The Gateway

Pin It Like all of my fellow bloggers on Four Perspectives, choosing just one favorite book from my childhood is almost impossible. I was kind of a Matilda when I was a child (of course I'm talking about Matilda from Roald Dahl's book of the same name).  I was a Matilda not so much in that I was a super-impressive genius that could multiply large sums in my head, but that I spent a lot of time alone and I spent a lot of that time reading.  

I lived in what we call around here a "newly-wed/nearly-dead neighborhood.  That means there were a lot of young married people with babies or toddlers. And then there were a lot of older retired people whose children had grown and gone. 

Then there was me and my brother. 

Luckily for my brother a few blocks away, there was a family that had a couple of boys about his age and also luckily for him they really hit it off and ended up  life-long friends.  Big Brother was nice enough to me, but he was (still is) three years older than I am and the gulf between a 7 year-old girl and a 10 year-old boy is pretty wide. Also, we were latch-key kids as my mom worked and didn't get home until about 5:30 or so every evening.  So after school Big Bro would often go over to his buddy's house (after seeing me safely home from school) and so I was left to my own devices -  and a lot (well, most really) of those devices included reading. Sometimes I read at home and sometimes I would take myself to the Library to get new books and to read there.  We lived about 7 blocks away from the old Provo Public Library (and I mean the really old one over on West Center Street for anyone familiar with Provo), and while I could not imagine letting my own 6 or 7 year old child trek 7 blocks downtown a'la Matilda whenever the mood struck, that's certainly what I did.  But then it was the mid 1970's...a different time with different kinds of parents that didn't have the reasons yet to be so scared of letting children explore their world. You may be wondering though, if I was free to walk that far to the Library, why I didn't just walk to a friends house?  Unfortunately I lived on the Eastern edge of the school boundaries and my school friends all lived more on the Western edge.  It was  about 2 miles away or so and outside the "zone" that was considered ok for me to travel to on my own - and I didn't have a bike yet. Though, having said that, everything was walking distance for us at the time because my mom didn't start to drive until I was about 10 years old...but that's another story.

Anyway, off I would go with my big blue book bag which was actually an old Pan Am travel case that I begged my mom to buy for me at the local Deseret Industries Thrift Store.  Old Blue could hold a lot of books and could also get pretty heavy -  if I'd had a red wagon like Matilda I definitely would have used that instead. I wonder sometimes what I must have looked like lugging my big bag down the stairs to the children's section, unloading my spent books down the return slide then turning to the shelves to see what to explore next.  Like Matilda, the librarians came to recognize me and after awhile started directing me towards different selections and series. Unfortunately, I was so painfully shy that I didn't really get to know the librarians as much as I probably could have.  But they were really great actually about pointing out something I might like without forcing me to actually speak to them too much.  Smart gals really, if I'd had to have too much interaction with the scary adults, I might not have been willing to go to the library so often.

Like most kids I went though different phases with my readiing.  There was my Annie Oakley period where I read and re-read a lot of semi-fictional biographies of the famed female sharp-shooter. This led me to a lot of other biographies of famous women (Florence Nightingale, Dolley Madison, Amelia Earhart - I was sexist enough to like the girl stories better than the boy stories at that age). I also read a lot of Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew mystery stories there for awhile as well.  But I remember at about eight years old, one of the wise and discrete librarians directed me to the Narnia shelf. She told me there was a whole series and that I should start with The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. 

I did...and I was hooked.

I loved the concept of a parallel universe - an alternate, magical place that you could get to through the most ordinary of activities. I loved the ordinariness of the Pevensie kids who, through their adventures, became extraordinary. I could go on all day about the genius of C.S. Lewis and the multiple layers and meanings in his work though I can't honestly say that I recognized the Christian allagory in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe until much later on. I only knew that Narnia was a lovely place to visit and I did visit it very often. 

