Imagine the following scenario:
A father and his five-year-old daughter head out to a basketball court at the local playground. He carries his regulation ball on his hip. She rolls her kid-sized version in front of her, occasionally kicking it to keep it moving. When they reach the court, the father shoots a couple of shots while his daughter proceeds to dribble her ball around the court with two hands. After a few minutes, the daughter says,
“Look Daddy.”
When he looks her direction she begins awkwardly batting at her ball with just her right hand, managing to dribble it four times before it gets away from her. After corralling the ball, she looks up proudly at her father. He smiles quietly back at her. Then he leans forward slightly and dribbles his own ball effortlessly back and forth between his legs.
“Neat,” says the little girl.
A few minutes later, the little girl runs over to the basket and stands directly underneath the net. Imitating the players she has seen playing on television, she starts jumping up towards the hoop, stretching her arms high above her head.
“Look Daddy, I can almost touch it,” she says.
Her father with the same bemused smile as before walks over to where she is standing. Then taking a large hop from just behind her gives the net a hard swat.
“Whoa,” says the little girl with a touch of awe.
Another few minutes pass, and now the little girl is standing at the free throw line. She bounces the ball a couple of times and takes a long look at the rim. Then with a hand on each side of the ball, she lowers it slowly down between her knees and sweeps it up into the air. Somehow the ball makes it up on top of the rim where it bounces twice and slips down through the mesh of the net.
“Yes!” shouts the little girl. “Look Daddy, I made one.”
Once again the father flashes that smile. Then he walks over to the top of the key, bounces his ball a couple of times, and nonchalantly puts up a jumpshot. The ball travels a perfect arc and drops down through the net without touching the rim.
“Wow, I wish I could do that,” says the little girl
*****
Now, what do you think about this father? He seems like a bit of an asshole, doesn’t he? I mean, every time his daughter shows him something, he proceeds to do the same thing only higher, farther, or with more complexity. While he doesn’t go about this in a taunting way, these actions serve no real purpose but to diminish the achievements that his daughter has so proudly shown him. It’s not very supportive nor a particularly good example for how to build healthy relationships.
So, why is it that so many people love a children's book in which a parent is celebrated for acting in exactly the same way as our imaginary father on the basketball court?
The book I’m referring to is Sam McBratney’s Guess How Much I Love You. In it, two rabbits – an adult and a child – engage in a game of one-upmanship in their quest to say how much they love each other. The game begins with the little rabbit telling the big rabbit “Guess how much I love you.” The little rabbit then stretches his arms out wide and says “This much.” The big rabbit smiles, and, doing the same thing with his arms, says “Well I love you this much.” They then proceed in back and forth fashion through raised arms, extended legs, jumps, etc. until the little rabbit begins to fall asleep. At this point, the little rabbit presents his final claim: “I love you all the way up to the moon.” The big rabbit ultimately concludes the book by replying: “I love you all the way up to the moon – and back.”
According to the publisher this book has sold over 15 million copies and is published in 37 languages. The children's book review publication Booklist gave it a starred review and said about the book, “There’s not a wrong note in this tender tale.” Internet reviewers on Google love it (see these reviews)
Am I the only one who thinks the adult rabbit, like the father in the scenario I laid out at the beginning of this post, is a bit of an asshole? Aren’t the adult rabbit’s constant moves to up the ante on the little rabbit evidence of an ego that’s out of whack? Even when channeled through professions of love, this kind of behavior doesn’t feel particularly tender to me. In fact, it seems to me that the adult rabbit’s answer to the question of how much love it has for the little rabbit should be, “Not enough to restrain myself from besting your every move.”
Unfortunately, this kind of thing happens in children's books all the time. (The young ape who throws a temper tantrum and gets what he wants in Jez Alborough’s Yes and the often blatantly antagonizing antics of Ian Falconer’s Olivia the pig are just two more examples.) The supposition of cuteness or silliness comes to excuse behavior in characters that we would find annoying, irritating, or downright intolerable in our own children or others with whom we live.
As a parent, I work very hard to model the behaviors that I want my children to emulate. This makes it incredibly frustrating to start reading a book with them and find that the very actions I am teaching them not to do are being celebrated as funny, amusing, or loving in the words and pictures of the book in my hand. It makes me wonder how many of these authors have children of their own.
*****
This is the point in the post where the polemicist, having defined his target and explained the reasons for his outrage, makes some call to action – a boycott, a letter campaign, a new series of children's books. Unfortunately, I can’t do that. You see, I still have a copy of Guess How Much I Love You on our bookshelf. My mother gave it to me while I was in college and as such I have some sentimental attachment to it. In addition, I have come to find some value in having it around. As I sit and read through it with Polly and Pip, I get to engage them in a discussion about a complex social interaction and the types of reactions it generates. I get the opportunity to talk about the adult rabbit’s constant one-upmanship and why someone might find this annoying or disagreeable. I get to present Pip and Polly with alternative choices that both the adult rabbit and the little rabbit could have made to get the same point across. I get to add some texture and depth to the examples I try to present them every day.
As such, while I would never be inclined to give “Guess How Much I Love You” as a gift to anyone and I frequently wonder what kids learn as they read it, I am glad to have it on my bookshelf. Sometimes it takes seeing some of the wrong ways of doing something to make the right ways make sense.
