Judy Blume & how stories saved me

  

Images via Google

The first books I remember reading as a child were Corduroy and Harold and the Purple Crayon.
Still two of my favorites today. These two (and some others) were some books that my mother ordered for me from Scholastic (I recall the packaging.)  I remember this because they were the 'free' ones with the purchase of at least one (I believe it worked that way back then).  The books stopped arriving quickly because my mother never paid for them in the first place.  I remember asking her for more books but she'd say something like, 'I can't buy them for you.'  So I read and re-read the few unpaid books that we kept.  I've since invested in many books from Scholastic for my own daughters, you know, to re-pay them for the books I kept in 1983.

Reading those little stories always gave me the hope that there was something bigger out there in the world if you really wished and tried hard for it.  I knew this in my heart starting at age six.  I believed this.  I still do.  Harold's adventure with his purple crayon and how he drew and decided what came next allowed me to hone in on the idea that we ultimately 'create' what we want in our lives.  Harold taught me that no matter how scary or dark things may get, you still have the power to 'draw' a different picture.  On the other hand, Corduroy's story gave me the hope that even when you feel lonely in this great big world, there is always someone out there that will show you a different path and perhaps some love even if you are from different worlds.  In spite of the little bear's sadness he never stopped believing in love.  Perhaps these stories didn't speak much to some people but they were surely seared in my emotional psyche at age six.

Then in 1988, it was yet another book that pulled me away from a rather unsavory reality and allowed me to hover over a world of silliness, humor, grade school drama and the simple act of just being a kid.  You see, during this time I was a fourth grade kid myself with a four year old sibling.  I empathized with the main character's frustrations and feelings of just how incredibly annoying a younger sibling can be.  The humor of it all saved me from my then troubling situation.

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It was Mrs. Grivjack and my fourth class at Coral Park Elementary that allowed me to hide the darkness in my life because it was all I had.  Close to the end of that school year Mrs. Grivjack read to the entire class every afternoon as we sat encircled around her on the cold mint and cream checkered linoleum tiled floor.  She'd always sit in a large squeaky wooden chair.  She read Judy Blume's 'Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing', hard cover edition, retrieved from our school library and it saved me.  It saved me from drowning in the issues of my sexual abuse.  It saved from knowing that I lived under the same roof of a cocaine dealer.  It saved me from still not knowing who my real father was.  It saved me from my mother's proximal abandonment toward me.  It saved me from my mother's incarceration months later.  It saved me from feeling like an orphan.  It ultimately saved me from losing hope that one day, my life WOULD undoubtedly be far better than what it looked like to me right then and there.

Judy Blume's humor and love and words and story entranced me into her world of Peter and Fudge and all the other silly, happy and frustrating things that happened to them.  Mrs. Grivjack's voice was my escape.  The way her large framed bifocal glasses rested atop her ski sloped and heavily powdered nose, an image I got to view from way down below on the linoleum floor every day for months, was the one constant that I turned to for solace in my own silence and embarrassment of having a mother that was behind bars because she had been present during a drug bust.  It fucking sucked and there was no way in hell that I was going to tell a living soul, not even my delusional idea of contacting Judy Blume myself.

No matter how dreadful my situation was at the time, I had Judy Blume's story to look forward to.  I had the next chapter of Peter and Fudge and Mrs. Grivjack's sweet and enthusiastic cadence of a voice to carry on a story and keep her students, her children, her one tormented and introverted pupil completely enthralled and grateful for the gift of being read to.  I was grateful for the momentary escape and for what the story granted me.  Laughter, smiles, empathy, the feeling of not feeling alone and also not feeling guilty about wanting to spit a thick ass hawker in my little sisters hair.  I was just happy to laugh and shut off the 'rated R' reel that was replaying over and over in my head like an annoying click of a roller ball pen because escaping for that one hour of story time meant that I was relieved from one really fucking bad dream.  Like Peter, I was ten and tormented except that his torment was way better than mine. Hands down!

  

Nothing mattered so much as the next great story that would forever embed itself in my own creativity.

THAT is how stories saved me.  

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I read to my girls.  

They read to me.  

Books are all around us.  They don't tire us.  

They bring us together.  

At the end of each day we get to step into any world we choose to free from it's shelf.  

We are lovers of stories and I am a lover of telling them.

Story time before bed ♥

Stories. Are. Awesome...♥

So what's your story?  

I leave you with the magnificent Louis and 'La Vie En Rose' 

Because my life is full of 'Pink' and love...

{Spanish} sucks Yo!

