These Old Books (#1 Reason to Read to Your Children)
I love books.
To me books are wondrous. I suppose with my background it is impossible for me to think otherwise. Maybe that explains the multiple bookshelves crammed full of books that live in my home. Recently, I realized that we really needed more shelf space. I decided to weed through all the books that I have accumulated over the years as a child, a teacher, and a mom. I mean, after all, my children had definitely outgrown at least half of the books on the shelves. Excitedly, I went to the shelves to purge and organize.
And. that's. where. I. got. stuck.
I COULDN'T do it. Literally, couldn't. I think I ended up with less than ten books that I could part with.
Here's what was wrong with me. Each one of those books is attached to memories. And not just a few memories. Those books represent my grandmother, my great-grandmother, my mother, my father, my sister, my children, my students, my friends. Those books are reminders of my childhood, my adolescence, my young adulthood, and my motherhood. Some of those times seem like eons ago, but when I come across a book, I remember.
When I pick up Hilda Boswell's Treasury of Children's Stories I remember my paternal grandmother. It is a beautifully illustrated gift from her. As a child, she was SO old. I guess mothering nine children will give anyone's physique a run for their money. Being shy, I was somewhat afraid of her. She was fairly stoic. But, oh my, could she tell a tale! When I was very young, she would set me on her lap and tell me about "Little Orphan Annie," "Raggylug," and "Elmer Brown." No book, it was all memorized. She would get so dramatic, that even if I had heard the story before, it was an absolute delight! I would be shaking in my shoes over the "two great big Black Things" that snatched the bad little girl through the ceiling in "Little Orphan Annie." Then, the way she screwed up her wrinkled face when Elmer Brown said, "Here's the way you look!" was nothing short of hysterical. Those were special moments.
This book remembers.
Look. Here's the Giant Treasury of Brer Rabbit retold from the Stories of Joel Chandler Harris. It was a gift from a friend to my children, but it reminds me of my father. As Daddy's little girl, I sat on his lap as often as possible up until I was seventeen years old (the year he died,) and he would read to me and my siblings- mostly from the Bible or Egermeier's Bible Story Book. But some of the most fun was when he would read the authentic Brer Rabbit stories from Joel Chandler Harris. Wow. You really MUST look it up. It was written just as Uncle Remus would have spoken it. I'm not sure I could read it today if I tried, but he could. He would get a gleam in his eye as he read all about Brer Rabbit's antics. Those were the days. . .
This book remembers.
And here is Favorite Nursery Rhymes Mother Goose, a Hallmark pop-up book. This is a very special book. I was always fascinated by pop-up books as a child. I would see them in the drugstore and long for one. I knew, even then, what a luxury owning one would be. But on Jan. 1, 1976, (if the writing in the front is correct,) I received this, my very own pop-up book, from my parents. I still remember how my mother warned me to take care of it. Not to break it. To be careful with it. And I was, oh so careful. Every page is still intact. The mouse runs up the clock, Mary's lamb goes to school, the blackbirds fly out of the pie, and Jack jumps over the candlestick. It reminds me of my childhood, loving parents, and a grateful heart.
This book remembers.
When I see the Little House books, I think of my sister, who read everything twenty times because she has a big brain. When I see Miss Nelson is Missing, Johnny Appleseed, and The Little Engine that Could, I think of my third grade students and those little faces eager to discover. I remember all of the learning that we did together, the plays that we performed, the calendar time, the geography, the read-aloud books. I remember the surprise parties they threw me and the fun we had together. It seems like another lifetime, but. . .
These books remember.
Oh, and Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? by Eric Carle. There was nothing more precious than hearing my own little tots "read" this book to me as I turned the pages. The look of pure excitement and pride when they would recite the memorized words perfectly on Daddy's lap as he genuinely looked amazed. Praises upon praises for their "new ability." Snuggles and fun accompanied A Light in the Attic, Go Dog Go, Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, The Complete Tales and Poems of Winnie the Pooh, Snow White, Where the Wild Things Are. And The Hobbit! I read this on a road trip to the entire family- voices and all! Until that day, my husband was unaware of my magnificent talent in the art of reading aloud.
These books remember the moments.
I could tell you about how my mother taught me to read from Winky when I was five years old or how our sweet neighbor and babysitter would read Corduroy to me from her own children's books. And what about Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, Anne of Green Gables, The Boxcar Children, The Series of Unfortunate Events, and The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog? On and on it goes with each book I pull out.
These books remember the people, the places, the love.
Look. Here's the Giant Treasury of Brer Rabbit retold from the Stories of Joel Chandler Harris. It was a gift from a friend to my children, but it reminds me of my father. As Daddy's little girl, I sat on his lap as often as possible up until I was seventeen years old (the year he died,) and he would read to me and my siblings- mostly from the Bible or Egermeier's Bible Story Book. But some of the most fun was when he would read the authentic Brer Rabbit stories from Joel Chandler Harris. Wow. You really MUST look it up. It was written just as Uncle Remus would have spoken it. I'm not sure I could read it today if I tried, but he could. He would get a gleam in his eye as he read all about Brer Rabbit's antics. Those were the days. . .
This book remembers.
And here is Favorite Nursery Rhymes Mother Goose, a Hallmark pop-up book. This is a very special book. I was always fascinated by pop-up books as a child. I would see them in the drugstore and long for one. I knew, even then, what a luxury owning one would be. But on Jan. 1, 1976, (if the writing in the front is correct,) I received this, my very own pop-up book, from my parents. I still remember how my mother warned me to take care of it. Not to break it. To be careful with it. And I was, oh so careful. Every page is still intact. The mouse runs up the clock, Mary's lamb goes to school, the blackbirds fly out of the pie, and Jack jumps over the candlestick. It reminds me of my childhood, loving parents, and a grateful heart.
This book remembers.
When I see the Little House books, I think of my sister, who read everything twenty times because she has a big brain. When I see Miss Nelson is Missing, Johnny Appleseed, and The Little Engine that Could, I think of my third grade students and those little faces eager to discover. I remember all of the learning that we did together, the plays that we performed, the calendar time, the geography, the read-aloud books. I remember the surprise parties they threw me and the fun we had together. It seems like another lifetime, but. . .
These books remember.
Oh, and Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? by Eric Carle. There was nothing more precious than hearing my own little tots "read" this book to me as I turned the pages. The look of pure excitement and pride when they would recite the memorized words perfectly on Daddy's lap as he genuinely looked amazed. Praises upon praises for their "new ability." Snuggles and fun accompanied A Light in the Attic, Go Dog Go, Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, The Complete Tales and Poems of Winnie the Pooh, Snow White, Where the Wild Things Are. And The Hobbit! I read this on a road trip to the entire family- voices and all! Until that day, my husband was unaware of my magnificent talent in the art of reading aloud.
These books remember the moments.
I could tell you about how my mother taught me to read from Winky when I was five years old or how our sweet neighbor and babysitter would read Corduroy to me from her own children's books. And what about Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, Anne of Green Gables, The Boxcar Children, The Series of Unfortunate Events, and The Original Adventures of Hank the Cowdog? On and on it goes with each book I pull out.
These books remember the people, the places, the love.
Each book on these shelves has a story. Not just inside its pages but inside my heart.
And I'm going to keep every single one.
And I'm going to keep every single one.
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