****************************************************************
Interested in stories about our family or just some thoughts about being a parent in this day and age?
Take a look at my blog at http://www.postindustrialparenthood.blogspot.com/.
There's a new post every Thursday.
Showing posts with label Children's Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Children's Books. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Revolutionary questions
About two weeks ago, Pip dug out from the far end of our bookshelf two children’s biographies that had belonged to me as a kid and had somehow managed to survive all my subsequent moves and book purges. One recounted the life of Thomas Jefferson. The other was about Benjamin Franklin. Re-reading these books for the first time in about two decades, while popular uprisings in Tunisia and Egypt were toppling dictatorial governments in the background, made me very aware of the almost magical ease with which the transition from revolution to stable democratic governance occurs in America’s founding mythology. This awareness made me question whether this mythology will ultimately do my children a disservice. Will it lead them to expect at an intuitive level that any dramatic break from established patterns will resolve itself neatly and in a way that is universally good? And, as such, will this expectation lead them towards a naive embrace of revolutionary change at the expense of careful and programmatic efforts (such as happened with the Bush-Rumsfeld strategy for creating a democratic Iraq)? My own experience makes me think that this is not a totally ridiculous question.
*****
First let me explain why I use the term ‘mythology’ instead of ‘history.’ Usually the term ‘mythology’ is used to describe the stories of gods and heroes told in times or places where the explanations of science do not predominate. What is sometimes lost in the retelling of the tales of Hercules or Prometheus or Beowulf is how these stories functioned in their time to explain how the world came to be what it is and why certain practices or institutions or values were important. Myths are mechanisms for transmitting cultural knowledge across generations. The ‘truth’ of a myth lies not in the factuality of the characters and places and dates it contains but in the themes and relations that play out within it.
When mythology is understood in this way, the only difference between it and history is the historian’s claim that the events described “really happened.” At her core the historian is a story-teller. She takes details gleaned from various sources and spins a narrative thread of power, destiny, hubris or luck that pulls those details together and makes them comprehensible. It is this thread that is the critical element of the knowledge or meaning we seek to gain from history. While I am not suggesting that the facts are irrelevant, a focus on the factuality of a historian’s account can often distract our attention from the work that the account’s narrative thread performs. Mythology brings no such distraction.
The power of this narrative thread is even more significant when it comes to presenting history to children. We talk to kids about basic facts and important people in order to give them a foundational understanding of a historical event. Not only do these necessary simplifications demand a strong narrative to make them understandable (and interesting), they also blur facts that may complicate or confuse that narrative. As a result of this blurring, historical figures in children’s books are usually not real people. Instead they represent clearly defined values or ideas that support the direction of the narrative. In many respects, this makes stories told about, for example, the Founding Fathers very close in form to ones told about the gods and goddesses of Mt. Olympus.
*****
I spent some time as a child idolizing America’s Founding Fathers. This was in part because I have a genealogical relationship with one and in part because I lived in southern Virginia where, if you want to, you can feel a strong residue of the American Revolution and the early years of the United States all over the place. I certainly did. I learned early on that the state motto, “Sic Semper Tyrannis” or “thus always to tyrants,” was adopted as a direct challenge to King George III and the British Parliament. I was very proud that Virginians wrote the Declaration of Independence (Thomas Jefferson), commanded the Continental Army (George Washington), and crafted the Bill of Rights (James Madison). I enjoyed visiting places like Monticello (the home of Thomas Jefferson), Mt. Vernon (the home of George Washington), Red Hill (the home of Patrick Henry), Colonial Williamsburg, and Yorktown because they gave me the sense that the place where I lived was critically important to the very beginnings of my country’s existence.
All this exposure to America’s founding mythology made me particularly open to consuming any story that included the possibility of a democratic revolution. I have eagerly watched the fall of the Berlin Wall, the events of Tiananmen Square, Yeltsin’s rise in Russia, protests in Iran, independence in East Timor, the end of apartheid in South Africa, the democracy protests in Georgia and Ukraine, and the recent events in Tunisia and Egypt with an almost naïve sense that history is being made in the most positive of ways. While I know my history well enough to understand that the reality of these situations is complex and difficult, the mythological narrative of the American Revolution that I learned as a child still inclines me to believe in the idea that these events will ultimately enable people to gain their “inalienable rights” to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
*****
The power of this mythology is also such that the critical documents of America’s founding – the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights – sit in my mind in much the same way as they do in the National Archives: side by side. These are some of the narrative high points of America’s founding myth and their cohesion within this myth make it difficult to remember that the Declaration and the Constitution were separated by 11 years and the Bill of Rights was added another four years after that. I often forget that the Constitution was at least a second try at forming a functional government and, even after its ratification, was by no means a guaranteed success. These complications don’t fit into the narrative thread that I originally learned.
But what if they did? What would it mean if the National Archives displayed the Articles of Confederation in between the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution? What would it mean if we added a person like Daniel Shays – the Revolutionary War veteran and debt-ridden farmer from Massachusetts whose rebellion laid bare the impotence of the national government under the Articles of Confederation – to the pantheon of the Founding Fathers? What would it mean if those books Pip pulled from the shelf mentioned the uncertainty, turmoil, and failure of the United States in the first years after the revolution? Would he react differently than I do to stories of revolution? Would he sense a little less magical destiny and a little more struggle and trial in the core of his American identity?
