We took the kids to the library tonight. I took Madeleine over to Louisa May Alcott's Little Women.
"This is the best book ever," I tell her. "It's about four girls-Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy...and their adventures."
Madeleine examines it. I tremble with joy.
"Why are you trembling?" asked the spider.
"I'm trembling with joy," replied Wilbur.
"Then my name is Joy," said the young spider.-Charlotte's Web
Next we visit the magazines. I spot American Girl.
"I used to read this," I tell Madeleine. "The Civil War version, of course." I crack myself up. Nobody else thinks I'm particularly funny.
"Cheryl Tiegs used to write an advice column back in my day," I remember. "She once said 'The sun does great things for your skin! Get out there and soak it up!' I tried, but I never got a tan. Woman ruined my teenage years. Wonder what she thinks of that advice today. I bet her skin looks like an alligator."
Nobody is particularly interested. I flip out my mirror and do a quick wrinkle check. Still holding steady. Being a sun phobic bookworm does have its advantages.
I spot another book.
"I read this book as a child," I reminisce to Roger. It's Up A Road Slowly. I flip through the pages.
"It was a different time, a different place," I say. I show Roger the paragraph that confused me so. Something Very Bad had happened. But I didn't know what.
"We heard that Carlotta had gone to spend the winter with an aunt from Ohio, an aunt we had never heard of."
"NOW HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW-AT AGE 10- THAT MEANT AN ILLEGITMATE TEENAGE PREGNANCY?" I bluster. "I wondered what was so bad about spending the winter with an aunt! Was she beating her or something? Nowadays, I guess they'd do a whole chapter on how she got in that condition!"
I try to get Madeleine into the timeless Beverly Cleary books. But she's a diehard Junie B. Jones fan.
"God I hate Junie B. Jones!" I remark. "SPEAKING OF BEATING, IF JUNIE B. JONES WAS MY CHILD, SHE'D BE CALLING CHILD PROTECTIVE SERVICES."
Roger takes my hand and gently leads me away.
Now I'm off to reread Little Women for the one hundredth time.
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6 comments:
I saved an entire collection of The Bobbsey Twins for my children. Do you think even one of the three have even opened a cover? It kills me. Now, they are not great works of literature, but I loved, loved, loved them as a child.
I also have a set of Laura Ingalls Wilder books that my middle daughter (9) has finally (!) taken an interest in.
Maybe I should just start rereading those Bobbsey Twins books myself.
Kelly
I love Little Women, too. I read it over and over as a child, along with the whole Anne of Green Gables series. I don't think I'll ever get tired of those books.
I could not agree more with you in the matter of Junie B. Jones. I got the opportunity to read a few of those books while teaching. And yes, I'd be beating her, too. I hate it when kids tell me how much they love her books because invariably they think they can behave that way in my classroom, which always ends with a trip to the interventionist's office.
I once read the name tag of a young woman that said Amy Jo. I said to her: "So, you got a sister named Meg Beth?" She confirmed she'd been named after her mom's fave LW characters.
I love how you write.
I actually like Junie B. Jones, because I have no taste and am a bad mother. I actually paid (lots of) good money to take my Mom and Catherine to a play based on the books.
I got Catherine into the Ramona books (but Henry Huggins doesn't do it for her) by introducing her to the pretty good Canadian TV series (look on eBay under "Beverly Cleary's Ramona" and VHS; they don't seem to be on DVD.
I read Catherine all the Ramona books when she was four, and we read them again just a few months back. Believe me, some of Ramona's behavior (especially in Beezus and Ramona makes Junie B. look like Beth freaking March!
I tried to get my daughters to read my favorite, like A Wrinkle in Time, The Little House in the Big Woods and all those, and Charlotte's Web, but they read Junie B Jones and Amelia Bedelia because they have pictures... the world is going to hell in a handbasket.
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