“Go on, Grandmamma,” I said. “You told me there were five altogether. What happened to the last one?”
       “Would you like a puff of my cigar?” she said.
       “I’m only seven, Grandmamma.”
       “I don’t care what age you are,” she said. “You’ll never catch a cold if you smoke cigars.”
                                                                             from: The Witches
                                                                          written by Roald Dahl
                                                                     pictures by Quentin Blake
                                                                    Farrar Straus Giroux, 1983

     ​I read banned books, but I missed most of Roald Dahl, mainly because he was writing and publishing his books when I was in my thirties. I was going to library school, reading other books, banned and not, and my girls were too young to listen to anything much longer than picture books. So I’m doing some catch-up.
      When I worked as a children’s librarian, an important part of my job was recommending books to children. Sometimes they needed something for a school assignment. Sometimes, though, they wanted something good to fill up some spare time.
      Recommending books can be tricky. It is always a judgement call. I’ve been known to play it safe, but also have gone out on many a limb. I was never questioned by a parent or my boss, and kids more often than not came back to me for more ideas. So I guess I did okay.
     When I worked as an English teacher, though, a choice of mine was challenged. I assigned The Scarlet Letter to my 11th grade students. The coursework for the year included American Literature and I decided to start with something old but current. Tricky, but it worked for me and most of the students.
     In case you don’t remember the story:
     In the middle of the 1600s, Hester Prynn had a child out of wedlock--with a minister! Hester’s punishment included wearing a red “A” on her dress (public humiliation), not being able to be with the man she loved (emotional distress) her husband’s return after a two-year absence (more emotional distress), and being thrown into the role of single parent (social isolation and even more emotional distress).Hester’s and Reverend Dimmsdale’s action was certainly not condoned. It seemed to me that the consequences of their indiscretion were fairly horrible. But apparently, I missed the point. Even though the sex was off-scene, it happened. Hester really did give birth to a baby daughter. Consequences aside (really?) the complaint came because of the undescribed but extramarital sex..
      Children need boundaries. Children also need to test those boundaries. Learning about life by reading. Figuring out that actions have consequences. Testing boundaries with literature, hmmm. Sounds like a good idea to me! I think I’ll re-read 1984. That’s not even totally science fiction anymore!
To see the top 10 challenged books of 2015 as reported by the American Library Association: http://www.ala.org/bbooks/frequentlychallengedbooks/top10
Scroll down to click on previous years.
                                                                   --stay curious!

MISS NARWIN: Philip, is that you singing again?
                             Philip! I am talking to you!
PHILIP MALLOY: I have the right to do it.
MISS NARWIN: The what?
PHILIP MALLOY: The right.
MISS NARWIN: I want you to stop it immediately.  Your actions are thoroughly disrespectful.
PHILIP MALLOY: It’s you who’s being disrespectful!
MISS NARWIN: Philip!
PHILLIP MALLOY: I was being patriotic. That’s all. It’s a free country. You have no right to                         stop me. I was just singing to myself.
MISS NARWIN: Philip Malloy, you will leave this room immediately! Report to the principal’s office.
PHILIP MALLOY: You can’t keep me from being patriotic.
MISS NARWIN: Leave!
PHILIP MALLOY: I’m going. I’m going.
                                                                                        From: Nothing But the Truth
                                                                                                         written by: Avi
                                                                                                  Orchard Books, 1991
      According to dictionary.com, patriotism means: “devoted love, support and defense of one’s country; national loyalty.” That’s it.
     By the end of first grade, I had memorized the Pledge of Allegiance. My whole class had. Even though I’m not sure any of us knew what all those big words meant (and mean) we recited The Pledge every day, standing, with our hands over our hearts. Then we sang a patriotic song. This continued all through grade school, till the last day of sixth grade.
     As much as a first grader could, we understood that patriotism defined us as a country, a society. Even though we practiced different religions away from school, even though our parents may have spoken different languages, even though we all looked different from each other, those very differences were what made us “one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
    Most of our fathers fought in WWII or Korea or both. Most of our mothers did some form of service, too. My mom was in the WAVES (Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service).
    Lots of my classmates fought in Vietnam.
    Why did so many people do so many patriotic acts? Why do so many continue to fight for our rights?
    Because since the time we fought Great Britain for the right to govern ourselves, our founding fathers (and mothers) knew that each person needs to be allowed to hold his or her own beliefs about what is right or wrong. And that right needs to be protected.
    I believe in the freedom of expression, whether I agree with what is being expressed or not. Whether the action is spoken or knelt. Whether a protest is screamed or silent,                                       So even though I believe in the right to sit passively as a flag passes by and the right to kneel when the National Anthem is played, I DO stand on those occasions.
    The people who fought (and continue to fight) to protect our right to sit and kneel, to scream and to be silent have earned my respect.
                                                                 --stay curious! 

       Still, most days at the lighthouse were simple, quiet sea days, with happy times but no real adventures.
       This day, though, would be a lucky one.
                                     from The Lighthouse Family: The Whale
                                                               by Cynthia Rylant
                                              illustrated by Preston McDaniels
                     Simon and Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2003

       I have found my way to many high places. When I was little my parents took my brother and my sister and me to the top of the Terminal Tower in downtown Cleveland. In the late 1950s, it was the tallest building in North America outside of New York City. We rode up to the 52nd floor and looked down to the street 708 feet below. My mom said the people looked like ants. I just thought they looked like very tiny people dodging their way around very tiny cars and busses.
       Several years ago, my husband and I took a trip to Ellis Island and The Statue of Liberty. Liberty’s torch is not open to the public anymore, but I climbed to the crown, as high as I was allowed. At the top of the pedestal the staircase began a double-helix spiral assent. I climbed and climbed all 377 steps and looked out each window over the Hudson River. Gorgeous. 
       A couple of years ago, we rode in a little pod inside the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. When we got to the top and looked out, we could see 35 miles away. The arch itself is a marvel of engineering and technology. It is breathtaking from the ground and from the viewing platform inside.
       I’ve climbed to the top of several lighthouses. The views are magnificent, crashing waves, breakers made of stone on stone. But lighthouses are different. Lighthouses are not about the view. Lighthouses are about guiding sailors safely into port, helping them find their way home.
      Sleep away camp when I was twelve, found me pretty homesick. I had grown out of the Kindergarten crying stage by then, but still missed the familiarity of home. I missed being able to ride my bike whenever I wanted (pretty much). I missed watching TV at night with my family. I missed my friends. Birds sang different songs, the water tasted different, the cots were saggy.
      On the ride home my neighborhood finally came into view, my street, then my house, I felt like I could finally let go of the breath I had been holding for two weeks. I know why sailors kiss the ground when they return home.
     This must be the feeling evoked by a familiar lighthouse.
     According to the Associated Press http://www.fbhi.org/boston-light-300th-anniversary.html a big anniversary bash is scheduled for Sept. 14, (tomorrow) the date when the Boston Light — the Coast Guard's last manned lighthouse — was originally lit in 1716.
      Hardly anything in this country is 300 years old. That’s a long time to be calling people home.
                                                                  --stay curious!  
 

     After a hectic, exciting and exhausting week, I'm taking the day off. I'm going to pour my third! cup of coffee and put my feet up for a while. Thanks for understanding.
​     See you here next Tuesday.