I don’t know, but I want to give something like this a try. The practices that this kind of struggle demands – experimentation, negotiation, perseverance – represent qualities I want my children to embrace in both their politics and their personal lives. It will serve them much better than the aura of predestined greatness that pervades the current version of America’s founding mythology.
****************************************************************
Interested in stories about our family or just some thoughts about being a parent in this day and age?
Take a look at my blog at http://www.postindustrialparenthood.blogspot.com/
There's a new post every Thursday.
*****
First let me explain why I use the term ‘mythology’ instead of ‘history.’ Usually the term ‘mythology’ is used to describe the stories of gods and heroes told in times or places where the explanations of science do not predominate. What is sometimes lost in the retelling of the tales of Hercules or Prometheus or Beowulf is how these stories functioned in their time to explain how the world came to be what it is and why certain practices or institutions or values were important. Myths are mechanisms for transmitting cultural knowledge across generations. The ‘truth’ of a myth lies not in the factuality of the characters and places and dates it contains but in the themes and relations that play out within it.
When mythology is understood in this way, the only difference between it and history is the historian’s claim that the events described “really happened.” At her core the historian is a story-teller. She takes details gleaned from various sources and spins a narrative thread of power, destiny, hubris or luck that pulls those details together and makes them comprehensible. It is this thread that is the critical element of the knowledge or meaning we seek to gain from history. While I am not suggesting that the facts are irrelevant, a focus on the factuality of a historian’s account can often distract our attention from the work that the account’s narrative thread performs. Mythology brings no such distraction.
The power of this narrative thread is even more significant when it comes to presenting history to children. We talk to kids about basic facts and important people in order to give them a foundational understanding of a historical event. Not only do these necessary simplifications demand a strong narrative to make them understandable (and interesting), they also blur facts that may complicate or confuse that narrative. As a result of this blurring, historical figures in children’s books are usually not real people. Instead they represent clearly defined values or ideas that support the direction of the narrative. In many respects, this makes stories told about, for example, the Founding Fathers very close in form to ones told about the gods and goddesses of Mt. Olympus.
*****
I spent some time as a child idolizing America’s Founding Fathers. This was in part because I have a genealogical relationship with one and in part because I lived in southern Virginia where, if you want to, you can feel a strong residue of the American Revolution and the early years of the United States all over the place. I certainly did. I learned early on that the state motto, “Sic Semper Tyrannis” or “thus always to tyrants,” was adopted as a direct challenge to King George III and the British Parliament. I was very proud that Virginians wrote the Declaration of Independence (Thomas Jefferson), commanded the Continental Army (George Washington), and crafted the Bill of Rights (James Madison). I enjoyed visiting places like Monticello (the home of Thomas Jefferson), Mt. Vernon (the home of George Washington), Red Hill (the home of Patrick Henry), Colonial Williamsburg, and Yorktown because they gave me the sense that the place where I lived was critically important to the very beginnings of my country’s existence.
All this exposure to America’s founding mythology made me particularly open to consuming any story that included the possibility of a democratic revolution. I have eagerly watched the fall of the Berlin Wall, the events of Tiananmen Square, Yeltsin’s rise in Russia, protests in Iran, independence in East Timor, the end of apartheid in South Africa, the democracy protests in Georgia and Ukraine, and the recent events in Tunisia and Egypt with an almost naïve sense that history is being made in the most positive of ways. While I know my history well enough to understand that the reality of these situations is complex and difficult, the mythological narrative of the American Revolution that I learned as a child still inclines me to believe in the idea that these events will ultimately enable people to gain their “inalienable rights” to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
*****
The power of this mythology is also such that the critical documents of America’s founding – the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights – sit in my mind in much the same way as they do in the National Archives: side by side. These are some of the narrative high points of America’s founding myth and their cohesion within this myth make it difficult to remember that the Declaration and the Constitution were separated by 11 years and the Bill of Rights was added another four years after that. I often forget that the Constitution was at least a second try at forming a functional government and, even after its ratification, was by no means a guaranteed success. These complications don’t fit into the narrative thread that I originally learned.
But what if they did? What would it mean if the National Archives displayed the Articles of Confederation in between the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution? What would it mean if we added a person like Daniel Shays – the Revolutionary War veteran and debt-ridden farmer from Massachusetts whose rebellion laid bare the impotence of the national government under the Articles of Confederation – to the pantheon of the Founding Fathers? What would it mean if those books Pip pulled from the shelf mentioned the uncertainty, turmoil, and failure of the United States in the first years after the revolution? Would he react differently than I do to stories of revolution? Would he sense a little less magical destiny and a little more struggle and trial in the core of his American identity?
I don’t know, but I want to give something like this a try. The practices that this kind of struggle demands – experimentation, negotiation, perseverance – represent qualities I want my children to embrace in both their politics and their personal lives. It will serve them much better than the aura of predestined greatness that pervades the current version of America’s founding mythology.
****************************************************************
Interested in stories about our family or just some thoughts about being a parent in this day and age?
Take a look at my blog at http://www.postindustrialparenthood.blogspot.com/
There's a new post every Thursday.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Father's Day Books!
