I walked into the room last night.
And there he was.
Stretched out across the bed.
Oblivious to the world around him.
Working his way through the gripping saga of Amelia Bedelia like nobody's business.
My boy was reading.
On his own.
Conquering words like another great Alexander conquered himself an empire some time ago.
Because my little Alexander of new found reading "greatness" can hardly sit still 5 minutes, let alone listen to me wax pontifically about what happens "when two vowels go walking."
And if he could manage the sitting part, you can be sure he doesn't find phonics rules nearly as intriguing as light saber battles or Legos or the antics of Mario.
That's most definitely where his mind is most of the time.
Because those are the things in life that really matter.
When you're six.
And you're Alex.
But somehow, some way, something in that cute little head of his clicked.
And while I'd love to think that it was all those mornings of phonics drills and reading primers that set him on his literary way, I know better.
Because I know my boy.
And I only have one thing to thank for his new love of the written word.
It's simple, really.
See, my explanation of the classic "vowel-consonant-e" rule would go in one of those adorable ears of his and then right out the other.
He was unfazed.
But that same rule encompassed in a beat-box ballad entitled "Silent E is a Ninja?"
Well, now we're on to something.
And now my little guy is reading.
And all I can say is...
Look out world.
Here he comes.