Reading Together Is Disappearing—And It’s Hurting More Than You Think
It hurts to say this, but most parents don’t enjoy reading to their kids.
Only 4 in 10 say it’s fun. The rest? They’re skipping it, rushing to finish, or quietly dreading it.
I don’t blame them. Parenting today is relentless. But if we lose this intimate, powerful ritual of reading aloud to our children, then we lose something we can’t get back.
I was one of the lucky ones. My parents read to me every night. I remember the cadence of my mom’s voice, the warmth of the room, the magic of those moments. It wasn’t just the stories. It was the presence. It was feeling close. It was feeling seen.
And I carried that forward. When my son was young, reading together was sacred. Not every night was magical, of course. But looking back now—as he studies in college, as that season of life settles into memory—I see those moments as foundational. For him. For me. For who we became.
So when I read a recent Guardian article about the sharp decline in parents reading to their children, and how few actually enjoy it, my heart didn’t just sink. It clenched.
What the Numbers Are Telling Us
The numbers are sobering:
Only 40% of parents with children aged 0 to 13 say reading to their child is fun.
The percentage of 0–4-year-olds being read to regularly has dropped from 64% to 41% (a 36% decline) since 2012.
Boys are read to far less often than girls. Just 29% of boys aged 0–2 are read to daily, compared to 44% of girls.
But behind the statistics is something deeper. Reading aloud is being reframed—not as a shared joy, but as a skill to master. A subject to test. A responsibility to get right.
Don’t get me wrong: skills are vital. We are, at our core, a skills-first teaching organization. But that’s the educator’s role. As a parent, your role is different. It’s not to deliver reading instruction. It is to make space for reading to be meaningful.
Don’t get me wrong: skills are vital. We are, at our core, a skills-first teaching organization. But that’s the educator’s role. As a parent, your role is different. It’s not to deliver reading instruction. It is to make space for reading to be meaningful.
And often, all parents really need is permission. Permission to stop worrying about doing it “right.” Permission to stop measuring themselves against a rubric no child is holding. Permission to enjoy it.
Years ago, Paul Copperman, the founder of the Institute of Reading Development, gave me a piece of advice I’ve carried ever since:
“Read with your child for as long as he’ll let you.”
I did exactly that. My son and I read the entire Harry Potter series together across years of elementary school. Some nights it was a few pages. Others, we flew through chapters. But those moments became something lasting—a rhythm, a shared world, a bond.
He’s thriving now, in college. And I can say with clarity: reading together didn’t hold him back. It helped him grow. It helped us both grow.
That’s the part the numbers miss. Reading aloud isn’t just about skills. It’s about connection and joy. It’s about love.
But we can’t fix what we don’t name.
This isn’t about laziness. It’s not about screens alone. It’s not even about books, really. It’s about something more fragile: clarity, confidence, and connection.
The Drift
We’ve professionalized parenting, even made it performative. And in this pressure cooker, simple things start to feel complicated. Reading aloud, which is supposed to be something joyful, goofy, and intimate, suddenly feels like another test to pass.
Am I reading the right book? Should I do the voices? Is my child bored? Is this even working?
Add to that the time crunch of modern family life, the myth that reading is only for teaching skills, and—yes—the pull of screens. Screens provide access to unimaginable resources and opportunities. They are part of life, but only just a part. And when all of the schedules, expectations, and distractions pile on, we end up where we are: skipping pages, rushing to finish, quietly wondering if we’re failing.
But here’s what we’re really losing:
- The bond that forms in the shared space of a story.
- The confidence children build when they see language come alive.
- The joy that parents rediscover when they slow down, lean in, and connect.
And of course there are real reading skill benefits, too.
Reading aloud allows children to participate in the world of stories they can’t yet access on their own. They begin to identify with characters, wonder why things happen, and imagine what might happen next. They start to recognize the shape of a story—beginning, middle, end—and they experience what it means to be immersed and absorbed in a narrative. The feeling of getting pulled into a story is indelible. It's what fuels the drive to learn to read independently, then to keep reading and to love it.
Reading aloud isn’t just about literacy. It’s about identity. It’s about memory. It’s about love.
What We’ve Carried Forward
When I think about my own childhood, I don’t remember decoding worksheets. I remember Where the Wild Things Are. I remember laughing at the same lines, night after night. I remember my parents staying in the room a little longer, even after the last page turned. I remember wanting to read for myself.
And when I became a parent, I didn’t try to replicate perfection. I just showed up. Sometimes it was one book, sometimes three. Sometimes I was tired. Sometimes he was. But we kept at it.
And what I saw—what I know—is that this ritual didn’t just shape his reading skills. It shaped his sense of self and our relationship. It gave us something no screen, school assignment, or app could offer.
Even the books I read to myself as a kid were shaped by that foundation. One in particular has stayed with me for decades: Danny, the Champion of the World. It wasn’t read aloud to me. I found it on my own. But I read it because reading already meant something in our house, something connected and good. That story of a father and son, of wild schemes and quiet trust, gave me a glimpse of the kind of bond I later came to have with my own son. And maybe it gave me a template, too.
What Parents Need Now
So what’s missing?
Not love. Not effort.
What’s missing for many is reassurance.
Reassurance that they’re not failing. That their child is on their way. That really trying is what matters most. And that showing up, even inconsistently, still shapes everything.
Because from that sense of steadiness, the next steps become possible: clarity about what matters, confidence in how to help, and community that reminds you you’re not alone.
That’s why we're building Raising Skilled Readers.
The Answer: A Movement with a Mission
The goal of Raising Skilled Readers is to support and motivate parents who want to raise strong, confident readers but don’t always feel equipped to do it alone. Our mission is simple: give parents the knowledge, support, and direction to replace worry with confidence, and to make reading a meaningful part of their relationship with their child.
This is a movement to reclaim reading—not as a task to manage, but as a relationship to nurture.
When you step into Raising Skilled Readers, you're not just accessing tools. You’re entering a community. A place for parents who care deeply, even if they haven’t had the models, resources, or confidence to turn that care into daily practice.
You’ll find others who believe that reading isn’t just about school success—it’s about building trust, imagination, and closeness. And as you read together with your child, you’ll feel the shift: from pressure to presence. From uncertainty to joy.
Because reading development isn’t linear. It unfolds in stages. And with the right support, you can move with your child through those stages with clarity, not confusion.
You’re not behind. You’re not alone. You’re right on time.
The Invitation
We can’t outsource the most meaningful parts of parenting. But we can make them easier. Lighter. More joyful.
Reading together with kids isn’t lost. Let’s bring it back.
Let’s raise skilled readers—and deeply connected families—together.