It's an empirical fact that fathers are comparatively rare in children's books — when economist David A. Anderson and psychologist Mykol Hamilton studied 200 children's books in 2005, they found that fathers appeared about half as often as mothers. Mothers were ten times more likely to be depicted taking care of babies than fathers and twice as likely to be seen nurturing older children.
No surprise there, of course. Moms are still the ones most likely to be taking care of kids and there’s no point in nursing a sense of grievance over the invisibility of fathers in children’s books.
But where does that leave families who don't fit the traditional mold? And how does that help parents who want to provide caring role models to their sons?
There are books out there, few and far between, that depict dads as co-parents and primary caregivers. In an effort to find them, I consulted bookstores in San Francisco as well as my local children’s librarian.
My list is not exhaustive; these are only the ones I can recommend, and there are many titles I found online that I wasn’t able to read in real life. And because these kinds of books are so rare, I’m willing to bet that there are plenty out there that few people know about.
I look forward to reading your own suggestions!
My list is arranged according to target age, from youngest to oldest:
Mama’s Home! By Paul Vos Benkowski, illustrated by Jennifer Herbert (Chronicle Books, 2004; ages 1-3): I bought this board book, which tells the story of a stay-at-home dad and toddler waiting for mom to come home from work, for Liko when I was taking care of him. It turned out to be a genuine comfort for him to read (over and over!) in the hour before his own mom came home from work, and he delighted in the simple, fanciful storyline: “Is that Mama? / No, that’s not Mama….that’s just a pirate ship.” Strongly recommended.
Kisses for Daddy, by Frances Watts and David Legge (Little Hare Books, 2005; for ages 1-5, I’d say): This is a simple, lightweight picture book with bears, whose title pretty much says it all.
The Complete Adventures of Curious George, by Margaret and H.A. Rey (Houghton Mifflin, 1941-1966; ages 1-5): Is the Man with the Yellow Hat the equivalent of George’s father? If not that, I’m not sure what he is.
Daddy’s Lullaby, by Tony Bradman, illustrated by Jason Cockcroft (Margaret K. McElderry Books, 2001; ages 2-5): Dad comes home late from work and sings a lullaby to his baby. A very tender book, which shows a working Dad in a caring role.
My Dad, by Anthony Browne (FSG, 2000; ages 2-5): With one or two lines of text per page, the goofy pictures dominate. Dad (in a bathrobe, PJs, and slippers) engages in various fantastical adventures, from jumping over the moon to singing opera with Pavarotti. Silly and sweet.
A Father’s Song, by Janet Lawler, paintings by Lucy Corvino (Sterling, 2006; ages 3-6): A simple, somewhat solemn verse story about a father and son’s day in the park, beautifully illustrated.
Mama’s Coming Home, by Kate Banks, pictures by Tomek Bogacki (FSG, 2003; ages 3-6): Similar to Mama’s Home (above), a solid and heartfelt portrait of a reverse-traditional family in action. Dad and the kids clean up, cook dinner, and set the table, as a parallel narrative shows Mom trudging through sleeting rain and New York subway stations on her way home from work. Especially recommended.
Knuffle Bunny: A Cautionary Tale, by Mo Willems (Hyperion, 2004; ages 2-6): Why is this story such an instant classic? There's something about Willems's tone, pacing, and combination of words and pictures that kids think is tons of fun, and I confess this is one of the books I most look forward to reading to Liko. Don't miss the sequel, Knuffle Bunny Too. Willems's daughter shares a name with the protagonist of his books, and these stories feel like mini-memoirs, depicting a dad who shares life with his growing little girl.
Daddy Calls Me Man, by Angela Johnson, paintings by Rhonda Mitchell (Orchard Books, 1997; ages 3-6): Dad doesn’t actually appear until near the end. And yet I think every previous page points to that moment, as a little boy paints a picture of everything that’s most important to him.
Papa, Do You Love Me? By Barbara M. Joosse, illustrated by Barbara Lavallee (Chronicle Books, 2005; ages 3-6): A father in a Kenyan village tells his son how much he loves him. This is a lovely book; the images in the words might be even more evocative than those in the pictures.
Tell Me One Thing, Dad, by Tom Pow, illustrated by Ian Andrew (Candlewick Press, 2004; ages 3-7): Dad reads Molly a story, but she’s not sleepy yet. She asks to hear one thing he knows about polar bears, crocodiles, and so on; at the end, Molly tells Dad things that she knows about him. This is a gentle, unusually paced, and interestingly illustrated story.
And Tango Makes Three, by Peter Parnell and Justin Richardson, illustrated by Henry Cole (Simon & Schuster, 2005; ages 3-7): This picture book tells the somewhat-true story of Roy and Silo, two boy penguins in Central Park Zoo who shacked up together and adopted a baby penguin of their own, named Tango. And Tango Makes Three isn’t a boring “message” book that tries to teach your kids to be tolerant. It’s genuinely fun for kids to read. Gay dads might also want to check out Daddy’s Roommate, by Michael Willhoite.
A Father Like That, by Charlotte Zolotow, illustrated by LeUyen Pham (HarperCollins, 2008; ages 3-7): This picture book is actually about a boy who doesn’t have a father, but fantasizes about all the things they’d do together if Dad was around. In the end, his mom assures the boy that while he might never have the dad he wants, he could grow up to be the father he imagines. Yes, it’s somewhat depressing, and yet I think this could be a great Father’s Day gift for boys who really don’t have a dad in the picture. Single moms raising boys, take note.
