After a recent birthday, with a head of white hair and a longstanding membership in AARP, there are those who might assume that I am aging. I have proof to the contrary. Among the gifts for my recent birthday, I got a small pumpkin, a balloon, and a picture book. I’m contending that the pumpkin and balloon, selected and given by two preschool grandsons, indicate they think I’m one of them.
The picture book was presaged with a hint from my daughter that my present would “have my name all over it.” I could tell she was right when I opened the package to find a picture book with the title A Child of Books.
The card that came with it said:
For: A child of books to enjoy and then share with little ones who are also becoming child(ren) of books
From: A child of books.
Further proof that the book was meant for me came when I read the first lines, “I am a child of books. I come from a world of stories.” The storyline by Oliver Jeffers took me back to the time when my now-librarian daughter learned to love books that took her to other worlds when she was a preschooler. Clever illustrations by Sam Winston have a background of forty different children’s stories and lullabies. Even the endpapers are multitudes of titles and authors of classics in literature.
The book did indeed have my name on it. I was a child of books thanks to a mother who read to me. I raised that daughter as a child of books and am glad to have the opportunity to encourage those two grandsons (the “little ones” on her card who are her nephews) to become children of books. A Child of Books is a wonderful book for any adult child of books to share with kids in their lives with the hope that they will also become children of books.
As for my age, you can believe the gray hair and the AARP membership or you can believe the birthday gifts. I’m going with the pumpkin and the picture book.