Every night the boys and I curl up on the couch or on Deal’s bed, always Deal’s bed for some reason, to read. Bird is 10, and Deal is 8. I know our time to read together is limited. They still enjoy the voices and inflections I use in read-alouds. Oh, they roar and groan and roll their eyes, but I know they are enjoying my reading escapades. They still nestle into my shoulder or wrap their legs around mine as we sit in a clump together to read. There is rarely TV during the week, but there are always books. Even when the witching hour extends into the night, we end with a book, a story read aloud to lull us all back into a loving vibe. Such is the power of books.
The boys and I choose books together, though I admittedly steer them towards my very own childhood favorites. I read now with the lenses of Ramona’s mother, Mrs. Murray, or Homily perched upon the bridge of my nose. My frame of reference has aged with me so naturally I feel a tug to the maternal characters of books these days. The boys are introducing me to new authors too. We have just bought Wonder (in hardcover!) because it is virtually impossible to snag at the library.They have also turned me on to Sharon Creech and Katherine Applegate.
Right now we are reading The Little Prince. Oddly enough, I have read it in its original French and in German. This is my first time reading the tale in its English translation. The illustrations are darling and whimisical, and the cadence of the translation is remarkably beautiful. Bird and Deal sit entranced, closing each chapter with pleading peals of “just one more!” Of course I acquiesce because the chapters are so short and I want to continue the story as well. We’ll sit and chat about the book when we have finished it. I have a hunch the boys will agree with the Little Prince’s observations about grown ups. I’ve been feeling a guilty tug tinged with shame as I read the Little Prince’s words myself. Though I might be closer in age to Ramona’s mother now, that doesn’t mean I have lost my Ramona spirit.
Sometimes I just need a couple little princes of my own to help me find it.
“Grown-ups love figures… When you tell them you’ve made a new friend they never ask you any questions about essential matters. They never say to you “What does his voice sound like? What games does he love best? Does he collect butterflies? ” Instead they demand “How old is he? How much does he weigh? How much money does his father make? ” Only from these figures do they think they have learned anything about him.”
“Grown ups never understood anything by themselves. And it is rather tedious to have to explain things to them time and again”
“If you were to say to the grown-ups: “I saw a beautiful house made of rosy brick, with geraniums in the windows and doves on the roof,” they would not be able to get any idea of that house at all. You would have to say to them, “I saw a house that cost $20,000.” Then they would exclaim, “Oh, what a pretty house that is!”
“All grown-ups were children first. (But few remember it).”