Finally, for older kids, I’d like to mention Danny, Champion of the World, by Roald Dahl, illustrated by Quentin Blake (Knopf, 1975; ages 8-12): “When I was four months old, my mother died suddenly and my father was left to look after me all by himself,” says the narrator, Danny. “There was just the two of us, my father and me.” This is a beautifully told, amusingly imaginative, politically radical, and profoundly emotional tale of a son’s devotion to his father and a father’s devotion to his son. I read this out loud to my 3 year old. He followed the story and liked the characters and incidents, especially the bit when 9-year-old Danny drives a car. However, the plot is driven by the father’s desire to poach a rich man’s pheasants, which was too far outside of Liko’s experience for him to find it interesting. But this book is an outlaw classic that older kids (boys especially) may find evocative and thrilling.
No surprise there, of course. Moms are still the ones most likely to be taking care of kids and there’s no point in nursing a sense of grievance over the invisibility of fathers in children’s books.
But where does that leave families who don't fit the traditional mold? And how does that help parents who want to provide caring role models to their sons?
There are books out there, few and far between, that depict dads as co-parents and primary caregivers. In an effort to find them, I consulted bookstores in San Francisco as well as my local children’s librarian.
My list is not exhaustive; these are only the ones I can recommend, and there are many titles I found online that I wasn’t able to read in real life. And because these kinds of books are so rare, I’m willing to bet that there are plenty out there that few people know about.
I look forward to reading your own suggestions!
My list is arranged according to target age, from youngest to oldest:
Mama’s Home! By Paul Vos Benkowski, illustrated by Jennifer Herbert (Chronicle Books, 2004; ages 1-3): I bought this board book, which tells the story of a stay-at-home dad and toddler waiting for mom to come home from work, for Liko when I was taking care of him. It turned out to be a genuine comfort for him to read (over and over!) in the hour before his own mom came home from work, and he delighted in the simple, fanciful storyline: “Is that Mama? / No, that’s not Mama….that’s just a pirate ship.” Strongly recommended.Kisses for Daddy, by Frances Watts and David Legge (Little Hare Books, 2005; for ages 1-5, I’d say): This is a simple, lightweight picture book with bears, whose title pretty much says it all.
The Complete Adventures of Curious George, by Margaret and H.A. Rey (Houghton Mifflin, 1941-1966; ages 1-5): Is the Man with the Yellow Hat the equivalent of George’s father? If not that, I’m not sure what he is.
Daddy’s Lullaby, by Tony Bradman, illustrated by Jason Cockcroft (Margaret K. McElderry Books, 2001; ages 2-5): Dad comes home late from work and sings a lullaby to his baby. A very tender book, which shows a working Dad in a caring role.
My Dad, by Anthony Browne (FSG, 2000; ages 2-5): With one or two lines of text per page, the goofy pictures dominate. Dad (in a bathrobe, PJs, and slippers) engages in various fantastical adventures, from jumping over the moon to singing opera with Pavarotti. Silly and sweet.
A Father’s Song, by Janet Lawler, paintings by Lucy Corvino (Sterling, 2006; ages 3-6): A simple, somewhat solemn verse story about a father and son’s day in the park, beautifully illustrated.
Mama’s Coming Home, by Kate Banks, pictures by Tomek Bogacki (FSG, 2003; ages 3-6): Similar to Mama’s Home (above), a solid and heartfelt portrait of a reverse-traditional family in action. Dad and the kids clean up, cook dinner, and set the table, as a parallel narrative shows Mom trudging through sleeting rain and New York subway stations on her way home from work. Especially recommended.
Knuffle Bunny: A Cautionary Tale, by Mo Willems (Hyperion, 2004; ages 2-6): Why is this story such an instant classic? There's something about Willems's tone, pacing, and combination of words and pictures that kids think is tons of fun, and I confess this is one of the books I most look forward to reading to Liko. Don't miss the sequel, Knuffle Bunny Too. Willems's daughter shares a name with the protagonist of his books, and these stories feel like mini-memoirs, depicting a dad who shares life with his growing little girl.
Daddy Calls Me Man, by Angela Johnson, paintings by Rhonda Mitchell (Orchard Books, 1997; ages 3-6): Dad doesn’t actually appear until near the end. And yet I think every previous page points to that moment, as a little boy paints a picture of everything that’s most important to him.Papa, Do You Love Me? By Barbara M. Joosse, illustrated by Barbara Lavallee (Chronicle Books, 2005; ages 3-6): A father in a Kenyan village tells his son how much he loves him. This is a lovely book; the images in the words might be even more evocative than those in the pictures.
Tell Me One Thing, Dad, by Tom Pow, illustrated by Ian Andrew (Candlewick Press, 2004; ages 3-7): Dad reads Molly a story, but she’s not sleepy yet. She asks to hear one thing he knows about polar bears, crocodiles, and so on; at the end, Molly tells Dad things that she knows about him. This is a gentle, unusually paced, and interestingly illustrated story.