The thing about the Narnia books and specifically The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe was that it was a gateway for me.  They led me to other books with alternate realities and completely different worlds.  For some reason that would probably take a good therapist to unravel, the concept of a different world really appealed to me. Not just the once upon a time in a land far away of fairy tales (which I also liked)....but a whole other places and planets. Essentially The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe took me into the science fiction and fantasy realm. It wasn't space travel I was interested in per se, it was the imagination that it took to create a completely different society with different norms, rules, dress,foods, methods of travel, methods of communication and every other possible element that makes up society. Then how the heroes and heroines of the books had to think and work and plan to navigate through the changes always came.  Anne McCaffrey's  Dragonriders of Pern series for example, was a big favorite for me.  Anyone who has ever visited the complex social order of the planet Pern will understand how you can be sucked into the day to day lives of the Dragonriders and how that world can become as real to you as the one in which you eat your own breakfast every morning.

Anyone who is into Science Fiction and Fantasy can attest to the addictive nature of the genre. It is the basis after all for role playing games Like Dungeons and Dragons providing endless hours of social interaction (of a sort) for geeks of all kinds, and has certainly influenced the electronic role playing games that now unite players around the world via the Internet  - the triumph of Science Fact over Fiction.

I myself never got quite that deep into the Sci-Fi/Fantasy lifestyle - I didn't do the games or the costumes. But I did jump with both feet into dozens and dozens of books that opened the gate and carried me away. There were many times in my childhood that I would have felt it a blessing and relief to be able to hide in a wardrobe and find that it actually opened to another world. As it was, I had my books

I don't know how I would have survived without them.

Thank You, Mrs. Ruthenbeck

Pin It How could I possibly choose a favorite book from my childhood?  I could just as easily have been asked to choose a favorite friend from my childhood, as this is what books were for me back then - trusted friends.  As I revisited each of my dear book-friends in my mind and thought of the lessons they've taught me and the moments we've shared I was able to narrow my choice down to two that really stand out. Both of these books were introduced to me in kindergarten.

As a child of parents who are both Deaf, sign language was the main method of communication used in our home and the one I was always most comfortable with.  We had family gatherings with my Aunt Betty and Uncle Jack, who were also both Deaf, and their kids.  We went to church with a Deaf congregation and pastor, and played with other kids at the local Deaf club on weekends.  From my 5-year-old perspective, the world was as fluent in sign as my family was.  Then came my first day of kindergarten.

I was excited, but apprehensive about being there.  My mom left when the other parents did, and my teacher, Mrs. Ruthenbeck, had us introduce ourselves to everyone.   Because I didn't know any better and felt most comfortable with signing, I used my hands rather than my voice in stating my name and favorite color.  To make a long story short, I learned that day the terrible truth that most of the world was not fluent in ASL.  I went home early because I refused to speak.  I cried.

This was the beginning of the discovery that I was different.  I was someone who did not completely fit in to the world of the Deaf or the world of the hearing.  The other kids must have thought I was strange due to my behavior on that first day - no one ever talked to me.  I became so quiet at school that my teacher worried.  She would come sit next to me along the kindergarten wall at recess and try to encourage me to play with the other kids.  She eventually asked if I'd like to stay inside the classroom and color or read a book.  This was how I ended up spending a good part of my kindergarten play time - at a table near the window, reading one of the many books in Mrs. Ruthenbeck's little classroom library.  Oh, how I loved to read.

One day I noticed a book I hadn't seen before, Leo the Lop. 

Even now as I write this, I feel emotion welling up inside of me. The story is about a rabbit, Leo, who is different from the other rabbits because his long ears hang down to the ground.  Leo tries to fit in and be like the other rabbits whose ears stand straight up, but his ears don't cooperate.  He and the other rabbits then meet a possum who teaches them that normal is whatever you are.

Normal Is Whatever You Are.  Normal is talking with your hands or your voice.  Normal is living in the Deaf world or the hearing world.  Normal is playing outside at recess or quietly reading a book to yourself.  Normal Is Whatever You Are.

Oh, how I loved those words!  I continued to read every day but always started or ended my play time in kindergarten by reading Leo the Lop.  And I still own a copy of the book today.


My other favorite book came about during Nap Time, when Mrs. Ruthenbeck would read to us from Charlotte's Web as we lay on our nap mats. 

I loved hearing of how Charlotte, a spider, became friends with Wilbur, a pig, and how hard she worked to make his life better.  I would lay there each day, eyes open wide, excited to hear what would happen next in Wilbur's adventure.

