Growing Up

For some reason, people seem to think that while a person grows, their taste in literature, music, or film has to 'mature'. Instead of reading shorter books with larger letters, people are expected to read thick books with thin pages and tiny words that are barely visible with a magnifying glass. Not that I'm saying those types of books are a bad thing; I often find myself getting lost in those books, like I myself was the protagonist.

It is, however, against all reason that I should be expected to simply give up childhood classics. I'm not talking about things like Peter Pan or Alice in Wonderland, though, which are classics indeed. I'm talking about my own personal favorites that more likely than not shaped me to be who I am today. Of course there's always Harry Potter, but everyone reads that. That's everyone's childhood sweetheart when it comes to books. 

Second grade was possibly my favorite year of school ever. Period. Done. I've never had a year like it. I grew closer to my friends, developed friendships, and had the most amazing teacher ever: Mrs. Wysocki. During the later part of the year, Mrs. Wysocki told my class that she would be reading us one of her favorites; evidently it was a book called There's a Boy in the Girls' Bathroom by Louis Sachar. It tells the story of a distraught fifth grader (who is much older than the rest of his classmates) and a new school counselor named Carla who helps him break out of the negative attitude he has towards himself, as well his nasty habit of taking his frustration out on his classmates. 

Since I had only been seven at the time, the book actually opened my eyes to the world of bullying and the things that might be going on inside the heads of those who are, themselves, bullies. 

Another book that played an important role in my childhood is the book Loser by Jerry Spinelli. It tells about Donald Zinkoff's rise through elementary school. It's another one of those books that's short with thick pages and size eighteen font, but it also deals somewhat with the psychology behind the actions that his classmates commit. Zinkoff, however, does not let it get him down. In a school race, he fails his team and suffers greatly with harsh words and angry teammates. The pain and hurt doesn't last long when his father comes to the rescue:

"Even in bed that night Zinkoff can still feel the shake and shimmy of the old rattletrap [the family car], and coming through loud and clear is a message that was never said. He knows that he could lose a thousand races and his father will never give up on him. He knows that if he ever springs a leak or throws a gasket, his dad will be there with duct tape and chewing gum to patch him up, that no matter how much he rattles and knocks, he'll always be a honeybug to his dad, never a clunker," (page 108).

Explanation for the last bit: His dad is constantly getting new used cars since the last ones are always breaking down, and while his dad is always calling them his honeybugs, Zinkoff and his mother call them Clunkers. 

So, as you can see, these books clearly aren't meant to be read once and then stuffed aside for new, Harvard approved books. I've been rereading a lot of my own childhood classics lately. When was the last time you took a peek between the pages of an old favorite?