December 7, 2015 by Amy
Hello, Harry
At 21 weeks, when we found out we were having a baby girl, M and I had very different reactions. They so aptly describe our personalities.
M thought:
- No one in the family has had a girl in forever. We’re not going to get any hand-me-downs.
- We’re going to have to pay for college and a wedding.
- I have to get a gun because there will be boys. And I don’t even like guns.
I thought:
- She will be a Girl Scout, and I will be her troop leader.
- Ohmygod I’m going to mess her up because I didn’t exactly have the best role model in this department.
- We’re going to have to pay for college, a wedding, and therapy.
- We will read Little House on the Prairie and Harry Potter together and she will love them as much as me!
Our girl wasn’t an avid reader at first. She didn’t show much interest in consuming books much beyond having one of us read to her. I always suggested reading when she was bored and looking for something to do. No dice. She’d weave a million pot-holders on her little plastic loom over picking up a book. I’d glare at M, who thinks libraries are the scariest places on earth, and silently curse his wicked-smart engineer genes. “Fine,” I’d huff. “I guess she’ll be good at math.” And then I would shudder because any time I think about math I get the heebie-jeebies.
When I thought it was time for her to take on the Little House series, I offered to read them to her. This way we’d go through the books together and she’d be more likely to enjoy the experience. So we started, and within about four chapters I was wondering how the heck I ever loved these books because Laura Ingalls Wilder is not the most talented writer in the world. I know, I know. There are people who will consider me blaspheming because I dare go against the Little House cult. Let me just say this: when you have to devote hundreds of paragraphs to prairie grass, you might want to consider different subject matter. Prairie grass: how it looks, feels, smells, blows in the wind, is weighted down by snow, burns in a flash fire, regrows after a flash fire…not exactly riveting material. I honestly think Laura participated in some sort of frontier National Novel Writing Month on the Prairie (NaNoWriMoPra?) and was strapped for words to hit her daily goal. Enough with the prairie grass, sister.
We have gotten through about half of the Little House books. So far Nellie Oleson, by far the most interesting character, has gotten half of one paragraph, while the prairie grasses have gotten three of the four books. This is not a good ratio. In this time, Zoe has turned into a little reader on her own, devouring books at breathtaking speed. (M would want me to point out here that she’s still cranking out an A+ in math every term, and that libraries are still scary places.)
I’ve been thinking it’s time for Harry Potter. Zoe has a friend who recently tore through them all, so I figured she’s about the right age. And she loves books where exciting things happen. Well, no place is more exciting than Hogwarts. J.K. Rowling didn’t dedicate a single sentence to prairie grasses. I had originally thought that I’d read Harry Potter out loud, too, but given how long it has taken to get through the Little House books I reconsidered. We can’t read together most days because of schedules, but she reads quite a bit on her own now, including during free time at school. I don’t want to hold her up.
I gave her a nudge towards Harry and his friends yesterday, after she finished her book report and the book she had been reading for fun, and was casting about looking for something new to start. I gave her a quick summary of the introduction to Harry’s life, just enough to pique her interest. She pointed at the later books in the series. “Holy cow! Those are HUGE!” I pulled out the first one, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, and showed her that it wasn’t any thicker than what she’s been reading. “Check this out. It’s regular size. Start on this and before you know it, you’ll be looking forward to those longer books because you’ll get to read so much more about these characters you will come to love.” She supposed that was true, and started reading. The line has been cast, she has taken the bait, and the hook is being set.
We snuggled together in her bed tonight as she read the third chapter. I read over her shoulder, reading not just for pleasure but also as a writer and editor. I’m watching how Ms. Rowling crafts the story, how she describes surroundings, moods, and expressions. I’m already thinking I may need to buy the whole series for my Kindle so I can read them again without having to steal Zoe’s books that are actually my books.
I love sharing this with her. I love sharing this love of reading and this love of good books and this quiet time together. She’s working on an essay for class this week about what would change in our lives if there was no television. She shrugged and said, “It wouldn’t make much difference for us. We never watch it.” And then she told me where she was in her Harry Potter book and how she couldn’t wait to read more.
Maybe I won’t need quite so much in that therapy fund after all.
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