One day, near the end of the story, Mrs. Ruthenbeck stopped reading.  She told us that a very sad part was coming up and that it always made her cry, so she just couldn't read it to us.  In the same moment that I was thinking, You can't stop reading!  I need to know what happens next! she turned to me and asked, "Gerberta, would you read this part to the class for me?  You are such a good reader and it would be a great favor to me."  I couldn't believe it.  That looked like a pretty big book to a kindergartener.  I was scared for the tiniest moment, but of course I couldn't say no.

I walked to the front of the class, sat in Mrs. Ruthenbeck's Reading Chair, quickly glanced out at the faces of my classmates (who seemed just as surprised as I) and started to read.  I was amazed by how easily the words came to me and my confidence grew with each one.  I remember thinking, if I can read this book then I must be smart!

What a gift my teacher had given me.  Something magical happened after that day.  Somehow, things started to get better for me in kindergarten.  I started to play outside sometimes.  Kids would ask me to help them with letters or words that they couldn't quite get.  I started to look forward to going to school.  And Charlotte and I have remained great friends over the years.

All thanks to an amazing, intuitive kindergarten teacher.

The Magic of Books

Pin It “Tell about your favorite childhood book and why it means so much to you.”

To pick a single book from of all of those which have comprised my childhood is a daunting task. Finding that ‘one book’ that speaks to me is like asking which of my students has been my favorite since I commenced teaching.

Okay, I might have two or three.

However, there are so many wonderful stories that have pulled me into adventures—beyond the scope of my own imagination—and picking a single one proves to be far more difficult that I’d originally anticipated.

This morning, as I rifted through the foggy memories interconnected with these various books, I remembered the first time I discovered Watership Down. I was in the seventh grade and Richard Adams had me hooked…so much that I read his novel straight through 28 times in a row. Consequently, I was also banned from checking it out at the public library because I kept rechecking it out and no one else could read it when I did.

I thought of the first time I heard Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in my fourth grade classroom—I found myself transported into a factory beyond my wildest dreams, right along with Charlie. I remember wishing that I could find a golden ticket that would allow me to embark on a similar undertaking.

I recalled Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH and wishing that the characters were real. I recall that feeling of horror in wondering if one of the rats at the end was indeed Justin, but had that feeling eased when I learned of Robert C O’Brien’s daughter, Jane Leslie Colny, had since written two ensuing novels to answer so many of the questions I had at the end of the story.

These, and other titles, cavaulted about my head, nothing more than a jumble of stories and characters, and similes and metaphors. That’s when it came to me…that one book that seemed to stand just a little taller than all the rest. In fact, the first time I heard this story I was in Ms. Hushing’s fifth grade classroom. She read through the pages of book, and like a libretto floats unseen upon the winds, this book carried us on an journey in which I was to forever be captivated.

James and the Giant Peach.

For those of you who’ve never had the opportunity to read this fantastic, little book, it tells the story of a lonely, little, orphaned boy, James. He is sent to live with his two horrible aunts, and his once-happy life becomes something that would never be tolerated in today’s society. Nearly every day, James is beaten and is forced to work for these two hag-like women, until the day James meets a little, old man who gives him a bag of glowing, little crystals—with the warning to not lose them, or their magic would be loosed upon someone or something else. But alas, poor James, when running through the garden, he trips on a root of the old peach tree and loses each and every crystal. And just when it seems that nothing will ever work out, James sets out on an journey far more wonderful than anything he ever could have imagined.

One thing that makes me love this book so much is the beauty of the words Roald Dahl combines into a crockpot of tastes and smells, of images and moments. In fact, one of my favorite selections from the book is:

“The moonlight was shining and glinting on its great curving sides, turning them to crystal and silver. It looked like a tremendous silver ball lying there in the grass, silent, mysterious, and wonderful.


And then all at once, little shivers of excitement started running over the skin on James’s back.

Something else, he told himself, something stranger than ever this time, is about to happen to me again soon. He was sure of it. He could feel it coming.
He looked around him, wondering what on earth it was going to be. The garden lay soft and silver in the moonlight. The grass was wet with dew and a million dewdrops were sparkling and twinkling like diamonds around his feet. And now suddenly, the whole place, the whole garden seemed to be alive with magic."

As you can easily tell, James and the Giant Peach most certainly has won its place in my life…and into the lives of each and every class I’ve ever taught, as it’s the first book I read to them at the commencement of the school year.

