Sharing Saturday
Favorite book of all time? (Mrs. Dalloway.)
Favorite author? (toss up among Judy Blume, Virginia Woolf, Anna Quindlen and E. M. Forster.)
Favorite book-turned-movie? (Gone with the Wind. Ok, it's hopelessly racist and derivative, but I lapped it up as a young teen. And learned a bit about the Civil War.)
Most influential book? (another toss up -- Harriet the Spy, Little Women, or Motherless Daughters.)
Favorite poets? (Mary Oliver, Emily Dickinson and e.e. cummings.)
If you're like me, the answers to these questions either came immediately because you're so steeped in books and their relationship to your life, or you had to think long and hard because there were so many possible answers to every question. In either case, you love books, you love reading, and you love being asked about both.
So how could I possibly have not one, not two, but THREE children with little or no interest in books?
Pregnant with my first baby, my oldest son, I discovered the fabulous children's section at Politics and Prose. "Pat the Bunny?" Check. "Guess How Much I Love You?" Check. Next, pregnant with my one and only girl – I went home with the one and only Eloise. Books were read to my belly. Books were read to my newborns, rocking them back to sleep in the middle of the night. After the crib, the most important piece of furniture in each of my baby's rooms was the bookshelf, lined with those fat, cardboard, abridged versions of children's classics. I was determined to pass a love of reading to each of them from the start.
As they got older, we had reading time every night. I had dreams of sharing the books that shaped my childhood. "The Phantom Tollbooth." "All of A Kind Family." " Anne of Green Gables." And of course, the inimitable "Charlotte's Web" and "Stuart Little," practically bibles when I was growing up.
My little stinkers rejected them all. I have never been allowed the pleasure of spelling out "Some pig" like Charlotte does in her web. I have never read aloud to them about Stuart's adventures in the city, or Anne of Avonlea's stepparents, or Milo's fantastic trip past the tollbooth.
My oldest son claims he is not a reader. His head is in the math clouds, and I finally believe that reading is not enjoyable for him. His pleasures are derived from solving complex puzzles and spatial equations. From the time we first started reading to him and he could make a choice about what he wanted, he chose the books with mazes, solutions, and Richard Scarry books with no story line, just a lot of pictures and pointing. Yawn.
My daughter was my next great hope. I have tried everything, but her interests are elsewhere and she gets distracted when trying to read. At night, when we are supposed to be reading together, she prefers to play school with her dolls and animals, write in her journal, or draw pictures. To this day, she prefers books with illustrations. I have decided that she is a visual learner, and takes her cues from the pictures. As a result, the chapter books that all her now 6th grade friends are lapping up don't really interest her. I am in a constant hunt for books that are appropriate for her age and reading level that are also well illustrated – suggestions welcome.
Finally, my baby. He's now eight, a rising fourth grader, and is a strong reader. But he likes fact books about maps and states and Presidents and sports figures (wonder where all the books about basketball are in our local library? Checked out on his card again and again.) Almanacs are his favorite , with facts and figures he can memorize. I suppose it's a kind of reading, but it certainly isn’t "Charlotte's Web."
I know what the librarians say – as long as it's reading, it's fine. It doesn't matter whether it's comics, or the graphic novels that are so popular now, or magazines, or almanacs. The important thing is that they are reading. But how is it possible to be a family today without at least one well-worn copy of Harry Potter hanging around your house?
I'm not convinced. I can't imagine a world without the books that have been my lifelong companions. I can't imagine not feeling my heart open up as I walk into the library, overcome by the specter of thousands of books, all there, all free, all for me to enjoy.
I can't imagine not having spent hours as a teenager roaming the musty stacks of the Strand Bookstore in New York City. I still can't resist ducking into the used book store wherever I go, perusing the shelves for the perfect novel or collection of essays that I would never buy retail. I love the hunt. I love the search. I love the feeling that the next book I buy could change my life.
When I was about 15 years old, my father's best friend was visiting and noticed that I was reading "The Women's Room" by Marilyn French, a provocative best seller at the time. A teacher, he mused that he was envious of me, having so many books in front of me. I've never forgotten his comment, or that same feeling that the world is constantly opening up to me through books.
A new study about the relationship between books at home and educational attainment suggests that children who have 500 or more books in the home get, on average, 3.2 more years of schooling than children in bookless homes. Even having just 20 books makes a difference.
With that claim, my kids should be getting Ivy League educations. The way we're going, just getting into college is going to be a challenge.
I suppose my kids' lack of passion around books is just one of the things that has taught me to be a more patient parent. One who understands that her children are not mini replicas of me, and are not going to have the same interests as I do. One who gets that each child in her family learned to read in a different way, at a different pace. One who nods wisely when her kid brings home yet another sports hero book from the school library, and admires her child's book report on a book several grades below her reading level.
One who fervently wishes she had another opportunity to seduce them with "Charlotte's Web." Maybe when the grandchildren come.
Oh, you are such a good mom!! I don't know that I could wait so patiently for grandchildren. Our first daughter broke my heart when she rejected all my childhood favorites (many on your list) because she only wanted books with "real life" contemporary girls, like Junie B. Jones. But fortunately our second child loves all the chapter books close to my heart. I don't think I could wait 30 years!!
Posted by: Katherine | Thursday, August 26, 2010 at 06:55 AM
Thanks, Katherine. For the record, I HATE Junie B. Jones, and the way she talks (we could have a young child's version of "The Help" conversation about slang and argot here.) But I would take it if they would read it :)
Posted by: Karen | Thursday, August 26, 2010 at 09:59 AM
So far I've been lucky - my almost seven-year-old daughter loves to read (and to be read to). This summer we've been making our way through The Secret Garden (we're on page 268)and it's been a treat for both of us (although I've had to edit out a few characterizations that might have been appropriate in Victorian times but are offensive now.) So, Karen, come on over and read to us! And send us some recommendations on what to tackle next - I'm thinking Heidi.
Posted by: Stacy | Thursday, August 26, 2010 at 01:33 PM