A New Chapter
When I was 5.8 years old, our family took a long car trip to the national parks of Utah. On this trip, my elder siblings endeavored, with some success, to teach me to read via Shel Silverstein's A Light in the Attic. As I recall, I was pleased as punch to become semi-literate, but, as usual, I was more interested in what my brother Joshua had.
Throughout my pre-adolesence, Josh's Stuff was a source of fascination, desire, and envy. He had better (and less damaged) Star Wars figures, he had intriguing books, and he managed to make his Halloween candy last much longer than I did. His room was off limits, but I often found myself in there running my fingers along the spines of his bookcase and filching his lollipops.
My interest in Josh's Stuff may have come from this vacation. He was reading a thick paperback book titled The Patchwork Girl of Oz, the plot of which concerned the continuing adventures of Dorothy and her friends in Oz. This book acted on me like Turkish Delight on Edmund; I would stare at its cover as Josh devoured it.
I would pester him with questions about it. I would, later on, filch it. A whole new book about Oz! It blew my mind!
Adelaide is now almost 4.5 years old and, like me, loves the story of Oz, which she has consumed in movie and picture-book formats. A few weeks ago, on a whim, I borrowed The Road to Oz from the Iowa City Public Library. It was a pretty thick book, 260 pages, but it featured a beautiful pen-and-ink sketch every few pages, and the chapters were fairly short.
I started reading it to Adelaide two weeks ago and, last night, we finished. While our usual storytime is just prior to bed, with The Road to Oz we read whenever we both felt like it. Last Saturday morning, for instance, I was vacuuming up Ophelia's hair when Adelaide appeared on the stairs with the book and shouted, "Will you read to me?" I turned off the vacuum gratefully.
Sharing a book that we both genuinely enjoy puts me over the moon. Don't get me wrong, I like most of her picture books on a certain level, but Oz is the first book we've shared that I would enjoy on my own. It might be a little like when I started reading The Black Cauldron to my father when I was eight. Suddenly, my child (whom I love like I love the sun shining on flowers, blah blah blah...) and I are actually sharing a common interest. We are, in this small arena, chapter by chapter, friends.
Comments
YAY, Oz!
Posted by: Kris | July 16, 2010 3:21 PM
You owe me 5.8 lollipops.
Posted by: Joshua Miron | July 22, 2010 7:03 PM