“It’s time to get dressed, girl.”
“No Mom! I just want to read!”
Music to my ears, and yet … there are THOSE books lurking on the shelves at the library. The same books I used to smuggle into the house under my mother’s nose. My mother, who was incredibly keen, with a great sense of smell. She knew exactly what I was hiding, for she was always one step ahead of me, in terms of knowing what the “hot” books were for young adults.
As an adult, I now realize that adults actually talk to one another and thus, we are not as naive to trends and fads as our youngin’s may think. And what we don’t know firsthand, we’ll just learn about from another Mom. And the internet.
Like, which books are hot?
Like, which books you, the parent, should most definitely read first—before your child?
I am not one for censoring reading material. I would much rather read a controversial book myself so that I can actually hold a conversation on the content with my child. Take Twilight. While I don’t feel the series is appropriate for anyone in elementary school, you better know that fifth graders are reading it—either with their parents knowledge, or in secret. And if they aren’t reading it at home, just know that they are sneaking peaks at it at school or the library, or a friend’s house. And yes, she will read it Mom. Somewhere. Somehow.
So, why not read it first? What are we so scared of?
I did. The entire series. And my kid is barely nine, and not interested. But she knows about Twilight. Ok, not the details of it, but she’s heard talk. I figure I might as well be prepared to talk about it, by actually reading the series, as I can’t stand the “Well, I heard’s” or “So and so said.” Just read it, already, so you can have an actual personal opinion about it rather than relying solely on a critique from some internet site. Do your own homework.
Here, on this turf, we’re not dealing with Twilight. Harper could care less, right now, with anything having to do with a boy and a girl liking each other in any way other than how well they can battle with light sabers. And honestly, we’re not dealing with any other controversial novels at this point in time either.
However, we recently entered into Blume territory at the local library.
Harper has read “Freckle Juice” and the entire “Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing” series. “Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great” was checked out when it was time to read that one (for those of you who like order), but Harper enjoyed the series so much that she went back to read it even though she had already finished all the other books in the series.
So then what gave me a mini heart attack and the motivation for this post?
“Hey, Mom, here’s one here about a girl named Margaret, and God.”
Dry mouth. Flashbacks of “I must. I must. I must increase my bust.” (It doesn’t work).
(Insert Matrixy move to swipe the book out of her hands and then bury it somewhere in the adult non-fiction books about auto-repair or birds of prey - I don’t know).
And then of course, there was the close neighbor of Margaret’s book: “Forever”. Ah, the young adult novel of my generation. The one I snuck into the house after a slumber party with my gymnastic team. The one my mother sweat out of me. I swear she saw me tucking that book into my jacket before I even left my friend’s house. She was that good.
And then, I should add—she let me read it.
Thankfully, Harper didn’t think that anything about Margaret and God was more interesting that Sheila the Great, so there was no need to get into it with her. And really, I just would have said, “Harps, that book is a little too old for you.”
But just thinking about the discussions that are down the pike gave me hives. Once the coast was clear, and Harper had walked away from Blume territory with her Sheila book, I made a beeline to the librarian’s desk where I started pilfering leftover Halloween candy from her bowl.
I will be counting on the women who have gone before me to help walk me through the whole appropriate reading material discussion that I will one day have with my child.
And until that time, you’ll find me hanging out in the children’s section of the library reading junior and young adult novels.
Armed and ready.
Locked and loaded.
Reliving those fragile years of my life that I’d rather not relive—well, unless I could relive them with straight-feathered hair and Jordache jeans.