And Tango Makes Three, by Peter Parnell and Justin Richardson, illustrated by Henry Cole (Simon & Schuster, 2005; ages 3-7): This picture book tells the somewhat-true story of Roy and Silo, two boy penguins in Central Park Zoo who shacked up together and adopted a baby penguin of their own, named Tango. And Tango Makes Three isn’t a boring “message” book that tries to teach your kids to be tolerant. It’s genuinely fun for kids to read. Gay dads might also want to check out Daddy’s Roommate, by Michael Willhoite.
A Father Like That, by Charlotte Zolotow, illustrated by LeUyen Pham (HarperCollins, 2008; ages 3-7): This picture book is actually about a boy who doesn’t have a father, but fantasizes about all the things they’d do together if Dad was around. In the end, his mom assures the boy that while he might never have the dad he wants, he could grow up to be the father he imagines. Yes, it’s somewhat depressing, and yet I think this could be a great Father’s Day gift for boys who really don’t have a dad in the picture. Single moms raising boys, take note.Finally, for older kids, I’d like to mention Danny, Champion of the World, by Roald Dahl, illustrated by Quentin Blake (Knopf, 1975; ages 8-12): “When I was four months old, my mother died suddenly and my father was left to look after me all by himself,” says the narrator, Danny. “There was just the two of us, my father and me.” This is a beautifully told, amusingly imaginative, politically radical, and profoundly emotional tale of a son’s devotion to his father and a father’s devotion to his son. I read this out loud to my 3 year old. He followed the story and liked the characters and incidents, especially the bit when 9-year-old Danny drives a car. However, the plot is driven by the father’s desire to poach a rich man’s pheasants, which was too far outside of Liko’s experience for him to find it interesting. But this book is an outlaw classic that older kids (boys especially) may find evocative and thrilling.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Our Most-Loved Children's Books
When they first enter Liko’s playroom, new friends always remark upon how many books he has. Indeed, his playroom looks like the children’s nook in a small-town public library. But here’s the thing: Properly speaking, most of those books don’t belong to him—more than half belong to my wife. She’s been building a collection of children’s books since college, just because she loves them.
As a result of her combination of passion and discernment, the books on our shelves range across broad swathes of time and culture, and each has some quality that sets it apart. It’s hard to describe, what that quality is, but you know it when you see it.
And after years of reading books like these, I can now really spot the absence of this quality in other children’s books; too many of them these days treat kids like dumb adults or passive consumers. In fact, preschoolers are learning at a rate that far exceeds grown-up learning, and I think the best of these books capture the sense of wonderment that comes with that.
I don't have my wife's refined taste, but, for me, the first test of a book’s quality is, of course, Liko’s enjoyment of it. The next test is how often I can stand reading the thing—the very best books are a genuine pleasure for adults to read and can even reward repeat readings. You begin to appreciate the poetry and interplay of the words and pictures, and, if you’re lucky, you can even start to see the story through your child’s eyes. (Of course, everything has a limit...sometimes I even hide Curious George just before bedtime...don't tell Liko, please...)I asked my wife to write up a list of her “most loved” (as she says) children’s books. After much debate and pencil-chewing, she narrowed it down to twenty eight:
1. On Christmas Eve, by Margaret Wise Brown, illustrated by Beni Montresor (1938)
2. The Dead Bird, by Margaret Wise Brown, illustrated by Remy Charlip (1938)
3. Goodnight Moon, by Margaret Wise Brown, illustrated by Clement Hurd (1947)
4. The Snowman, by Raymond Briggs (1978)
5. Madeline series, by Ludwig Bemelmans
6. Summertime Waltz, by Nina Payne, illustrated by Gabi Swiatkowska (2005)
7. Sunday Morning, by Judith Viorst, illustrated by Hilary Knight (1968)
8. I am a Bunny, by Ole Rison, illustrated by Richard Scarry (1963)
9. Egon, by Larry Bograd, illustrated by Dirk Zimmer (1980)
10. Mole and the Baby Bird, by Marjorie Newman, illustrated by Patrick Benson (2002)
11. Goodnight Gorilla, by Peggy Rathermann (1994)
12. Frog and Toad series, by Arnold Lobel
13. Little Bear series, by Else Holmelund Minark, illustrated by Maurice Sendak
14. The Tomten and the Fox, adapted by Astrid Lindgren from a poem by Karl-Erik Forsslund, illustrated by Harold Wiberg (1966)15. Little Old Big Beard and Big Young Little Beard, by Remy Charlip, illustrated by Remy Charlip and Tamara Rettenmund (2003)
16. Curious George series, by H.A. Rey
17. Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present, by Charlotte Zolotow, illustrated by Maurice Sendak (1962)
18. Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak (1963)
19. More, More, More Said the Baby: Three Love Stories, by Vera B. Williams (1990)
20. What’s the Most Beautiful Thing You Know About Horses? By Richard van Camp, illustrated by George Littlechild (1998)
21. Charlie Parker Played Be Bop, by Chris Raschka (1992)
22. Art, by Karen Salmansohn, illustrated by Brian Stauffer (2003)
23. The Nativity, illustrated by Julie Vivas (1986)
24. Grandfather’s Journey, by Allen Say (1993)
25. Play, Mozart, Play! by Peter Sis (2006)
26. The Year I Didn’t Go to School, by Giselle Potter (2002)
27. Three Cheers for Catherine the Great, by Cari Best, illustrated by Giselle Potter (1999)
28. Flotsam, by David Wiesner (2005)
And here’s a composite of her favorite and Liko’s favorite authors:
1. Margaret Wise Brown (pictured at left)2. Maurice Sendak
3. Vera B. Williams
4. Chris Raschka
5. Patricia Palocco
6. Allen Say
7. Peter Sis
8. Giselle Potter
9. David Wiesner
I would also like to humbly put in a good word for Robert McCloskey. He’s famed for Make Way for Ducklings, but I prefer many of his other books, especially Blueberries for Sal and One Morning in Maine.
