And I speak in children’s literature. I wish I could say it’s because I’m a mommy of two little boys or a childhood educator, but I’m pretty sure it’s always been what makes my heart beat a little faster. It’s my love language, my coping language, my reminder to be bolder than I want to be, my reminder to be more magical than I want to be. I love some Brene Brown and Glennon Doyle, but in my moments of fear, anxiety, sadness and joy, it’s Eric Carle and Jacqueline Woodson and Beverly Cleary that bring the tears to my eyes. They are the ones that help me muster up the bigger, braver, wiser versions of myself.
Children’s literature speaks to the fears, hopes and concerns we have as children that I don’t believe change as we grow up. Fear of losing those we love, of change, being alone, of not getting what we want or what we think we’ve earned.
So, I’m going to share my contemplations on children’s literature for parenthood...and adulthood. Maybe you will feel motivated to go pick up that dusty version of The Very Hungry Caterpillar to reread to your kids, or maybe you will feel motivated to see how you can extend The Lorax to a day of environmentalism with your 10-year-old. If nothing else, I hope you’ll be reminded of how you felt reading these books when you were tucked under the covers with your parents as a child or sitting on the carpet listening to your teacher. And more than that, I hope you’ll remember that a piece of those books got you where you are today, and that’s something to hold on to.
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