A middle-aged toddler wistfully thinking about the “good ol’ days” has begun to revisit some of her favorite board books she used to read between the ages of 0-2.
She entered the nursery room, now home to her new baby brother who sleeps in her old crib, wears some of her old clothes, and even plays with her old toys.
She studies what has become of the pinks of her past and sees it now all awash in blues, grays, and greens, the proper colors for the man her brother is to become. The cute animals and ballerinas on her walls have been replaced with trucks and dinosaurs, and that’s ok, for every season turn.
Board books were so much easier to be handled, turned, stacked, and tossed. However these new books—Berenstain Bears, Little Critter, Dr. Seuss—are a little more difficult and a lot more dangerous.
She puts a soft hand on the furniture and fondly remembers bumping her head into the closet door or almost falling off the changing table. Aah, ungraceful youth.
Now a “big girl,” she walks by herself over to the library, a bookshelf lined with board books of various shapes, sizes, and genres. There are board book versions of classic works like Chicka Chicka Boom Boom and Brown Bear, Brown Bear. There are some books with secret flaps and magical slides, and when moved, reveal a hidden picture or image that would fill her with delight. And finally, the sound books, each with a button that would cue an audio clip of trains chooing, owls hooting, or ghosts booing.
These were much simpler times, indeed.
Now in her new bedroom, her book shelves are filled with regular-sized picture books and the early-stage chapter books. The look and feel of these books are not the same. The smell of these books even, are not the same.
Board books were so much easier to be handled, turned, stacked, and tossed. However these new books—Berenstain Bears, Little Critter, Dr. Seuss—are a little more difficult and a lot more dangerous.
While looking through The Story of Ferdinand in bed, she accidentally dropped it on her forehead. Her still-growing hands had difficulty keeping a grip on it.
And this isn’t the only injury she has recently sustained while reading. Last week, she went to turn a page in Robert Munsch’s I Love You Forever and accidentally poked herself in the eye.
And what about the sheer weight of Three Tales of My Father’s Dragon, a book perhaps inappropriately purchased for her to read right now, but she was still intrigued by the dragon. She went to get it out of the bookcase and due to its sheer weight, dropped it on her foot.
Yes, momma told her there would be days like these but like any headstrong child she did not take heed. Now here she is. Sigh.
Not only are the books more difficult to handle, but now these books have a higher degree of difficulty—more words per page, yes, but also plot, character development, theme. And hello, what’s this? Lessons to be learned about honesty, kindness, and loving thy neighbor?
It’s enough to make her little head (growing at a rate of 2.5 cms per year) hurt.
In one last attempt at her babyhood, she dashes once more into the nursery and grabs an armful of books, their tiny and manageable size allowing for a large haul. She steals away to her room and hides them under the covers— Hello Farm, Goodnight Moon, to name a few.
These are mine, she thinks. He can’t have them.
She begins to turn the chunky pages. Yes! Hundreds of sensations and memories flood her mind as the simple images and text remind her of the first moments of enjoyment within these safe, little worlds.
There are no conflicts here, she says.
But then, she feels a sting, something in the back of her mind that tells her, no, this isn’t right. This isn’t for you anymore. This is no longer yours.
Full of regret she takes her stash back into the nursery, and returns the books to their proper homes. Goodbye, she whispers.
She returns to her room and feels a change within her. She sees things now with a different set of eyes and a new understanding. You can never go back.
She turns to the bookcase and selects a few titles—Lady Lollipop and Jenny and the Cat Club.
She strains her eyes and focuses on the words, and feels a new appreciation for their complexity.