Scenario: A father is with his little daughter (around 3 years old) at the book store.  The little girl is bringing her daddy books for him to read to her.  All of the books are in Español (Spanish).  Spanish books seem to be her choice today.

Little girl:  Hands her daddy a board book.

Dad: 'Oh this book is in Spanish sweetie.  Are you sure you want for me to read this one?'

Little girl:  Sits beside him on a miniature bench.

Dad:  'The books you want me to read are over there.' He says as he points in another direction.

Little girl:  Gets up and picks out another book.  Another book in the same 'spanish' section.

Dad: 'Sweetie, this book is not English.  I think you want for me to read an English book to you.'

Little girl:  Looks at him as if she were saying 'shut up and read the damn 'Spanish' book!

Dad:  Opens up the book. 'Vamos a cocinar una tortilla. (Let's cook a spanish omlette)'  He CAN read in Spanish.  Actually, he CAN speak Spanish.  Then he stops reading and insists once again.

Little girl:  Gets up and walks over to the 'English' books section and brings one back.

Dad:  Starts reading the 'English' book.

Little girl:  Grabs the book away from her Dad and says 'No, too much English.' and takes the book back.

My POV:

I sat back listening to this parent and little child exchange and watched how this father completely diverted his little girl AWAY from the Spanish books.  Clearly, this father did NOT want his daughter to hear, speak or learn Spanish.  Wah???  I mean really, what was wrong with this dude?  His little girl was eager and curious to listen to something other than English.  The interesting part was that the father WAS able to read AND speak Spanish.  I don't get it.  What was the problem?  He was kind of saying 'Spanish sucks yo so don't waste your time?'

Right?

I cannot fathom a parent NOT wanting their child to learn a foreign language especially if they already speak one themselves.  Huh???

I was born in the United States.  My mother was born in the United States.  My father was raised (somewhat) in the United States.  My husband was born in El Salvador but came to the States when he was around 8 years old (1978) and ONLY spoke Spanish when he arrived.  He learned to speak fluent English within 2 months, yes, 2 months.

When our first daughter was born I made it a POINT to ONLY speak to her in Spanish.  Why?  Because I want my child to be multilingual.  I'm bilingual (Yes, I speak fluent Spanish).  I was not raised speaking Spanish but I made it a POINT to learn it and learn it well when I was 16 years old.  Why?  Because it's important to me.  Both my parents speak Spanish, as well as, the majority of the people in my immediate family.  My husband speaks, reads and writes fluently in 4 languages (English, Spanish, French & Italian) and is getting closer to German now (no I'm not gloating, I'm stating a fact.)  He's a language freak but nevertheless, I do admire his passion.  I'm learning French (here and there).  I suck at staying on track with it though.

I still speak to my girls in Spanish.  I make them repeat phrases, sentences, read in spanish, and make them simply TRY.  They 'prefer' to speak English.  They pout and make faces when I ask them to respond to me in Spanish but I continue to do it no matter what.  I KNOW that it will only benefit them in the future.  They understand it PERFECTLY but are lazy about using it.  It's still my responsibility to instill, engage and teach it to them.  Period.


What is your take on teaching your child or children a foreign language?  Do you speak a foreign language? If so, how do you incorporate it into your child's life?  Please, tell me your thoughts.  

Gracias amigos y familia!

Sisters sharing {sketching}

We took a field trip to an outdoor mall in West Palm Beach.  My husband works in the area twice a week and for over a month now, I've been lending my car to my mother.  Her car died and she's saving up for a new one.  In the meantime, I do what I can to help her.  It's what daughters do (I guess).

My daughters, on the other hand, had a pretty cool day.  We went to Barnes and Noble and I read aloud six book to them (I love love love Mo Willems and his crazy pigeon).  Sabrina read Fancy Nancy.  Then they counted all the stuffed animals on the shelves, lined them up for a performance and later pretended that they lived during the ice age by escaping the giant dinosaurs and hiding under the Thomas the Tank Engine train table.  They used their resources, that's all that matters.

But the best part of the day for me was watching the two bigger sisters share a bench and sketch in their new 'scratch books'.  A book that has black coated pages and glitter beneath each page as they 'scratch' designs or pictures with a wooden pencil 'tool'.  So amusing for them! Sabrina naturally drew her own pictures.  Luna decided to copy all the names of the stores around her in the open terrace we were in.  Kalina slept soundly in her stroller (thank goodness!)

Two sisters share sketching time (quietly, for once).

One sister peeks over...Hmmm....what's she drawing??

One mama revels in the simple beauty of her daughters sharing a moment...lovely

It was a great day.