I have been giving books to the young ones in my circle since the late 1970s. Around that time my sister adopted a two-year-old girl. A brother fathered his first son. The older child of an English friend appeared on the auspicious date of April 1, 1977.
Keeping Track
Christmas morning
For years, buying those gifts was my favorite annual activity. I kept list of what I gave to whom and when. I’d spend the best part of a day in my bookstore of choice, hunched over a child’s table and a stack of books. First I had to read them all; then I had to allocate them to appropriate recipients; finally I had to double check and make a book hadn’t already been given to an older sibling. In my mind’s eye I saw a bookshelf in each house filled with my gifts.
My process—and especially those lists—got a lot of attention. All kinds of people stopped and asked questions. Some even asked for recommendations. Of course, book stores are friendly places full of people eager to share.
Success is not a Given
There are no guarantees that such gifts will be well received or read, let alone enjoyed. But every now and then, they are.
Robert, the English lad, was so enraptured with Thy Friend Obadiah by Brinton Turkle (Robert was about three at the time) that he pestered his mother incessantly to read it to him. Finally, in self-defense, Sami got a tape recorder (this was the age of cassettes), recorded herself reading Thy Friend, and taught Robert how to start, stop, and rewind the tapes.
It was an analog age and MP3 players, smart phones, and the like were still more than thirty years in the future.
The night before Robert’s wedding in 2010, my husband Dan and I joined them for family dinner. As we lingered over Sami’s utterly splendid spread and her husband Stephen’s excellent choice of wines, talk turned nostalgic. Among other things, both Robert and his sister Tali remembered their favorite books among those I had sent. For Robert, it was Paddle to the Sea by M. C. Hollings. For Tali, it was, Liza Lou and the Yeller Belly Swamp Creature by Mercer Mayer.
Robert has three beautiful daughters and they, too, get books every year.
Take the Win
This September afternoon, my great-niece Alexis texted me a photograph. Had I, by any chance, “sent this series our way? It was the set, Dragons in a Bag, The Dragon Thief, and The Witch’s Apprentice by Zetta Elliott. Why, yes, I had. I checked my lists (long ago transferred to word documents). The Elliott books were sent in 2024.
so many books
Alexis then added:
Maurice has loved it as a bed time series! we seen it at the book fair and he said “oh we have those lets start them “ it is a great read plus he is obsessed with dragons and reptiles right now so it has been perfect. Thank you!
I am all a-glow!
Choosing Books Nowadays
The Internet has replace those wonderful bookstores. The children I buy books for live distant from me, and I often have to guess at their interests and tastes. In addition, one set of kids is African American and another is Native American. I have had to reach beyond what is familiar to me.
But some of the oldies are still goodies. If Maurice is in his dragons/reptiles/probably dinosaurs phase, there is always The Enormous Egg by Oliver Butterworth and the trio by Ruth Stiles Gannett that starts with My Father’s Dragon.”
And there is always the ineffable Don Cooper and his Dino-Songs. I can still belt out, P-T-E-R-A-N-O-D-O-N spells pterandodon! Every single tune is an earworm.