Monday, June 26, 2006
what if...comments on radical books for kids
On the anarchist parenting listserv that I subscribe to, there's been a recent discussion about what kind of kids books are out there that have a radical bent. Some of the titles, I never considered; some I don’t necessarily agree with; some I never even heard of. And so, armed with this info, my kids as well as many of the neighborhood children who are a part of a child-swap (article to come soon), my dog Noodle and myself have spent a few afternoons walking to the south Berkeley library trying to find them.
Along the way one excursion, we all started talking about how books teach. I love hearing what they think they learn from books. My eight year old pipes in that she knows how to swim in freezing water if she ever falls through a frozen lake.
‘Nice,’ I say, ‘and I hope I’m with you when I decide to cross the Alaskan wilderness.’
‘And I learned how to make a fire too,’ she brags.
My ten year old daughter asks why we need to find books that are radical in the first place. ‘Yeah,’ the three others chime in sarcastically in that ten year old way they have ‘like, why does everything need to be radical, Tom?’ They sound so exasperated. But they get it. One of them brings up Girls to the Rescue and how normally it is always the opposite. Boy saves girl, but they laugh and know what is up, but they also know how overwhelming it is to be told they same boy saves girl story over and over. And then my daughter brings up Cars. Here’s the main reason I am so impressed with kids and why I was reminded that having these sometimes tedious, difficult conversations is so important, reminded why being willing to talk about what things could look like if in fact things were different is so effective.
My daughter says, ‘yeah look at how popular Cars are now because of that movie. Maybe they should make a movie called Bikes or Walks.’ They all laugh, but she is so right. What if…
***
I was pleasantly surprised to find many of these books available in the local library. Take a look for yourself and please let me know what others you suggest. I am trying to come up with a radical daddy library for the storyteller in all of us to publish in rad dad #4.
Because sometimes we all need a book to help or guide us. When we are tired, when we’ve worked a long day, when we are at our wits end, sometimes what settles us most effectively is to read a story, to be a part of the listening audience, to be transported with our children to the place of what ifs and once upon a times.
And man, did I find the coolest book ever. I happened upon it at Bound Together Books in San Francisco, but I didn't buy it because it was fifteen bucks but now realize after some used book internet searching that that was a bargain. So for my birthday you all can send it to me because I have never seen a book that narrates such a radically different set of values, one that challenges the notions of capitalism, family structure, success and many other things.
It's called A Little Squatters Handbook and it is the story of five homeless people from all walks of life (there’s even one little Lego man who’s missing his little Lego arm) and how they band together to take over an abandoned building. They all sleep in the same bed (at least initially) sharing dreams and fears, mange to ward off the cops by employing various direct action tactics, and in the end they throw a party inviting all their family and new neighbors to celebrate their new communal living arrangements. Read it -- even just for yourself.
What follows the list of books -- tell me what you think...
Some Radical Parenting Books:
Whatever, Mom: Hip Mama's Guide To Raising A Teenager by Ariel Gore
Unconditional Parenting by Alfie Kohn
Liberated Parent, Liberated Child
Kids Books for various ages:
Si, Se Puede!/Yes, We Can!: Janitor Strike In L.A. by Diana Cohn
Conversations With Durito: Stories Of The Zapatistas And Neoliberalism
by Subcomandante Marcos
Selavi, That is Life: A Haitian Story of Hope by Youme Landowne
Tango Makes Three by Justin Richardson
Let's Get A Pup by Bob Graham
The Golden Compass by Phillip Pullman
Sally Lockhart Mysteries by Philip Pullman
Carly by Annegert Fuchshuber
Super Cilantro Girl by Juan Felipe Herrera
Tacky the Penguin by Helen Lester
The Araboolies of Liberty Street by Sam Swope
The paper bag princess by Robert N Munsch
The Big Orange Splot by D. Manus Pinkwater
The mysterious adventures of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo
The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo
Rabbit Island by Jorg Steiner
From Egg To Chick by Millicent Selsam
Sitting Ducks by Michael Bedard
Brave Potatoes by Toby Speed & Barry Root
The Pirate Queen by Emily Arnold McCully
Oh Lord, I wish I was a Buzzard by Polly Greenberg & Aliki
The Enormous Carrot by Vladimir Vagin
Knuffle Bunny by Mo Willems
Nanabosho: How the Turtle Got its Shell by Joe McLellan
Crocodile Crocodile by Peter Nickl
Kids On Strike photo book by Susan Campbell Bartoletti
The day Joanie Frankenhauser became a boy / Francess Lantz
The secret under my skin / Janet McNaughton
Danny, the champion of the world / Roald Dahl
América is her name / by Luis J. Rodríguez
The samurai's daughter : a Japanese legend / retold by Robert D. San Souci
The pirate meets the queen : an illuminated tale / by Matt Faulkner
Punxsutawney Phyllis / by Susanna Leonard Hill
Oh, and I’ll be biking down the coast of Oregon with my babies’ mama because the kids are at grandma’s (much love to grandma) so I’ll post again and reply to any comments after the fourth of july (and if you haven’t read Fredrick Douglas’ 'why I don’t celebrate the fourth of july’ you should…
Along the way one excursion, we all started talking about how books teach. I love hearing what they think they learn from books. My eight year old pipes in that she knows how to swim in freezing water if she ever falls through a frozen lake.
