My brother turned 12 on the 17th of this month. I remember when I was younger, being the bookworm I was and reading my age-appropriate books, I thought there was something magical about being 12. Not just 12, but being 12. In the books the characters all seem to have something important happen to them. Well, I turned 12 in sixth grade and that is the reason I never turned 12. Admittedly, I was quite the geek, but still middle school was a nasty place.
But even though my brother turned 12 in sixth grade as well, he got to turn the magical 12 because he got a gift I am totally stealing a piece of when I spend Thanksgiving with my family. Me, mature moved-out rent-paying 19-year-old stealing my little brother's birthday gift not even a week after he got it.
But this is one of those magical gifts.
For ages I have been the only child of the three in my family who had any taste for reading. My pre-teen sister, in sheer defiance, refuses to allow herself to enjoy a book simply because I do and she has to do things differently from me. My brother was always hopelessly lost in video games and drawing him out those required a plunger and much sweat and exertion. Unlike my 22-year-old boyfriend, though, there's a flicker of hope for my brother being able to pull himself out of that world and into another: that of BOOKS. I can only imagine what would happen if I tried to read Dave out of Germany during WWII in the middle of a firefight...
A long while ago I started reading to Erick from a Brian Jacques' book before bed off and on. At first I pushed it on him, then I missed a night, then a couple of nights, and to my surprise and delight he began asking me to read to him, wouldn't want me to end the chapter and go to sleep. And as I started staying out longer than he was awake we fell out of the habit, but he would still see me reading my well-worn and deeply-loved Calvin and Hobbes books around the house. I began reading funny ones out loud to him, sometimes memorizing a particular strip so he and I could quote it back and forth. Then he asked to borrow one and I wouldn't see it for weeks because he would take it in his room and read it before bed, laughing to himself.
Just before I moved out I realized that I wouldn't have the room to take my raggedy collection of Calvin and Hobbes with me so I temporarily bequeathed them to my brother - his big blue-green eyes nearly popped out of his head as he gabbled enthusiastic promises to take good care of them and how great it would be. Then I went home to hang out with my family (and to continue cleaning my room...) and as usual my siblings fought over who got to talk to me first and catch me up on what they were doing. Then my brother told me he started reading this chapter book I had recommended in passing to him a while ago. When my siblings said their piece and went to bed, my dad told me that the time Erick used to disappear and go play video games was now spent engrossed in Calvin and Hobbes or some other book, either huddled on the couch in the basement or reading under the covers past his bed time (something classically Me). I raised my fist in victory when I heard this "I did it! I corrupted him into liking books!"
This Sunday my dad and his fiance and my siblings and I went to Johnny Rockets to have a birthday dinner and give Erick his gifts. Dad and Robin had pooled their resources to buy Erick a magical gift, a perfect gift, a gift I helped open because I knew what it was (and coveted it). They had bought him a gigantic special edition collection, with 3 big hardback books, of Calvin and Hobbes with every comic and book every written by Bill Watterson, the guy whom my brother and I both love and the guy who got my brother to love reading. And the look on my brother's face when he realized what exactly this 30 pounds of present was in his lap, the enjoyment I know he'll get out of disappearing on a couch into Calvin's snows and summers, that love of books I was able to see in his eyes as he and I began paging through the volumes right there on the restuarant table...that memory is a piece of magic I get to keep for myself.
But even though my brother turned 12 in sixth grade as well, he got to turn the magical 12 because he got a gift I am totally stealing a piece of when I spend Thanksgiving with my family. Me, mature moved-out rent-paying 19-year-old stealing my little brother's birthday gift not even a week after he got it.
But this is one of those magical gifts.
For ages I have been the only child of the three in my family who had any taste for reading. My pre-teen sister, in sheer defiance, refuses to allow herself to enjoy a book simply because I do and she has to do things differently from me. My brother was always hopelessly lost in video games and drawing him out those required a plunger and much sweat and exertion. Unlike my 22-year-old boyfriend, though, there's a flicker of hope for my brother being able to pull himself out of that world and into another: that of BOOKS. I can only imagine what would happen if I tried to read Dave out of Germany during WWII in the middle of a firefight...
A long while ago I started reading to Erick from a Brian Jacques' book before bed off and on. At first I pushed it on him, then I missed a night, then a couple of nights, and to my surprise and delight he began asking me to read to him, wouldn't want me to end the chapter and go to sleep. And as I started staying out longer than he was awake we fell out of the habit, but he would still see me reading my well-worn and deeply-loved Calvin and Hobbes books around the house. I began reading funny ones out loud to him, sometimes memorizing a particular strip so he and I could quote it back and forth. Then he asked to borrow one and I wouldn't see it for weeks because he would take it in his room and read it before bed, laughing to himself.
Just before I moved out I realized that I wouldn't have the room to take my raggedy collection of Calvin and Hobbes with me so I temporarily bequeathed them to my brother - his big blue-green eyes nearly popped out of his head as he gabbled enthusiastic promises to take good care of them and how great it would be. Then I went home to hang out with my family (and to continue cleaning my room...) and as usual my siblings fought over who got to talk to me first and catch me up on what they were doing. Then my brother told me he started reading this chapter book I had recommended in passing to him a while ago. When my siblings said their piece and went to bed, my dad told me that the time Erick used to disappear and go play video games was now spent engrossed in Calvin and Hobbes or some other book, either huddled on the couch in the basement or reading under the covers past his bed time (something classically Me). I raised my fist in victory when I heard this "I did it! I corrupted him into liking books!"
This Sunday my dad and his fiance and my siblings and I went to Johnny Rockets to have a birthday dinner and give Erick his gifts. Dad and Robin had pooled their resources to buy Erick a magical gift, a perfect gift, a gift I helped open because I knew what it was (and coveted it). They had bought him a gigantic special edition collection, with 3 big hardback books, of Calvin and Hobbes with every comic and book every written by Bill Watterson, the guy whom my brother and I both love and the guy who got my brother to love reading. And the look on my brother's face when he realized what exactly this 30 pounds of present was in his lap, the enjoyment I know he'll get out of disappearing on a couch into Calvin's snows and summers, that love of books I was able to see in his eyes as he and I began paging through the volumes right there on the restuarant table...that memory is a piece of magic I get to keep for myself.
Comments
*cry*
thats a beautiful sentiment, heather, just beautiful.
vary well said, and congrats
About to gain afew' pounds this thanksgiveing. :p
~Nate~