After 18 years, I got a rare Mom win when for the first time ever: G left the house with a book under his arm.

Just a few days after graduating from high school he voluntarily read something that wasn’t an assignment.

For years, I had believed that if I could just find the right book, I would finally turn him into a reader. That never happened, and he finally begged me to stop, citing his ability to read well above grade level as being “good enough.”

The book that finally snared him? “Haynes Repair Manual for Jeeps, 1972-1991.” Why that book is another story for another day. He reminds me so much of Steve, who was also late to the reading game, although he always attributed his love of books to his fifth grade teacher, Mr. Mettler, who read “Kavik the Wolf Dog” out loud to his class. Steve eventually obtained his own copy of the book and read it to all the kids when they were little.

Once Steve realized that he could literally learn anything from a book, he was all in on reading. Every time he got a new interest, I could count on a score of books related to the topic arriving at our house shortly. Unfortunately, (or maybe fortunately for my wallet) G’s go-to for self-help is usually the internet.

While there are copious amounts of knowledge to be gained via the internet, I worry that he’s limiting himself to what can be disseminated in a 3-minute reel or slightly longer YouTube video.

I’m guilty of abusing that system myself. It was much easier to watch a short video on how to replace my turn-signal bulb than it was to track down a “Haynes Repair Manual for Fords,” which I was surprised to find they do still print.

While I find myself extolling the benefits of reading, and all the extra knowledge that can be learned along the way, I’m the first person to gripe about some lengthy blog post with a recipe that I want to make buried somewhere in it.

Having the time to read is a luxury these days. Heck, it was a luxury when I was younger, and I would lose precious hours of sleep sitting under my bedsheets with a contraband flashlight because I just had to finish the book I’d started.

When I was growing up, summertime always meant more reading time because my mom was a teacher, and with her summers off, we would make a lot more trips to the library.

I’ve unintentionally stuck to that schedule, although my summers don’t really have any more or less time than the rest of the year. I guess the kids not having schoolwork helps ease the mental load a little, but the pace is still pretty much the same.

Another reason I’ve had reading on the brain is the annual announcements about how the U.S. kids are placing on tests, and it’s not a good story. Reading proficiency is declining, among both kids and adults. There is lots of blame to go around: COVID, screen time, dual income families. Like most things, it’s probably a combination of all of that and then some.

In the same research, it was also mentioned that memorization as a taught skill has basically become extinct.

I hadn’t really thought about it until that moment, but while I trotted out a few lines of “Paul Revere’s Ride” and “The Gettysburg Address,” along with a smattering of Emily Dickinson, I realized that I couldn’t remember a single assignment that my kids needed to memorize for a performance.

Mad panic and parental failure set in, until I remembered that one of them had a lengthy career in drama club, one is in chorus, and all of them have had to memorize music for field shows and concerts. That checked the box enough for me. But I realize that I’ve been lucky enough to support my kids through those opportunities, and those are the “extras” that not every kid gets.

All hope is not lost, though. Whether or not the algorithm drove me to it, I don’t know, but not long after that, I came across an article that stated that independent bookstores have been experiencing their largest growth in decades, actually defying other retail trends downward.

Our local library, although chronically underfunded, is still thriving and growing. Teachers are still reading out loud to their classes, and I’m still here writing every week. It took almost two decades, but I got G enthralled in pages. I’m not giving up hope for the rest of humanity either.

Liz Pinkey’s column appears on Saturdays in the Times News