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Mother`s cunnings: how to teach the child to read

Once upon a time there was a boy who very much loved one book - thick and without pictures, and in it one fairy tale - and that mother read this fairy tale to it.

I every evening the boy got into a bed and asked:

- Mother, read me the fairy tale...

- Missile defense the Little Red Riding Hood?

- Not - e - et!

- Missile defense of three pigs?

- Is not present

, mother, read me my favourite fairy tale.

Mother sighed, took already slightly the shabby book, opened it on the familiar page and read to the boy his favourite fairy tale.

So proceeded long - until once mother did not tell:

- And you know, the kid, your fairy tale was lost, it is not here!

- As is not present? - the boy did not believe. They with mother together looked through pages but found nothing.

- Is not present

. Probably, she was tired and went on leave or maybe just went for a walk and got lost.

- Then let`s it look for! - the boy exclaimed.

First of all it climbed under a bed. There it was dark, a little dusty, in a corner the gone metal ball from billiards lay, and the fairy tale was not. The boy ran in a drawing room - only ware which was not managed to be cleaned on a table and quietly working TV. Not especially hoping for good luck, the boy glanced in a parental bedroom, slightly opened a case, greeted the neighbor and returned to the room to mother.

- Is not present

... - sadly he told.

- I think, - mother smiled, - that the fairy tale could go on a visit to some other book, give - we will try to esteem - suddenly we will come across the fugitive.


they read to

I one book, another, the third. The run-away fairy tale everything was not. Eventually, the boy learned to read itself and re-read everything - all - all books in the house which he could reach. The last he took that first book in hand, opened it and suddenly saw that the favourite fairy tale on the place.

- It returned! - joyfully the boy cried.

Mother cooked a dinner in kitchen and did not hear it. The boy took seat on a sofa and read the fairy tale. Strange she still was a darling, but did not seem such interesting any more.

Then the boy thought, took in hand paper, a pencil and, sowing to a table, began to write the fairy tale anew...

Pyotr Kapulyansky