Changing world
My 8-year-old niece was reading to me the other day from one of her books. I’m immensely proud of the fact that she reads, and that she reads well, but I was mentally groaning at the story she chose. It was something about fairies who spend all their time eating candy… or perhaps they were candy, it’s hard to follow. At least, though, they weren’t all pink. Reading was my lifeline as a child. I was happy with a book in my hand, and often had to be told to put it down to be able to do things – chores, eat, bathe, sleep, you know, the things that interrupt your reading? My worst punishment was to be told that I couldn’t pick up a book (that happened once, then was never used again. I think it had something to do with me telling stories to the flowers. We’ll never know!). I realised that all of my favourite children’s books are more than 50 years old. Yes, even the Dr. Seuss, although we didn’t have many of him until I was much older. It surprised me to find that so many of t