If you’ve ever parented a reluctant reader, you know the drill. The groans when you hand over a book. The squirming during “just one chapter.” The endless creative excuses to escape reading time—thirst, hunger, sudden interest in cleaning their room (okay, that one didn’t happen here, but a mom can dream).
When my son first started learning to read in kindergarten, I was a puddle of emotions. We told him how reading would change his life—how it would open doors to different worlds, entertain him, challenge him, and shape him for the better. My husband and I were overjoyed by the adventure he was embarking upon, imagining him getting lost in stories the way we had as kids. We’ve read three books to him every night since he was a baby, and he loves to listen. We couldn’t wait for him to dig in on his own. But instead of eager page-turning, we were met with resistance at every step.
For the past two years, reading with my 7-year-old has been a battle of wills. It wasn’t that he couldn’t read—he could—but it felt like asking him to eat a plate of broccoli for dessert. And the emotional load was heavy: the worry about school progress, the frustration of nightly fights, the nagging thought that we weren’t doing enough. This reluctance to read made the task difficult, as it wasn’t the decoding or the words themselves; it was his focus. Staying in one place long enough to finish a page could feel like a battle, and the frustration weighed heavily on all of us.
With his pediatrician’s help, we eventually found a treatment plan that gave us hope and direction. Finally, we had some answers and a path forward. We made the decision to start medication, and sooner than I expected, he began to show signs of improvement. His focus stretched a little longer. His frustration tolerance grew. His reports from school were on the upswing. We still had hard days, but there was a clear shift, and for the first time in a long while, we felt encouraged.
It wasn’t just the medication, though. We pulled out every tool we could find to help him connect with reading in a way that worked for him. There was Paws to Read at the Indianapolis Library, where patient therapy dogs listened without judgment as he read aloud. There were mentor programs on Outschool, where he connected one-on-one with caring adults who made reading personal and fun. His first-grade teacher became a true partner, celebrating every small gain and keeping us in the loop so we could build on his progress at home. And yes—there were even AI-created stories where he got to star in his own adventures, like exploring the sewers with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (because who wouldn’t want to read that?).
Then, last week, it happened.
It was bedtime. Pajamas on. Teeth brushed. Lights out. But he looked at me with a sweet smile and asked, “Can I have a little more time… to read?” For a reluctant reader, this was a huge step forward.
I nearly fell out of my seat.
This wasn’t me coaxing or bribing. This was his idea. Easy yes! We tiptoed out of his bedroom and settled in the living room. He curled up with a Dogman book and started reading to himself, silently, for the first time ever. My husband and I looked at each other, grinning, and without saying a word, each grabbed our own books. We joined him for an impromptu “after bedtime” family reading party. The three of us sat there—each lost in our own stories, but together in the same quiet, happy bubble.
It might seem like a small thing—a 7-year-old choosing to read at night. But in our house, it was monumental. It was proof of progress I wasn’t sure we’d ever see. Proof that with the right support, the right tools, and a lot of patience, even a reluctant reader can transform the mountains into hills.
Parenting a reluctant reader isn’t a straight path. There are detours, delays, and sometimes days you feel like you’re going backwards. But there are also these moments—these bright, unexpected, heart-swelling wins—that remind you progress is happening.
