childhood, revisited.
floodtide‘s most recent entry, charming as ever, concerns his recent scurry to own the books of his childhood – cleary’s Ralph books, and the great Ramona books…. flood is so right, as per usual.
I have friends that make fun of the fact that I love the harry potter series, or that i still cry when i watch charlotte’s web or thumbelina. to them i say, feh. as a child, i didn’t have a lot of continuity. i was constantly moved around. beth might say it’s highly unusual [and she does] but i started reading when i was roughly 2 and a half. and i haven’t stopped.
as a child, i devoured louisa may alcott, roald dahl, c.s. lewis, george macdonald. i read the narnia chronicles about once a month. when we went to the british museum, when i was 10 or 11, i recognized the story behind a set of roman spoons found in Leeds because of a short story Dahl wrote in The Wonderful World of Henry Sugar. my mother tells that story to this day.
I read greek mythology backwards and forwards. i read through dinners with business partners of my father’s, i read on planes, i read in cars, i read on the beach and while walking down the street [okay, i still walk and read. it rocks. try it sometime.]
when i was 12, i moved on to the classics, because i was living in africa and there were no bookstores, really. i read Anna Karenina and Animal’s Farm [but didn't "get" it]. I loved the Jane Austen novels and hated the Choose Your Own Adventure ones.
In Kenya, when i was 16, I got a completely involuntary education in the greats of the 20th century, because again, no bookstores. I was so desperate for reading material [my mother says that when i was a child, if i didn't have a book, i would just read cereal boxes and billboards] I dug into my father’s extensive hardback collection. funny thing was, i didn’t realize at the time the caliber of great literature i was devouring like a hungry wolf. i read Styron’s Sophie’s Choice and The Arms of Krupp and Michener’s Kent State and Halberstram’s Best and the Brightest and Boll’s Group Portrait with Lady. I read a fair amount of John Irving, too, my favorite always being Hotel New Hampshire [another point of connection between myself and the wonderful floodtide.]
What’s my point with all this? for one, i could never see myself in the publishing industry. it’s like, loving hamburgers with your heart and soul and working on the grill at macdonald’s. reading is an escape for me, it’s a safe haven. when i meet people that say, ‘i don’t read’, a part of me looks at them like they’re alien life forms. you don’t read?! do you breathe?!
and the other thing – kids aren’t reading enough. they’re watching TV. they’re watching MTV for christ’s sake. they’re not expanding their minds and vocabularies. they’re not challenging themselves. they don’t ‘play pretend’ as much anymore. i know this – i’ve taken care of my share of children.
and you know what? the kids i have taken care of? i’ve read to all of them, different books – with molly and emma, it was the narnia chronicles and they loved ramona. with kat and annie, we read a chapter of harry potter every night – they loved how i could do all the different voices. they couldn’t wait until bed time. on rainy days, we’d cheat and read during the day, too. i read to them in the tub until their fingers turned into little prunes.
i even read to their baby brother, james. i read to him from the newspaper while i was feeding him, something my mother did to me. he would fall asleep much faster when he could feel my voice reverberating through the arms that held him.
i loved reading with and to the kids. and when i talk to them, months and years since i’ve seen them last, we still talk about harry, and ramona, and edmund and lucy, and hermione and dumbledore, and how silly dobby the house elf is.
that makes me feel like i’ve done my bit. it’s one of my greatest accomplishments.
cheers, all – especially you, floodtide.
k