Memories

     My love of tales, verse, literature and words is inexorably attached to the almost sacrosanct status that my parents ascribed to reading and learning. Book shopping was a monthly outing, special and set apart, part of our unique family rituals like fondue on Christmas Eve and church every Sunday, but representing our highest regard for knowledge. I remember trekking through endless aisles of books to find the one that I would get that month. From third grade until our lives became too cluttered with the extracurricular in high school, my family of four gathered almost nightly in the formal living room for “reading hour,” a time committed to reading for pleasure. In the egocentrism of my childhood and adolescence, I assumed that this was prescribed for my sister and me; only later did I recognize my parents’ personal commitment to their own reading undergird this ongoing event. In their own ways, my mother and father understood the transformative power of books, and they designed ways to pass on that value.

http://www.chron.com/neighborhood/heights-news/article/A-page-of-history-in-danger-at-the-Alabama-Theatre-1888105.php#photo-1483738  
One of our favorites: Bookstop in the Alabama Theatre

     Most of my memories of books draw from the books I read independently during those family reading hours. A few extend to my mother’s read alouds and the picture books read in my early childhood. In all these books, I find pieces of my character, and I recognize the heroine who fashioned my personality more than any other. My favorite picture books featured Babar, that suit-clad elephant who seemed such a close and energetic ally, certainly not one embroiled in the controversies of colonialism, and I remember him, Curious George, Peter Rabbit, Pooh and Piglet, dirty-dog Harry, and Madeline as great friends with whom I shared great adventures. Of course, my best friends from the earliest books that I could read myself were Roger Hargreaves' Mr. Men and Little Miss characters, after whom my parents appropriately nicknamed me Miss Messy and Miss Chatterbox. 

     Then there are those other books that caught my breath, and each of them gives me a glimpse into who I have become, so fresh and revelatory they are even now in my mind. The tattered copies of The Giving Tree and The Lorax that I now read to my children birthed the idealism that I must be here to make the world a little better because as the Once-ler explains, "UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.” However, as I listened to Christian’s difficult journey to the Celestial City, I realized that altruism is empty optimism without the power of Christ. Apart from my heroine, Christian probably yielded the most powerful influence on me, infusing the divine into life and adventure. I read through Laura Ingalls Wilders’ tales to emerge with a greater appreciation of history and hardship. Nancy Drew opened up the world of mystery, and maybe I think young adult power, and my love of mystery in novel, life, faith and film has never diminished. That sense of the unknown and fantastical later deepened with the fairy tales of Hans Christian Anderson and the Grimm Brothers. In Frances Hodgson Burnett’s Secret Garden and Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Book, the perils and promises of exotic lands unfolded, giving form to places that I had learned about in school. Such a wanderlust they ignited in me that despite many trips to Europe and Asia and across North America, I still hunger to see more.

     And then came Anne and Emily. I read the Anne of Green Gables series in sixth grade after receiving the set for Christmas. Yes, books for Christmas was another part of that reading thing in my family! With L.M. Montgomery, I finally recognized that books can and should make you laugh and cry and love and feel. Good stories are wild, fun and exhilarating! L.M. Montgomery wrote in a clever and sophisticated way. I learned new ways of speaking as I read, I recognized complex nuances inside her words, and I began seeing what I read in my mind. In fact, her stories turned over and over again there after I read them. I raced through Anne’s adventures, loving her individuality and humor, to a full and satisfying end. 

     Then, wanting more of the same, I dived into Emily’s life. I did not expect Emily, who has typically played second fiddle, to captivate my heart and imagination, but she did. I identified with her orphan life, a little lost in my skin in those fragile middle school years. I also shared her intense loyalty to knowledge and intellectualism over the superficiality of appearance and bland conformity. Emily told me it was good to be smart and hard-working. She showed me it was okay to have my own thoughts, find my own way, and push back on traditional ideas. I liked Anne, but I loved Emily! Emily validated my withdrawal into reading and writing as pastimes. I found myself in Emily, living her imaginary life and finding affirmation for my hopes and dreams. I could not have defined it then, but I uncovered the power of romanticism, still a trusted ally as I uncover the beauty and mysticism in words, music and nature, increasingly my best friends as I grow older. As Emily says, “If it's IN you to climb you must -- there are those who MUST lift their eyes to the hills -- they can't breathe properly in the valleys.” 

     Now I learned to breathe in the valleys too because life is after all more than beholding and imagining. Plus, that value for reading in my family was embedded with an oversized work ethic. But books are still invigorating! Words still offer the precious gift of contemplation. Good stories and novels continue shaping my character, my words, and my dreams. In fact, they protect me from the idea that maybe I’m getting too old to dream or maybe this is the whole dream. They give me glimpses into faraway worlds full of the unknown, and I get to go there again and again. Good books inspire me, like Emily, to use words for healing. They validate my ideals, and they make known my emotions. Good books are works of art with the power and magic to make life. Good books still capture my breath and conjure up the divine. And so I thank my parents for making words and the beauty and knowledge that they bring a passion and centerpiece in my life.


Geisel, T.S. (1999). The Lorax. New York, NY: Random House Children's Books. (Original work published 1971)
Kourkounis, Jessica. (Photographer). (2006, August 7). Former Alabama theatre [digital image]. Retrieved from http://www.chron.com/neighborhood/heights-news/article/A-page-
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