My friend Tara wrote an awesome post today about her favorite childhood books after I mentioned something on Twitter about reading to my kids.  Cricket and Thumper had some lovely story time this morning while drinking their morning milk and it was so much fun.  Cricket is just beginning to get interested in books and Thumper…well, he likes to chew on them, same as his big brother. 🙂  This morning’s book of choice (and every other opportunity’s book of choice) was Clifford’s First Halloween by Norman Bridwell.  I loved the Clifford books growing up and I love the show on PBS, too.  Same with Arthur – that lovable little aardvark’s adventures with pals Binky, Muffy, and Francine entertained me through many a rainy afternoon growing up.  When I was a little older and living with my aunt, the show on PBS entertained my cousin, too.  (I, of course, was much too cool for Arthur by then – at 13, it was all about the soaps.  Eric Brady, you will forever melt my little fangirl heart.)

Anyway, I left Tara a rather lengthy reply to her post:

Oh, the books!  The memories!  When Tom was born, your mom bought him a three-pack that had Goodnight Moon, Runaway Bunny, and Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed.  He loved FLM so much that when I dug it out to read to Justin the other day, I had to tape it back up first. 🙂  And I had to tape up GM a long time back.

My sister absolutely loved Harry the Dirty Dog when we were kids.  I loved the Arthur books, and the Stupids (but no one seems to remember them anymore), and Clifford (after all, who wouldn’t want a big red dog?), and George and Martha, and Dr. Seuss, and the Ernie the Caveman story about the invention of paper, and pretty much anything else with Muppets in it, now that I think about it.  It’s tough to beat Mumford the Magician.  A la peanut butter sandwiches! 🙂

My mom read us the classics (the Great Illustrated Classics, of course): Heidi, Oliver Twist, A Christmas Carol, Tom Sawyer, and I’m pretty sure there were some others.  For some reason I seem to recall a lot of Dickens.  Maybe because we were a couple of ornery little dickens? :p

When I got into elementary school, I fell in love with Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories series (so much so that when I saw all three books in one volume at Waldenbooks, I freaked out in the middle of the aisle and Greg refused to acknowledge that he knew me).  Mrs. Ramsey made me read The Princess in the Pigpen despite my assurances that I wouldn’t like it, and I’m glad she did because it’s a wonderful book.  There was The Blood-and-Thunder Adventure on Hurricane Peak, everything by Roald Dahl, and another one whose title I can’t quite remember that introduced me to the name Ophelia.  I remember reading that one by flashlight as Jenni and I huddled inside the window box in my room (with the lid down, because that’s how we roll, yo).  Number the Stars and The Diary of Anne Frank expanded my love of historical fiction that was sparked with the American Girl books (I could no sooner choose a favorite among Felicity, Kirsten, and Samantha than I could choose a favorite child).  And there was one about Sacajawea (again, whose title escapes me) that took her on a cross-country trek a couple of times.  And those Choose-Your-Own Adventure books were the best, although the Reinbeck Library never seemed to have the one with the vampires from space that I was so very interested in reading.

Clearly I could go on forever, here but guh!  So many good books!

I spent hours in my local library growing up.  I devoured books – during my middle school years, it was uncommon to see me without a book in my hands.  I was always reading – on the bus, during lunch, at recess, walking down the hall – and I read some truly wonderful books.  When I was lonely and the company of friends couldn’t cure my heartsick longing, my books were there for me.  Only once have I ever found a book that disappointed me upon rereading (Wait Till Helen Comes by Mary Downing Hahn, which disappointed me even more because of how much I loved it when I was young – for more on how I felt upon my reread, see this post).

In my school library, a few books had only one name on the cards – mine.  At my local public library, there were a few books that could also only boast my number.  I read Time Enough for Drums so many times that I think mine might have been the only number on the Independence Public Library’s copy, too, because Reinbeck didn’t have it for a long time and they had to get it through interlibrary loan for me most of the time.  But when the book was reprinted and Reinbeck finally got a copy of it?  The head librarian called me at home to tell me about it and I was down there five minutes later, waiting to check it out.

In college, I was deeply jealous of my friends whose work-study jobs were in libraries.  That would have been the perfect job for me!  Shelving books, pointing people in the right direction, browsing the endless rows of shelves for some new and distant land to visit…*sigh*  Now, though, I do work in a library.  A beautiful old Carnegie library that’s being tuckpointed as we speak.  Unfortunately, the library moved out some fifteen years ago and the building houses a law firm now, so my dream of being surrounded by books like Shirley Jones in River City have been temporarily laid to rest.  Now, when Seymour gets his attic game room finished and I get to take over the custom-built bookcase in our front room?  I’ll be in heaven. 🙂

So, how about it?  What are some of your favorite books?  Share the love!

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