You know that series of children's novels that are so popular today? Zack the Pack Rat? My boy Charlie asked if I could read one to him before he goes to bed each night. Says all the moms and dads are doing it in kindergarten. So without flinching, I said, "Of course I will, son." But I knew I was in trouble. I can't read. I'm not illiterate. When I open a book, no matter how hard I concentrate, the words scramble, flip-flop and screw with my mind. It's been like that since I can remember. I'm a single parent who pretends to read books to my little boy when I'm really making up stories to the pictures. See I was counting on his mom to handle the literature lessons. I'd handle the backyard baseball bit. Plans change, I guess. People change. Charlie's five now. And I don't know who the hell Zack the Pack Rat is. So I bought one of the books, took it to the library and asked the librarian if I could pay her $25 to read it to me out loud. One chapter a day. Then I could go home each night and re-tell the story to Charlie, carefully timing out the turn of each page, and he'd never have to know my shame. And so far so good.