I am filled with bittersweet feelings when I consider that my daughters will someday read books on their own. Reading has always been something that I provide for them. I am the tree they come to and books are my apples. They shake me every night and then lay under my branches as I shower them with shiny red and green sweetness. But some day soon they will appear with baskets full of apples I’ve never seen before. And they will spend all day sitting in lazy piles around the room gorging themselves on library books, and finishing off rows of books I have shelved in our basement that I have been waiting years to read myself, but never found the time for. I…