‘Nice,’ I say, ‘and I hope I’m with you when I decide to cross the Alaskan wilderness.’
‘And I learned how to make a fire too,’ she brags.
My ten year old daughter asks why we need to find books that are radical in the first place. ‘Yeah,’ the three others chime in sarcastically in that ten year old way they have ‘like, why does everything need to be radical, Tom?’ They sound so exasperated. But they get it. One of them brings up Girls to the Rescue and how normally it is always the opposite. Boy saves girl, but they laugh and know what is up, but they also know how overwhelming it is to be told they same boy saves girl story over and over. And then my daughter brings up Cars. Here’s the main reason I am so impressed with kids and why I was reminded that having these sometimes tedious, difficult conversations is so important, reminded why being willing to talk about what things could look like if in fact things were different is so effective.
My daughter says, ‘yeah look at how popular Cars are now because of that movie. Maybe they should make a movie called Bikes or Walks.’ They all laugh, but she is so right. What if…
***
I was pleasantly surprised to find many of these books available in the local library. Take a look for yourself and please let me know what others you suggest. I am trying to come up with a radical daddy library for the storyteller in all of us to publish in rad dad #4.
Because sometimes we all need a book to help or guide us. When we are tired, when we’ve worked a long day, when we are at our wits end, sometimes what settles us most effectively is to read a story, to be a part of the listening audience, to be transported with our children to the place of what ifs and once upon a times.
And man, did I find the coolest book ever. I happened upon it at Bound Together Books in San Francisco, but I didn't buy it because it was fifteen bucks but now realize after some used book internet searching that that was a bargain. So for my birthday you all can send it to me because I have never seen a book that narrates such a radically different set of values, one that challenges the notions of capitalism, family structure, success and many other things.
It's called A Little Squatters Handbook and it is the story of five homeless people from all walks of life (there’s even one little Lego man who’s missing his little Lego arm) and how they band together to take over an abandoned building. They all sleep in the same bed (at least initially) sharing dreams and fears, mange to ward off the cops by employing various direct action tactics, and in the end they throw a party inviting all their family and new neighbors to celebrate their new communal living arrangements. Read it -- even just for yourself.
What follows the list of books -- tell me what you think...
Some Radical Parenting Books:
Whatever, Mom: Hip Mama's Guide To Raising A Teenager by Ariel Gore
Unconditional Parenting by Alfie Kohn
Liberated Parent, Liberated Child
Kids Books for various ages:
Si, Se Puede!/Yes, We Can!: Janitor Strike In L.A. by Diana Cohn
Conversations With Durito: Stories Of The Zapatistas And Neoliberalism
by Subcomandante Marcos
Selavi, That is Life: A Haitian Story of Hope by Youme Landowne
Tango Makes Three by Justin Richardson
Let's Get A Pup by Bob Graham
The Golden Compass by Phillip Pullman
Sally Lockhart Mysteries by Philip Pullman
Carly by Annegert Fuchshuber
Super Cilantro Girl by Juan Felipe Herrera
Tacky the Penguin by Helen Lester
The Araboolies of Liberty Street by Sam Swope
The paper bag princess by Robert N Munsch
The Big Orange Splot by D. Manus Pinkwater
The mysterious adventures of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo
The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo
Rabbit Island by Jorg Steiner
From Egg To Chick by Millicent Selsam
Sitting Ducks by Michael Bedard
Brave Potatoes by Toby Speed & Barry Root
The Pirate Queen by Emily Arnold McCully
Oh Lord, I wish I was a Buzzard by Polly Greenberg & Aliki
The Enormous Carrot by Vladimir Vagin
Knuffle Bunny by Mo Willems
Nanabosho: How the Turtle Got its Shell by Joe McLellan
Crocodile Crocodile by Peter Nickl
Kids On Strike photo book by Susan Campbell Bartoletti
The day Joanie Frankenhauser became a boy / Francess Lantz
The secret under my skin / Janet McNaughton
Danny, the champion of the world / Roald Dahl
América is her name / by Luis J. Rodríguez
The samurai's daughter : a Japanese legend / retold by Robert D. San Souci
The pirate meets the queen : an illuminated tale / by Matt Faulkner
Punxsutawney Phyllis / by Susanna Leonard Hill
Oh, and I’ll be biking down the coast of Oregon with my babies’ mama because the kids are at grandma’s (much love to grandma) so I’ll post again and reply to any comments after the fourth of july (and if you haven’t read Fredrick Douglas’ 'why I don’t celebrate the fourth of july’ you should…
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