Being the child of a librarian is rough — you get to be a guinea pig, of sorts. The drawback is that your mother works in your school and things get dicey when you’re in the principal’s office. The upside is that you get your greedy little fingers on new books before the other kids. If we didn’t count it as one of our life’s major accomplishments, we’d have to admit we are so nerdy, it’s embarrassing.
It’s amazing how clearly our childhood reading stands out in our mind. We can see the school library. Pinpoint the location of the Cleary books. The non-fiction titles that made us fantasize about growing up to be Katherine Lee Bates. Recall the moment we stood on tiptoe (and being short is never more of a disadvantage than in a library) to reach the L’Engle titles.
Oddly, and this is a mix of how we learned to read (let us just say that even at age before-kindergarten, we knew the importance of deciphering and comprehending the strange markings the mother put on pieces of paper) and how we were taught to read (phonics, taught to a well-on-her-way-to-being-a-school-legend reader, are like shutting the barn door after the horses escape), we never got much into the Dr. Seuss. That actually came later in life. Thank goodness for much younger siblings. If it weren’t for a second childhood due to reading to the sister nightly, and we do forgive her for her misunderstanding of Where the Wild Things Are*, we probably would have considered Dr. Seuss to be an influence, but not top tier.
Yeah, well, we remedied that error and good.
* – Usm practically shaking with joy over finding the perfect present: Here is the best book ever. Take this as our most honored gift to you. Youngest Sister: Cool, I will read it immediately. [Time passes, she disappears into her bedroom. Later, she appears, ready to share the joy of Max.] Youngest Sister, handing the book back: It was okay.
