Since I’ve discovered the best technique for me to convey my mental words into written form, I’ve also discovered something unexpected: my narrator’s voice.

It hit me during something as simple as reading a bedtime story to my granddaughter. Instead of fumbling and stumbling over the words, I’ve found myself slipping into that same steady, practiced rhythm I use when I speak my thoughts into writing. Taking words from my head, out of my mouth, and onto the page has sharpened my ability to read aloud.

Now, story time flows more easily. It’s not about the performance – it’s about the connection. My granddaughter gets to hear my tone, my inflection, the way I put things together, even when I’m reading someone else’s words. That matters, because it shapes her ear for language and her imagination.

It’s a funny kind of personal growth, but a real one. I’m thankful for it – thankful that words have given me not just another skill, but a sweeter way to spend time with her. Grandpas may always be busy with “grandpa things,” but those few minutes are priceless.