Yesterday, I read a children’s book to a couple of seniors in high school. The book – entitled “If You Come to Earth” by Sophie Blackall – has been a recent favorite for my little one and me. We read it a couple of times every day, pausing together to examine the gorgeous illustrations, talking about what’s happening in each picture.
I wasn’t sure what the 18-year-olds would think. I’m drawn to the story itself, which focuses on explaining how things work on this planet to someone who has never before visited. I’m drawn to the varied experiences that are reflected in the pages. There are different types of housing, different types of families, different types of wardrobes and hobbies. There’s an acknowledgement of war, and pain, and sadness, and mystery.
It turns out that the young adults were as taken with the book as I am, as taken with it as my young child is. “I can’t remember the last time someone read to me,” said one of them when I finished bumbling my way through trying to hold the book, librarian style, in one hand while simultaneously turning the pages. His voice was somewhat reverent, just as the group’s silence had been while I read, their phones tucked to the side of their bodies and neglected for those few moments.
I’ve been thinking about that since. I care about these people and wanted to share this with them because the book is one of those wonderful stories that, while ostensibly meant for children, manages to reach across years and connect generations. I’m reminded of the vast world when I look at those images, the many stories and triumphs and ways to live that exist on this planet.
There are some books that make me inwardly groan when my child pulls them from the shelf, though I read them with outward enthusiasm. This book is not like that; I bought it just as much for me as I did for him, just as I did with one of Ms. Blackall’s other books, “Farmhouse.” They are such gifts, from a talented writer and illustrator, that they’ve earned permanent status on my shelf. I’m already plotting who to gift them to in the coming weeks.
But I think the truth is that I’m kind of an easy target, a longtime lover of children’s books, which I think can have some of the most impact on a person. After all, we carry the ones we love with us forever in our hearts. Yet to reach teenagers at the end of their formal childhood, who in some cases weren’t given much of one anyway, speaks volumes to me.
This morning, when the rain had mainly subsided, I took the dog for a walk. When I returned, my partner and my child were curled up on the couch together, reading. “If You Come to Earth” was open across their laps. I listened in as they talked about weather, and emotions, and animals.
I eavesdropped, grateful, as they talked about the world, just as the sun started to shine, just as our neighborhood birds started their songs.
The Wandering Introvert 