When my son was born I rummaged through my cupboard and located an old box. I knew I had stored my favourite books from my childhood in it in case my children, one day, enjoyed them too.
Going through them as an adult was a bittersweet experience. Some of them I read again with fondness. With some I looked through their pages and said to myself, ‘What did I ever see in this thing?’. The book of fairy tales was especially scary. I wonder if my parents did some editing when they read us those stories, because they certainly scared me as an adult!
There’s no doubt it hurt me when my son didn’t feel the same way I did about the books I gave him. Being a boy, I probably couldn’t expect him to appreciate Sparkle the Pony or Dot and the Kangaroo as much as I did, but it was difficult to deal with, especially considering how many wonderful memories there were for me in those books.
The books we read as a child can provide us with memories we will treasure forever. I remember how often I asked my father to read The Wheedle on the Needle and The Mole Family Christmas. These are books that few people apart from me will have heard of, but I will never forget them. I wonder which books my son will remember most? Will it be a common classic like The Cat in the Hat or The Gruffalo? Will it be some others that we found in some obscure place that will only be special to him? Will it be some of Wombat’s own titles, like Little Good Wolf or The Anything Shop?
I will watch with interest to see which books he keeps to pass on to his children.