Many of the books I read in childhood are still with me. I can remember things like where I was when I read them, what the cover looked like, who gave them to me, and oddly specific details from the plot.
Books are forever. They are forever imprinted in our hearts — the good ones, at least — and even though books are susceptible to going out of print, even that fate doesn’t make them disappear forever, thanks to libraries, used bookstores, and other avenues of selling and trading books.
There’s something so comforting about knowing that I can share the same book with my children that I loved as a child. And what’s more, there are books I’m now stowing away that my children and I have enjoyed so that I can share them with my future grandchildren.
But aside from the warm and fuzzy nostalgia brought up by this reality, I’ve also used the theory with my adolescent daughter.
She’s an avid reader, so there’s no way I could monitor everything she was reading. In fact, I wouldn’t even want to. It’s my goal to teach her to discern for herself, so a year or two ago when she started dipping into some Young Adult novels, I talked with her about content: what I didn’t like and why I didn’t like it.
When I saw her bring home a new book or a new author, I questioned her about them and specifically asked about that mature content that I hope she is avoiding.
When she was begging me to read Twilight in 5th grade (because “everyone” had read them), I was pretty sure that was NOT what I wanted her ruminating on, so I kept saying “no.” I told her that the books will always be there, and she can always read them later, but they weren’t appropriate now. It’s actually seemed to work for her.
I asked her recently if she still wanted to read them, and she said she didn’t, although that may be the pleaser in her. I still don’t think it’s what I want her ingesting, but forever hasn’t come and gone yet, has it?
Jennifer Donovan’s “forever” books include Mandy, as well as the works of Judy Blume and Madeleine L’Engle and of course Laura Ingalls Wilder.
Susan, the Book Chook says
“Books are forever. They are forever imprinted in our hearts” Yes, I agree, and I’m so glad it’s true! Particularly the books we read over and over as children and teens.
Jennifer, thank you for sharing your discussion with your daughter. Clever marketing often means kids want books we deem inappropriate, and pressure from other kids is even harder to withstand. While I do like kids to choose for themselves, I also uphold a parent’s right to decide if a book is inappropriate for their child. It’s great that your daughter understands your stance.
Jennifer says
Thanks, Susan! I’ve tried to strike a balance between letting her exercise her own discernment while also protecting her from what I think she shouldn’t be exposed to.
Each time she puts a book aside for content that she doesn’t think is “appropriate” (which she does do!!) confirms that I’m making the right choice with her.
Jen says
It sounds like you’ve found a good balance. So far I haven’t dealt with that for my own daughters (since Beth is just now reading independently), but I’m a little nervous about how we’re going to handle it. There are some books I read as a teen that looking back, I could have used some adult guidance on. I absolutely do not want to ban books from her or tell her certain books are “bad”-but I do want to be involved in her reading choices and discussing books with her. Posts like this are an encouragement to me that striking a balance is possible!
Jennifer Ekstrand says
I can definitely relate to remembering “oddly specific details from the plot.” Unfortunately, sometimes a specific plot detail becomes detached from the rest of the book in my memory, so I can’t quite figure out which of the books from my childhood featured some event that didn’t stick out to other people.
Barb says
My kids haven’t really been interested in the books I loved as a child, which saddens me. But we have had a lot of fun discovering new treasures together.
And that whole balance thing — it’s getting tougher ever year.