To kick off this, the last day of
Children’s Book Week, I decided to read the two children’s books that I have in my apartment right now: “Barack” by Jonah Winter, illustrated by A.G. Ford and “Barack Obama: Son of Promise, Child of Hope,” written by Nikki Grimes and illustrated by Bryan Collier. These books were Christmas presents from my brother and sister-in-law. I read them when I got them, and I take them down pretty regularly to look at the pictures, because the pictures in both books are beautiful. But reading them again this morning got me thinking about children’s books I loved when I was little.
One of my very first memories is from when I was 2 or 3. This was before we moved into the house that we live in now, and my new baby brother George and I had to share a room. I remember begging, just begging, to be able to go into the room where George was sleeping so I could get some books. I remember being bored and just thinking I would die if I couldn’t get in there and get some books. But Mom would not let me go in, even though I really didn’t understand what the problem was, because I was sure that I would be super quiet and not wake the baby.
Still, despite Mom’s refusal to let me get books on that day, she rarely ever refused me a book again. She took us to the library all the time. I can still distinctly remember one of the librarians we frequently saw, who had this long red hair that looked kinda gross, perhaps because this particular lady always seemed to have a cold and your books always seemed in eminent danger of getting sneezed on. Still, I loved to go to the library, particularly when summer reading programs would start up.
Well, to be honest, of course I loved any reading program, particularly Accelerated Reader when that came along. Back in my day, kids, the reading list was just two legal-sized sheets, back and front. I’ve seen the list you guys have now and all I can tell you is that if there had been that many points up for grabs when I was a kid, you all would have been TOAST. As it was, I did set an Accelerated Reader record at the elementary school, which was only crushed once kids got that supersized list of books they could choose from. There was also the Book-it program, where for reading books you could slips for a personal pan pizza at Pizza Hut, and also a sticker for a button. Dad thought Pizza Hut was dirty so we never got our buttons completed.
But again, I am not trying to bring up old grievances against my parents by telling you these horror stories of not being allowed to go into the baby’s room or not being allowed to go to Pizza Hut, because my parents have always been very supportive of my book habit. Mom would let me order copiously from book orders and book fairs (and oh, I can remember the excitement that occurred when a new book order form arrived from the teacher), and Dad retrieved the dozens of boxes full of books that I mailed to him from Seattle when I was moving. They even tolerated me reading at inappropriate events, such as an Easter service and football games. They were somewhat less tolerant of the bag of books I needed to take everywhere, which was alluded to in a previous post about Children’s Book Week. What happened is that I got convinced the house would burn down, and I didn’t want to be without books for however long it would take us to get some money to get more books. I was also pretty convinced that I would finish whatever book I was reading before I could get back home again, and I wanted to be sure I had something new to start. And by something new to start, I mean, at least 25 options for something to start.
So what did I read? I remember reading Rainbow Brite books a lot when I was small. I had two, and one was green and one was purple. I liked Berenstain Bears books, and I also liked this book called “We Help Mommy,” because I wanted to believe I was the kind of sweet girl who helped her mommy, even though when push came to shove I didn’t like the getting down and dirty that sometimes accompanied helping out. I think “The Monster at the End of this Book” is an extremely important book that everyone should own.
But that’s all I really remember of straight-up picture books. Very early on I considered it vital that I be allowed into the big kids’ section of the library. I heard later that everyone doubted that I actually read the books, but starting in the first grade I could check out a book a day from the non-picture book section. I liked these books…I don’t know what brand they were or anything, but they were biographies of famous people that focused pretty much exclusively on their childhoods. Like, you would read 180 pages of what Ben Franklin or Juliette Gordon Low were like as children, and then there would be one chapter tacked on the end about how they grew up and became famous. The books were very distinctive looking, but I have no idea who put them out. I wish I knew. I’d like to work for those people.
Along those historical lines, I loved the American Girls books, of course; though, not to sound like an old woman, but back in my day there were only three American Girls (Kirsten, Samantha and Molly) and there were not emporiums where you could go and pick out clothes and dolls – there was a catalogue that came quarterly and that was it. Oh, Molly the American Girl, I can still picture you at your kitchen table refusing to eat your vegetables, and your mom saying you couldn’t leave the table until you ate them, but still you sat there. So stubborn and plucky!
What else? Like most kids, I loved E.B. White, Roald Dahl, Encyclopedia Brown and Beverly Clearly, particularly anything with Ramona in the title. I loved the “Little House” series as much as I loved the television show. I read my way through God knows how many Babysitter’s Club books, including the spin-off titles like Babysitter’s Little Sister and the Summer Super Specials. I was even a member of the fan club for awhile, which was fun because you got cool stuff in the mail, but somewhat sad because a good portion of the mail was about starting your own babysitters’ club, and I just couldn’t get one together. I read Nancy Drew, Anne of Green Gables, and Judy Blume (“Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret” when totally over my head because I read it when I was far too young but I adored “Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing”).
“Bridge to Terabithia” was the first book that made me cry, and also the first book that slightly scandalized me because there was a “dammit” or something like that in the first few pages. I refuse to see any movie that is based on that book. I liked Avi. I liked Louis Sachar’s “Sideways Stories from Wayside School” and still occasionally find myself referencing some of the stories in conversations. I took a Super Saturday class on the Chronicles of Narnia, and debated with people about whether it was better to read the books in chronological order or in the order that they came numbered in the box set. One year the church did a Lenten program on “The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe,” so they showed a bit of the cartoon movie each Wednesday night. One of my best memories of my grandmother Kink is when she got up to do a recap of the previous week’s episode, and she told that story better than C.S. Lewis himself.
Pretty early on I did start heading for slightly more adult fare, like Mary Higgins Clark and Agatha Christie. But I still go through phases when I read a lot of kids’ books. Particularly when I lived in Seattle—that’s when I read most of the Newbery and Caldecott medal books, just for the hell of it, cause I was unemployed and had lots of time to sit in bookstores and libraries. That’s when I devoured the Lemony Snicket books and where I read the last half of the Harry Potter series.
I think those are the majority of my children’ book-related memories, and you gotta admit, those are some pretty great memories. So that’s why a week like Children’s Book Week is so important. I hope kids read more and don’t just play on the internet or watch the television, though I do think there’s enough time in childhood to do those things too. Well, actually I don’t know about the internet thing, we didn’t have that til I was in high school. But I think in honor of Children’s Book Week we should all go read something right NOW, and if you have kids, make them read something too. Sometimes I worry that if I have kids that don’t like to read, I won’t know how to relate to them, but that’s an anxiety to discuss on another day. For now, let’s all go read.
The turtle has cowboy boots also. I'm still thinking about what my pictures mean, and I think it has something to with the interactions between man and nature?
