There are so many ways in which reading continues to be both a vital skill for children to master, and an important source of knowledge and pleasure that can last a lifetime. Nurture it in your children. Make most of all resources that are available and waiting for you: printed books, online stories, magazines and so forth. Encourage follow-up activities involving creative writing skills and arts, as well, so that your children can reflect upon or expand on what they've absorbed and, at same time, develop their own creativity. As you help your kids appreciate magic of reading, you'll find that there's a whole wonderful world full of children's literature out there that YOU can enjoy too.

Dad would stride into bar of Corio to cheery calls of “G’Day Stan” to have a beer with his mates and discuss how “Cats” (Geelong Football Club) might fare that afternoon. Sometimes he would read up on latest betting on horses, a mild hobby for a man who could hardly afford such luxuries. Five bob each way was a big bet for him.

Dad loved his footy and I loved going with him, standing in outer side of Kardinia Park (the Cats’ home ground) cheering, cursing mildly at umpires, laughing lots and admiring great skills in fast moving game of Aussie rules footy.

Through rain, hail or shine, he’d be there on wing and we’d be there with him, it was great. That feeling of comradiere, especially when Cats won, was just plain magic. We watched TV replays that night and then again on Sunday morning. We couldn’t get enough of it. It was after a match that he “lost” me (or did I lose myself?) in Melbourne at mighty MCG (Melbourne Cricket Ground). When game was over and thousands of fans streamed from “G”, he thought I had left stadium for 45 mile trip home to Geelong with my brother-in-law, who was equally sure I was with Dad.

I had been so distracted with Cats’ win than I had wandered nonchalantly from ground without a thought about who I was to go home with. When I realized I was alone, albeit among thousands of footy fans scurrying to their cars, I froze.

I frantically searched for car in huge car-parks and when I couldn’t find dad or my brother-in-law I waited until car parks were almost empty before I realized they had gone.

I wandered streets of Melbourne, lost and lonely in “big smoke” at age of eleven. I ended up walking into a police station to shyly announce my situation. I was scared. The police called home and told mum what had happened. When dad finally arrived home, ready to put his feet up after long drive and have a beer, mum told him he had to turn around to come back to Melbourne and get me.

Three hours later Dad arrived to collect me. He was grateful I was safe. He hugged me hard and tossed my blond hair with a gruff “don’t do that again, son, you had us worried for a while”. He then bundled me into back of car to sleep soundly after my adventure, while he drove all way home again and carried me to my bed.

Dads’ cars were also well worth remembering They were never new, or anywhere near new, but he drove them with care as a means to move “the mob” around. We really could have done with a bus, but cars had to do. The first one I recall was an old, rust-red Ford “ute”. It had a cabin with a rear tray attachment over which Dad crafted a plywood cover. In tray on either side was a hard board seat where us kids would cling uncomfortably on those early outings. On longer trips, he would throw a mattress and rug in back and we could snuggle down while wind whistled around our ears as we rattled along.

This was how we used to travel to those great footy matches in Melbourne, stopping at Werribee (half way) on way home for fish, chips and huge potato-cakes on bitterly cold winter Saturday nights. If Cats had won, we’d be in great spirits, singing and laughing until our cheeks ached. Playing “Dutch ovens” and blaming each other for amazingly horrible odors trapped in back of that little van. When we arrived home we would all be asleep and Dad would carry us all, one by one, to our beds. We usually doubled up with a brother or sister as there were only three bedrooms in house, but we were always warm and safe in that house.

His unshakable belief in God and Catholic Church, and his demands that we attend church every Sunday are also etched in my mind. He never did forget though, that we were kids after all, and that we strayed from time to time.

Christmas at home was always something special. I recall Dad up late re-painting my brother Graemes’ red bike so they could give it to me as my “new” blue one for Christmas. The dozens of gifts covering whole (albeit small) lounge room floor on Christmas Day and look of sheer joy on Dad and Mums’ faces as they shared our delight.

Material things meant something to us. We were kids. We had peers who received many more new “things” than we did, but we never felt deprived in that home. There never was such a thing as a disappointing Christmas, Dad and Mum saw to that. How they did it will remain a mystery to me.

Our house was always alive with activity, with friends coming and going, pets who just loved all attention they received, music of all types almost constantly playing, chores to be done and lots of laughter. A great place to grow up. Dad used to enjoy inter-action with our mates too and they respected him as someone to look up to, both physically and as a man.

I still marvel at Dads’ strength and utter faith that things would always work out for best. Though he never showed it, there must have been so many times when there was little or no money to pay bills. When school accounts came due, when we kids just had to have latest gizmos’ that were pushed at us via ads on black and white TV we loved. When we needed clothing and all sporting gear growing kids must have, or when baker used to deliver (literally) dozens of loaves of bread on long weekends. They always came up with money, somehow. His strength was our strength, his solid belief was our rock, his unfailing human spirit was totally infectious.

Though I would rather not, I also remember his suffering with that cruel disease. His dignity and concern for Mum and us, and sad look on his face as he lay for months in hospital beds with a fading twinkle in his eyes.

I don’t remember too much about his funeral. I walked in a stupor ahead of his hearse with Les, Graeme, Kevin, David, Darren and Paul, my brothers, all way from church to his final resting place in cemetery. Hundreds of people came to pay their respects. I knew then that great legacy he left behind was not just for us. We had an Irish wake after his funeral, of course. It was an irreverent celebration of his life and peace he was now in, as well as a release valve for us after weeks of watching him fade away from us.

He was gone, though never from our hearts and our lives, which are so very much richer because he was such a huge part of it.

Mum lived for several years after but she was never same. Dad was her rock more than he was ours. She now shares his love again.

Though thirteen of us kids never lived at “55” at one time, due to age differences and fact that Joan, our eldest sister, had left home long before younger ones were born, we remain a close family today, no doubt because Dad and Mum taught us to share everything. That sharing continues.

As Charles Swindoll once wrote "Each day of our lives we make deposits in memory banks of our children." Dad and Mum left so many wonderful deposits in our minds, our souls and on our lives, we will never ever forget.