{"id":380,"date":"2012-03-23T11:32:51","date_gmt":"2012-03-23T15:32:51","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/relwy\/?p=380"},"modified":"2012-11-02T20:18:18","modified_gmt":"2012-11-03T00:18:18","slug":"voracious-reader-ben","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/relwy\/2012\/03\/23\/voracious-reader-ben\/","title":{"rendered":"Voracious Reader Ben"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"It's<\/a>

It's spring in MA, just like it was in Lake Konstanz, Germany, April 2011<\/p><\/div>\n

Ben no longer has any good books to read. This is what he told me this morning. Zero Hour<\/a>, the latest in the H.I.V.E series by Mark Walden, automatically downloaded to his Kindle this past Tuesday morning, is now finished. He said, “I might have to start reading A Children’s History of England<\/em>“–referring to a book I downloaded on his iPad sometime ago. Yes, I got flack for this at the time, but today his comment was serious. A book about history from Ben’s perspective is definitely better than no book at all.<\/p>\n

When Ben was 1 year and 1 week old (precisely August 4, 2002–who says that there is recall bias<\/a> when talking to parents about their children’s health history?), he got his first pair of glasses. It wasn’t until he was 11 months old that we realized he had dislocated lenses–ectopia lentis<\/a>–and it was this discovery that started our family on our clinical genetics path. I thought it had been absolutely adorable when Ben brought a board book up to his face and squished it against his nose, and it was equally precious when he would push his face into mine as I held him in my arms, as if he couldn’t get close enough to me. In reality, he couldn’t see anything. Boy, I was so stupid.<\/p>\n

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