Smackdown: I Won’t Read That Thing Again

“Sheep live on farms. Sheep like to eat grass. Sheep apparently have shiny, reflective, slightly pink fleece in order to captivate small children when the text of a book is too damn inane to do so.”

Do you have any books whose actual rendition when read out loud starts to sound kind of like that? I sure do. Or did. They take themselves too seriously and yet are dull, completely unoriginal, have no feel for language. Their messages, if they have them, are pointless or annoying. Some of them get basic things about the world wrong.

When faced with a demand to read one of these specimens (plenty of which have entered our house as gifts or hand-me-downs) more than once a day, I find I have two options: Sarcasm or refusal. The former is probably an unwise long-term parenting technique, but the latter meets with more protest, so obnoxious commentary usually rules the day.

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After bedtime though, I have another option: That book just might quietly disappear.

I realise that what I’m looking for in a book and what an under-three-year-old is looking for are pretty gosh darn different. I realise that repetition is part of their cognitive development and I’m just going to get sick of reading even the best of books. I realise that the point of reading to my child is not to entertain me or meet my exacting literary standards.

But here’s the thing: If it’s totally possible to have the best of both worlds, why shouldn’t I? Why should I settle for the dregs that have washed up on my bookshelves? I doubt anyone would argue that parents can’t dispose of books that
don’t match the values they want to pass along. One my values is
literary merit. And it’s available in plenty.

There are thousands and thousands of really awesome kids’ books out there, right down to the most simple reading level. They may not be works I would curl up with on the couch on my own (though I might with Seuss or A. A. Milne), but they have some combination of rhyming and rhythm, playful cleverness, kindness, imagination, style, and beautiful illustrations that not only don’t turn my stomach, but even make me smile and enjoy myself (at least for the first three readings per day or so). Oh, and my daughter also loves them. Perhaps not always more than some of the ones I can’t stand, but also no less.

Besides, kids notice subtle things, and I’m quite sure mine must notice when she asks me to read something to her and I give a shudder of horror. That doesn’t keep me up at night, but it worries me more than facing down a potential fit because Spot’s Thanksgiving has gone missing. “Things get lost sometimes” is a lesson that’s worth learning. Kids get over it. (Though it helps if you identify the bad apples early, before any deep attachments are formed.)

Will my daughter be mad at us when she finds a couple of titles we couldn’t even bring ourselves to pass along to those with different tastes hammered into the bed frame to level the lopsided mattress? She might. But I figure by that time she’ll be able to read to herself and have moved on. And hopefully she will have developed better taste too.

Photo by Indie Wench.

The Other Side:

Smackdown: A Book’s a Book, No Matter How Small (or Annoying)