Nov. 1, 2010
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Reading books with Jellybean
The Family Guy The teenage girl in the passenger seat didn't know what to say, so she just stared in silence. Then the question came again, hurled at her from a hyper toddler in pink sunglasses and a mouthful of sausage biscuit. “Are you my mommy?” Jellybean said for the second time. There was no smile to intimate intentional silliness. Looking like a pint-sized Paris Hilton, Jellybean enjoyed watching her companion squirm. “Are you my mommy?” As if sharing a double bed with The Diva, who kicks like an angry llama in her sleep, weren't bad enough, this poor thing was getting strangely cross-examined by a 2-year-old on the way to school. It was probably the last sleep over she'd have at our house. “Are you my mommy?” Jellybean said again, almost willing the girl to answer. “Ummm … No,” the girl answered shyly. “I'm not your mommy. Sorry. But I'd like to be your friend.” Satisfied, Jellybean fired the same question toward the front seat. The Diva and I were laughing out loud, having played this game before. The question wasn't really a question at all. It was a Dr. Seuss book called — wait for it — "Are You My Mommy?" which just happens to be one of the dozen or so books Jellybean insists on taking in the car on the way to school every day. There are books stacked on the coffee table, books fanned out across the bar where she eats breakfast, books scattered around her rocking chair, books between the couch cushions, books crammed in every inch of shelf space in her room. Jellybean can't read – 'cause if she could, we'd be in Doogie Howser territory – only she doesn't know she can't read. As I write this, she's sitting Indian style (are we still allowed to say that?) in front of the couch, surrounded by books. All the classics are present, having been read to the point of memorization. There's "Stone Soup", "Peter Pan", "Cinderella", "Pinocchio", "If You Give a Moose a Muffin", "Winnie the Pooh and Tigger Too", "Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb", and "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day". One by one, she tears through them all. It's one of my prouder moments as a dad, ranking right alongside her ability to name all four of the Beatles and quote lines from "Star Wars". Our house looks like a library because both My Lovely Wife and I love to read. Sadly, My Lovely Wife's parenting and her pursuit of a PhD in nursing has forcibly changed her tastes. Rather than the latest Phillipa Gregory novel cluttering her night stand, its books like "Yes, Your Teen is Crazy" or "Ethical and Regulatory Aspects of Clinical Research". Even The Diva was a voracious reader before discovering texting, boys and drama, in that order. As for me, I'm always reading three or four things (I have the attention span of a gerbil). When Jellybean reads, the words are all high-pitched and garbled as she creates her own special language, which sounds like an Ewok speaking Cantonese. And yet, every now and then, some English will slip through, although a translation is still needed. “There goes that silly dog licking that man he don't even know lookin' at the bird and thinkin' that monsters live in his head and that they'd better get out before the vampires come.” Weird. But it still sounds better than whatever my wife is reading. Brett Buckner is an award-winning former columnist for the Anniston Star. He lives in Columbus, Ga. with his wife, daughter and stepdaughter. His humor column appears regularly in The Post. Contract Brett at brett.buckner@yahoo.com. |