Editor’s note: I received the following email from my brother, Mark Brody. With his permission, I thought it merited sharing.
I just read a headline, I only read the headline as that is all I can tolerate, which indicated that federal funding is being cut to the programs which provide tutoring to children. After reading that, or you can substitute any other recent news, such as how research into the cures for Alzheimer’s or cancer, etc. are being eliminated, and I decided that my sensitive, far too brilliant for her own good, sister could enjoy the following essay which, if she chooses, she might wish to post on her blog.
The Hero of Our Own Lives
“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by someone else, these pages must show.” (Opening sentence of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens).
Last night Pam, my wife, and I were babysitting our 5-year-old twin grandsons. After the boys had a bonus 8-minute episode of an animated, parentally approved TV show called Grizzy and the Lemmings, we all scurried up to their bedroom. I declared I would outrun them to their room and for the 156th consecutive time (we babysit frequently) both Connor and Lucas outran their ancient grandpa.
Our usual nighttime reading ritual is that Connor will select books for me to read and Lucas, exhausted from a long day, will lie in his bed and be satisfied with just hearing the story as Connor plops himself in my lap. Before the last book is concluded Lucas will be sound asleep.
Last night, however, Lucas hands me a particular book and asks me to read it.
The first problem with reading to Lucas at night is that he is usually so tired that he needs to lie in bed, and I need to place my old, creaky body on the floor next to his bed so he can see the pictures as I read the story.
The second, potentially equally vexing challenge, is that Connor whose bed is at the opposite end of the room “needs” to climb into Lucas’ bed so he can get an equally good view of the book, or perhaps more cynically, to make sure that Lucas does not get a better view of the book than he receives. This in and of itself is fine, but when reading comes to an end and Lucas is an inch away from being asleep, Connor will invariably decide he should stay in Lucas’ bed and endeavor to keep Lucas awake as there is still much playing and gabbing to be done. Extricating Connor from Lucas’ bed is often an ordeal.
Last night, however, I was delighted that Lucas decided to climb into my lap as I started to read to him. Connor then took his usual perch in my lap (the boys are still young and my lap, unfortunately or not, is quite ample). We read the story. The boys genuinely helped decipher some of the words as the lighting is dim and when the color of the word is red, and the background is black, I have difficulty making out the letters (I am color blind). The bedtime ritual was completed, and Lucas went right to sleep. I tucked in Connor and said, “Good night.”
As I left the room Connor commenced a debate with Pam. Was Grandpa’s “good night” sufficient? “Nana, when I wake up tomorrow Grandpa will not be here, don’t you think you should get Grandpa to come back and say ‘goodbye’?” Despite the debate I did not believe it wise to return to the bedroom.
First, debates with Connor (always Connor, as Lucas is not afflicted with the need/desire to question/analyze absolutely everything) can sometimes be lengthy (remember they already had an extra episode of Grizzy). I could envision much time elapsing before I would again leave the room.
Second, and much more importantly, I recall the infamous evening when I was babysitting sans Pam and her adult oversight. I recall the look of terror in Josh’s face when I showed up alone, and the parents got home to discover Grandpa in the twins’ room well after bedtime, reading/gabbing with Connor. The formerly always serene Mama demonstrated a countenance which can be generously described as something other than serene. As an aside, the Daddy of the twins, who has not yet to my knowledge been described as serene, voiced his considerable displeasure with my judgment that Connor did not need as much sleep as the parents thought necessary.
With that experience in mind and armed with the ability to learn from the past, I promptly made my exit and left Pam to handle the debate with Connor. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, Pam does not seem to test the Mama’s serenity.
Later that evening Pam explained that Connor’s thesis that Grandpa’s saying “good night” was insufficient was predicated on Connor’s observation that upon his saying “goodbye” to me, I should also say “goodbye” to him because when he wakes up in the morning I would not be there. Hence, just saying “good night” is not sufficient. Note taken.
Both grandparents, having safely bid the boys good night or goodbye as the case may be, await the parents return home which they do at a reasonable hour. Pam and I head to our own abode.
We discuss how I used to read to our boys when they were the twins’ age so many decades ago. Perhaps that is why I decided I should re-read David Copperfield. Having made a little headway in the tome, I went to bed at 6:00 a.m.
When I awoke the next afternoon, Pam and I discussed how 35 years ago I would read one chapter of the Dickens’ classic a night to Josh. If memory serves me correctly Sam – age 4 or 5- would be snuggling with Josh and me. She suggested that perhaps one chapter a night might still be a good idea for me. Another note taken, but likely ignored given my track record.
This made me think- about how long it would have taken me to complete the 64-chapter book (each chapter averaging 15-20 pages).
…..And then a memory arose which I had not thought of for many years. I now recall having been so enthralled by the elegant writing, humor and pathos of the novel, one summer afternoon, while we were on vacation in a time share in California, I simply had to read the book to myself. This decision did not end well because Joshua spotted me reading the book…without him! He was outraged and demanded that I not “go ahead of him in the book.”
Three plus decades later, I recall vividly Josh explaining how my betrayal stung him. He probably has no memory of this. My argument that I was going to read everything to him were to no avail. 7 (or 8?) year old Josh’s thesis was that this was a shared experience for the two of us (Sam’s presence was either tolerated or perhaps cynically he did not notice Sam on the other side of me as we read) and my proceeding without him was a grievous abdication of parental responsibility.
…And now a more recent memory- about 4-5 years ago, I am in Josh’s house and he is on the living room floor (he is not yet as antiquated as is his father and can sit comfortably on the floor) with one of the twins and he is reading to his son, not yet one, from one of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings books.
…..And then another memory from two years ago- Sam reading to his then 5-year-old son (Ted) from the Hobbit.
…..And yet another memory rushes in from 60+ years ago of Mom reading to me. I struggle to recall whether it was Treasure Island or maybe The Three Musketeers– perhaps my older brother, Steven will know.
…So, to conclude my essay, my dear sister, as our great expectations (pun intended) of our government is under constant assault, perhaps there can still be a calming perspective about how rich it is when we have the opportunity to share literature (great or otherwise) with children. And perhaps by doing so we can be the heroes of our own lives.
Note from your sister: Thinking about reading stories to our children and grandchildren, or reading literature in general, is far better than absorbing the news. So thank you for sending this to me. I too have fond memories of reading to my children each night, but I was not so ambitious as you. Though I read them chapter books, I never took on Dickens.
I also think about the role books had in our shared childhood. Wherever we were, and, as you know, we spent summers in different college communities while Dad pursued his education, we took a weekly trip to the library. Mom and Dad set us up for an enriched life. As they say in one of our prayers, not that we are religious, l’dor v’dor, from generation to generation. I think we have done just that. Mark, thank you for sharing this.
Stories I Tell Myself 