I was always inclined to be a bookworm. To a degree that surprises me now, when I look back on it, my mother was a full out, cloth diaper-washing, PBS-contributing, sprouts in ham sandwiches hippy mom. But not a dirty, 1960’s vegan commune hippy. A late 1980’s, tribal print, multicultural entertainment, awkward rap in children’s entertainment hippy.
As such, and because she decided to take time off to raise me and spent an absurd amount of time on me, we were always likely to hang out in the local public library. The books she checked out from the bookmobile that would visit the migrant worker housing project where she grew up were a lifeline, and she passed on that salvation-through-the-written-word attitude toward me.
Going to the Young Writers Contest,* as well as reading the short story compilation 13 edited by James Howe (extremely short review possibly forthcoming) reawakened my love for children’s literature as a form (not a genre) and caused me to look back that a few books that were extremely influential to me. I’ll arrange them by age range, because it’s simple. Because I believe that any good children’s book can be enjoyed as an adult, I’ll arrange by the earliest age I think a person would best be able to dive into the books and the themes. Continue reading “The Books That Made My Life”
hammer & jack 