(Pictured: Zienne reading the biography of JK Rowling. She just bought the book yesterday night + she can’t put it down. Here, she’s waiting for the bus while reading. She is very into biographies like Elleonai.)
We went to BN last night + bumped into one of the Bears’ teachers. She showed us the book she bought + explained she had bought it because of the unique texture of the cover. Then she mentioned how upset her husband will be with her for buying another children’s book, since their children have all grown up and moved out.
That thought lingered.
I could picture myself in 20-30 years, collecting books that remind me so much of the books that are sacredly romancing their minds and hearts. That future nostalgia’s gonna be killer.
Each of my daughters loves certain types of books, and it intrigues me how these books are helping to build the constructs of their imagination and reality, giving a glimpse of what they deem important enough that it keeps calling them for more of their interest and attention.
Just like their clothes that they gravitate to, somewhat helping to identify their personality, books give insight to what is inside in those budding little humans that are also trying to figure out this life and what to do with it, how they think of it.
I guess that’s why I’m so conscious of the books I recommend to them, and movies! Without my own words and explanations, I hope the ideas they convey plant seeds that will one day make sense to them, and maybe will be a panacea amidst chaos, a perspective different from their own that will speak to their stubbornness, or just soulful rest. They will provide dots that they will connect as they mature, slowly seeing a bigger picture one day.
Am I reading too much into this? I know it can seem too obtuse, but believe me…good books and movies are how we can see more of the world and question complicated themes outside of our understanding…