Books of our Childhood

I don’t know about anyone else, but my mother and I have a strange connection to the books she read to me as a child. I understand why I have an attachment to them but am still confused as to why my mother would not want to tosh them the first chance she had. Most of her stories about reading to me as a child involved her attempting to teach me how to read and me resisting like an army. It brings me back to the days that I solely chose what book I would check out of the library by the cover (I still do that sometimes…we all do…but back then it was if the cover was pink or resembling a Lisa Frank design). Ironically enough I hated to read as a child. It was a daily struggle. Now I just wish I had more time in my day to read (even if it is just a 10 page children’s book tucked away in a book shelf at my parent’s house).

The other day when I was on Pinterest (yes, I am an avid pinner and really do not understand how I would have served my days through several internships without it) I cam across the cover of one of my old favorites. At the time I just found it terrifying. Now, looking back, I can see and understand the message. It is a great book after all and one that should be read to all children. The title? “Miss Nelson is Missing.” You just might have heard of it before.

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