To know the words in the books

This is a poem inspired by my 3-year-old nephew, Ross.  He's just beginning to learn his letters after announcing to his mom, "I don't know the words in the books like you and dad."  That line really moved me, so I wrote the following.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Synapses form in the child's brain -
connections of how and why and when
and where things work.
The codex marvels his months-old mind -
flipping pages, imbibing color, revealing
knowledge and narrative.
Growing older, learning the words,
hearing the stories now, and imploring,
"Read it again."
Older still, he realizes when "grown ups"
open the book, they see more than
shapes and symbols.
The child knows, implicitly - even if
inarticulately - that to some the book
offers impartation.
Seeking the gift, he whispers, "Mom,
I don't know the words in the books
like you and dad ."
So, he discovers another level of learning
Sensory of the mind, not of the fingers
or nose or tongue.
He begins the distinctly human process
of extracting meaning from symbols
and sounds from shapes.
The pain and frustration and delight of
learning become milestones on his quest
to possess this gift.
This precious boy, just setting out on
the road of language and learning
makes me marvel.
For like the little boy, I am seeking
to "know the words in the books,"
to extract the meaning.
He reminds me of the gift, of my
gratitude and of my hope to share
this impartation.

When I was a little girl, I would put on my best dress up clothes and grab the oldest-looking book I could find on the bookshelves (later found out it was a biography on William Penn - random!) and tell my mom that I was off to Prince Charming's ball to learn how to read.  And to fall in love with the Prince, of course.  (But reading first ;)

Somehow I think 4 year-old Samara knew me better than I do now.

Then someone sent me Kelly Clarkson's engagement photo (see below)  Super cheesy?  Eh, maybe.  But it looks the stuff of my childhood dreams.

And those dreams are still whispering to me from old-looking books.


[via]



special

What made us feel special when we were little kids? We felt special...

...when someone peeled our apple slices

...when we got a happy meal instead of a regular McDonalds burger

...when we were excused from eating our crust or vegetables

...when our parents bought the real Kool-Aid instead of the generic--just so we could twist off the cap!

...when we got animal crackers in the special, circus box rather than a baggy full of the Costco kind

Why can't the little things of life make us as happy as when we were little?

Lord, help us see and appreciate the smallest of things!