There are books that have won a place of honor in my memory, but it is James and his friends who are most certainly my favorite.

Hard to Choose

Pin It When I was a kid, I was invariably drawn to books that were "above my pay grade." The librarian would be offering a shelf of Apple paperbacks or Choose Your Own Adventure, while I'd be perusing Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters. After a while, they gave up and let me have at it. The thing was, I truly loved those books, and for some odd reason, considering it was the nineteen-eighties and I was a little material girl, I identified with the heroines in them.

It's difficult to identify just one book to call my favorite. In looking back, I can see some trends in my literature preferences. They began at an early age, with Grimm's fairy tales, and tend to linger even now, with the occasional (I admit it--I'm a sap) romance. They all seemed to have that Heroine In the Tough Spot...an orphan, perhaps. She was in need of a hero, or at the very least, a happy family. She, while not conventionally beautiful, was possessed of an unconventional intellect that picked her up and carried her forward. She really didn't need that hero...he was just whipped cream, you know?

After Grimm's, I found these conventions in such wonders as the Anne of Green Gables series and Jane Eyre. I devoured Wuthering Heights, but didn't like that one as much as Jane Austen in general, which I would discover toward the end of middle school. And then there was that one book that was just a little different from all the rest, the one that captured my heart, somehow, to my family's unending amusement.

Gone With the Wind. Three inches thick. The cover: a torrid depiction of Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler caught in a clinch, Scarlett's green curtain dress falling away. The back: words worn away by the rubbing of my fingers as I held the book to read, a hole literally worn through the paper cover by the placement of one finger in particular.

I read GWTW thirteen times in my thirteenth year. With distinct, deliberate intent. I could quote whole passages. I knew full family lineages, had all but been to Tara and Twelve Oaks. I wept when Melanie died, each and every time. I wept when Bonnie died and Rhett went a little crazy, each and every time. I cheered when Scarlett got herself together and grew up.

This book was my soap opera. It was a history lesson, however inaccurate. It was a lesson in Hollywood, as I was also inspired to watch the film several dozen times. (Poor Vivien Leigh.)

I guess GWTW fits the conventions of my other preferred childhood books--a heroine in need, a hero, a sharp intellect. The difference, and the thing that drew me more than the others, was the flaws. The characters in Mitchell's work were so human, and so beautifully, painfully flawed.

Bottom line--it's genuinely hard to choose, but I guess the book whose cover I wore a hole through would best qualify for favorite.

The Four Perspectives - We're Back...and Better than Ever

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Dear Friends,

To those of you who’ve faithfully kept us in your readers—and maintained your subscriptions over the stint where we all went to radio silence—we thank you.

You’ve probably been wondering where we’ve all gone; well it’s been life you see. Each of us has been so preoccupied with our own daily happenings that Four Perspectives was kind of put on the back burner—but not forgotten.

This is a post to let you know that Lori, Mel, Gerb, and I got together and rethought the purpose of Four Perspectives. We wanted to freshen it up—as well as give ourselves topics to write to. You see, in the past we all wrote whatever we felt like and very seldom—if ever—did our topics coincide with each other’s. Well, we decided to start rotating a job of picking topics between the four of us, and then each write to that area of focus—every other week (or more often if we feel up to it).

I know, crazy isn’t it?

We’ll let you know a week in advance (just under that amazing top bar) what the upcoming theme will be, and we invite you to write to whatever it is as well. The readers’ posts that are selected will be run on Friday, as well as days of the next week when we aren’t running our own posts. If we only decide to run one guest for the ensuing week then yours—if chosen—will ride the limelight until we upload our posts to the next topic.

Sounds like a trip to Wonka’s chocolate factory, doesn’t it?

So what’s our first topic?

I’m so glad you asked: “Tell about your favorite childhood book and why it means so much to you.”

Our first posts to this subject will run next week (starting on the 30th) and we’ll go in the same order as our photos on the sidebar. If you feel like submitting a post geared to this topic, we’d love to read it...and you never know, it could wind up getting picked for a guest post. We’ll update the topic for the following set of posts once these start to run.

Also, if you would like to suggest a topic for the perspectives to write about, either email us at fourperspectivesblog.gmail.com OR simply click on the ‘submit topic’ button under the topbar photo. 

Until next week,

The Four Perspectives