I have been reading Where the Red Fern Grows, one chapter each night, to my kids. I can't take credit for this idea; it was my wife's. I've been the one keeping it going, though.

I love this book. It was first recommended to me by my Aunt Harriet some thirty-ish years ago. I remember reading it at my grandparent's house. I was probably 9 or 10 at the time. When I got to the end, I became a complete sobbing mess. I really let myself go. My grandparents must have been out or asleep, because I distinctly remember going to the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror and being shocked at the snot-nosed, red-eyed mess looking back at me.

It was the first time a book broke my heart. Even now, as I read it, those raw emotions come rushing back. I get teary-eyed at Billy's grandpa, the store owner who helped him order his coon hounds, and at the sheriff who protected him from the bullies in town. Every little anecdote plucks a string in me. I don't know if it's because I saw myself in that young boy or because I saw my grandpa's dog Bowie in Old Dan and Little Anne. Maybe it's because the little cabin in the Ozarks reminded me of Pinecrest.

As a narrative arc, it has all the elements that I love:

• An old person reminiscing. You see it in The Sandlot, Fried Green Tomatoes, The Titanic, and A River Runs Through It. This well-worn literary device has my number. I'm 43, I'm still young, in the prime of my life, but I know (I mean, I hope) that one day I'll be old and that wears on me. All the movies of old people telling stories about their youth make me feel my age, and sometimes it hurts.
• A boy on an adventure. There's a hero's journey element to this story as well. A boy craves dogs. He struggles to obtain them. He rejoices, and then tragedy strikes, and he finds redemption. I immediately care about the boy. I can see myself in him.
• Faithful dogs. I don't know if my love of dogs came before this book or because of this book. But it's there, and this is a book for people who love dogs.

I read this book for the first time when I was around the age of the protagonist, the boy named Billy. Thirty some-odd years later, I'm the age of his dad, Papa, and I'm reading it to my kids, who are a few years younger than Billy.

I see more of the story through Papa's eyes now. What was it like to raise three children on a ranch in the middle of the wilderness? How did it feel when Billy took off on a multi-day to pick up his pups without telling anyone? These are the reflections of a parent. I'm less concerned about Billy's desire to buy the dogs and more interested in what his Papa thinks and feels about all this hunting.

Maybe that's what makes a book a classic. You can read it at different ages and capture a different set of feelings and impressions. I can see that my own kids, who also love dogs, are most drawn to the descriptions of how hard Billy worked to buy, pick up, and train them. They can feel that relationship. I can still feel that too, but it's not my only focus. That's what age does to your perspective, I suppose.

I'm halfway through the book. More adventure awaits, and I know the end is coming... but I'm looking forward to it anyway.