{Once upon a boring day a young girl walked into the bookstore . . . .}

The best books may not be longer than ten or twenty pages, may not have more than one sentence per page, and may not be the latest published and primed with various thumbs-up and other such viable commemoration.

This genre has become ever prominent in my mind over the last few weeks. Finding out that you have a little baby blessing on the way can do that to you. Well, at least to a book-nerd like me. It’s not binkies and onesies that I’m gazing at on Amazon.com. It’s the children’s book section.

Children’s books are the guide and glue of each generation. If you’d like to sneak into the heads of any given generation of children then go into Borders or Barnes & Noble and peruse the biggest section in the entire store. Some of it is disturbing, actually. Clearly, indoctrination is in it’s simplest form when you find it in a little kid’s picture book. I’ll avoid the politico for now though.

After taking a trip to B&N with my SIL and MIL, kiddie books has been the only thing on my mind. I took some time for myself and went to Borders a few days ago. The poor guy straightening the shelves must have asked me eight or more times if I needed any help finding anything. I made it pretty obvious I suppose, without even lifting my head as I teared up in the middle of Corduroy, he kind of walked away glancing back occasionally. (Ignorance is bliss, if you’re good at it.) I considered that he might come back with security since I’m sure I looked crazy curled up in the faux leather chair with the little red book on my knees and my fingers pulling at the hair I’d just curled behind my ear. I finished it and turned to see Chrysanthemum. I read that too. I shut it and replaced it on it’s neat little rack between Corduroy and some other book I didn’t care to look at. I glanced around.

I saw so many other books I couldn’t stand to ignore. Not to mention a shelf full of just Dr. Seuss masterpieces. How  could anyone resist the world of kid’s books? They are bright, cheerful, colorful, and usually you get something worthwhile out of them (and in five minute or less) too. There wasn’t anyone else around. It was kind of nice. It became more like a library than a retail store.

I grabbed The Very Hungry Caterpillar and took my time enjoying the illustrations.

What would we read to our baby?

What books would she or he ask to hear at bed time?

Would we read to him or her every night?

Would he or she grow up to like books as much as daddy and I do?

I put it down and thought about how important every single little thing is that you put in your head. Even more so, the things that go into the head of your son or daughter, niece or nephew, or even just the kids you babysat on the weekends in high school. How is it that a simple, straight-up book could mean so much and be so powerful?

I grew up on the classics (think anything with a gold spine), Dr. Seuss, Tall Tales (Pecos Bill and Paul Bunyan) The American Girl Series, Disney, and long-lived favorites like Goodnight Moon and The Day Jimmy’s Boa Ate The Wash.

Even those (bless their hearts) who don’t have such fondness for the written word remember what they read as a kid.

There is not much more I can say but amid the popularity of such fads as Harry Potter and Twilight; the selfish goals of political agendas and social idealists; and the whining and begging for the latest video game and the coolest toy, there are books that have outlasted all the propaganda and all those pompous ploys.  Don’t take them for granted.

And, as for us and our little blessing, we chose the below to be one of the highlights on his or her (eventually their) bookshelf. Of all the books in the whole wide world, this might just be my favorite. When I read it, I don’t imagine my own melancholy, inner-self, reading tone but I hear my Granddaddy’s voice. All it ever took was a hug and a kiss, we’d get close up next to him and he’d make the best voices and sounds to tell the story. Not every child is blessed with a sweet memory like that and a thing to forever attach to it. I hope our children do.

Moral: A book may mean a lot on its own but it may mean more because of the person who read it to you.

THE END.

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