How I believe in the power of a book. I actually remember the first book I ever ‘read’: sitting on my father’s lap, and feeling his pride (and my own) as I read Dr. Seuss’s Hop On Pop. Cup, pup, pup in cup. I suppose much of it was from memory but I’ll never forget that feeling of reading on my own for the first time. Once I started, I never really stopped.

As a very awkward pre-teen, I dove into Judy Blume and read her books from cover to cover in single sittings. Are you there God, it’s me, Margaret? Otherwise known as Sheila the Great. Tales of a fourth grade nothing. Blubber. Deenie.  I remember them all, and how they helped me through some difficult times. I even remember secretly trying to ‘increase my bust’ with the classic Blume chant: I must, I must, I must increase my bust. I was a very late bloomer, and was convinced this would help! But alas…

Of course I loved the Laura Ingalls Wilder books: I so wished our family could roast a crackling pig!

But my favorite, my absolute favorite, was Julie of the Wolves. I imagined myself a young Mayax, befriending the wolves. How I would survive in the wilderness, become one of them. I read the book over and over.  And when I recently found the book, along with many other favorites, in a box at my mother’s house, I immediately picked it up and wanted to read it again. How I could relate to Donalyn Miller in her post here, when she discussed finding her favorite, Champion Dog, Prince Tom. Not wanting to read it, despite being thrilled at finding it again. The fear of reading a childhood favorite through now adult eyes. I think I might just leave Julie where she still lives in my heart.

As a mother, I am re-discovering the power of a book.

How the classic tale Madeline could allow my French-speaking daughter to consider that a picture book in English could be enjoyable. I wrote about that MAJOR breakthrough here.

When this same daughter needed minor surgery, countless books about going to the hospital, borrowed from the library, eased her fears.

When my then 10 year-old son read ‘Marley and me’, he cried openly at the end when (spoiler alert!) Marley died. He got up from the couch, walked over to our giant doodle Charlie, lay beside him, and hugged and pet him for ages. He even got up and walked over to me, tears still in his eyes, and hugged and kissed me.

When my younger son discovered Harry Potter, and first realized he could get lost in a 300+ page book without worrying about its size. How proud and thrilled he was when he got to the end almost without knowing it. He was finally reading ‘big boy’ books like his older brother, what a confidence boost that was.

And those are just the beginning. I can’t wait to watch my children discover their own favorites, and build life-long memories. Through our read alouds or quiet ‘family reading time’, I know they’ll find them, the books and stories they will carry with them forever. Because such is the power of a book.