Growing up the shy, dorky, four-eyed, uncoordinated girl you would see before you today, if, in fact, I were standing in front of you, summer reading lists were my compass to adventure; a step-by-step recipe to brave acts, fantastical journeys and best friends that would last forever. Every summer I can remember, The List carried the duality of excitement AND of gaining the praise of my teachers... and - perhaps, as I fervently hoped! - my parents. To be able to proudly declare that I had, indeed! Read Every Single Book on my reading list and therefore bask in the glory of being a ‘good girl’ was the closest thing to heaven I could hope to attain.
I read ‘A Tree Grows In Brooklyn’ and imagined myself as Francie; put upon, marginalized and yet smart and driven enough to achieve my (uhhh...her) goals DESPITE! the hurdles in my way! I imagined myself as Anne of Green Gables, impetuous, courageous and with the Very Best Friend a Girl Could Ever have in Diana; meaning that Anne - and therefore I - Would Never Be Lonely Ever Again!
My mother had died two weeks after my 9th birthday, and my older brother and I went to live with our father, stepmother, and little siblings. They weren’t strangers or anything; we had visited them for one weekend a month since I was born, and I ADORED my little brother and sister but my stepmother… well, she scared me to death, to be honest.
See, by the time I was born, my parents were already divorced from each other and remarried to other people.
In fact, I never saw my parents in the same room together. I didn’t realize this until I was sitting in church at my mother's funeral, feeling furious and hollow, watching my father cry for the first time in my life.
So it isn’t surprising, maybe, that I turned to books.
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I started a whole new elementary school after my mother died, in the middle of 3rd grade, and was graced with a teacher whom I absolutely adored. Her name was Mrs. Zazadel and she had ALL this PLATINUM GREY HAIR and BRIGHT! RED! Lipstick and all we did was ART. It was awesome. Not surprisingly, Mrs. Zazadel is the one who handed me my first summer reading list.
It was reading Charlotte’s Web that reminded me that parents aren’t always awful; that sometimes they let you keep the thing your heart most desires.
It was Black Beauty who taught me that life is a journey; that sometimes the very people who are supposed to care for you can be cruel and yet your journey doesn’t just stop... a happily ever after is still possible.
My bruised nine year old soul needed these stories. I needed to be reminded that not everyone was a yeller and a grabber. That there are fathers out there that DON’T leave, fathers who love and nurture like Pa Ingalls in Little House on the Prairie.
The Chronicles of Narnia fed my imagination and filled me with hope. Hope that maybe there was a wardrobe out there that I might crawl into and find bravery; another realm in which I might be welcomed and celebrated.
I am lucky enough to have been blessed with the ability to CONSUME books. When I’m reading, I don’t even see words, the stories simply become my reality and rereading these books is like visiting my favorite places, my old friends. Familiar and comfortable, they continue to remind me how much beauty, how much good there is in this crazy, fucked up world. It’s so easy right now to go dark, to be afraid and angry… I’m just grateful for any bit of love and hope I can get.
