I don't remember when I decided to write. I only remember always wanting to tell stories, to create and to build. Everyone else in school was building things with their hands, solving difficult math equations, and choosing careers that made sense but I had no interest in those things. I just wanted to create worlds and weave stories. Making something from scratch was more interesting to me than following a set of instructions to make a pre-designed plan work out.
My first experience with reading was being read aloud to, before I knew how to decipher the letters and sounds myself. Those nightly routines of after-dinner devotions and before-bed stories were highly influential in how I perceived the world and live in it today. It was comforting to listen to my father's voice after my belly was full of supper and my schoolwork finished. My parents were loving and wanted us to know God as a loving Father, too. Sometimes we heard about people in the Bible but other times, if one of us had a particularly rough day, my father would choose a passage of instruction, comfort, or reassurance- what he chose would sometimes depend on the situation and what we all needed to hear. God is like that; He knows what we need and if we talk with Him daily we can see that He provides in a very specific way for us.
The day ended with other stories from picture books, not from the Bible, either spoken aloud by my mother or father and snuck into bed with me after lights-out. There were certain stories that each parent had a knack for. Sometimes mom would cuddle us. Sometimes dad would do funny voices. I often share stories that I read now, but rarely stories I have read before. In contemplating which stories have shaped me as a writer, I wanted to think a little more deeply on which stories I started out with, even if they don't seem that significant.
Trumpets in Grumpetland
This particular story had to be read by dad. Mom just couldn't do it right. There were voices for each of the characters, and multiple sound effects. The illustrations inside were wonderful, with lots of detail, and the whole world it takes place in so imaginative and detailed! The creatures looked like hippos, who rode in cat-faced helicopters and wore World War II uniforms. The story itself is quite simple and easy to follow, but told in a completely original way with those unique illustrations.
I Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always
This was one that mom always read. Tucked under her wings, pressed close and our bodies finally still after a busy day, she would say the lines like she had written them herself and drop kisses on our foreheads after.
A book whose title I can't remember :(
I tried to find it, and alas, it was not to be found. I remember nothing about the words in the book, because I spent so much time pouring over the illustrations. I remember sitting up late paging through it over and over, making up stories to go with each page. Each picture had detailed cross-sections of animal homes inside trees or underground, complete with kitchens, furniture, and decorations. In some of the pictures, mice had pet snails on leashes and held picnics. It was such a charming book, that I am a little sad that I couldn't find it and can see the pictures so clearly in my head.
Bread and Jam for Frances
I loved Frances. She was sort of a snot sometimes, but I was entertained by her wit and confidence. I specifically recall how she ate her lunch one bite at a time, alternating food, and how I tried to eat like that in kindergarten more than once. I liked how mom read this one, though I can't remember what, exactly, she did when she read it that I liked so much. It was just the pattern of her voice, I suppose, something about its cadence that is stuck in my head.
Dr. Seuss
Like with the Grumpets, there were certain voices and sound effects for each page, and the illustrations for Dr. Seuss stories were unique and imaginative. Our favorite one included a character who played his violin badly, and Dad would make sounds like a wretchedly played violin that would have us in fits of laughter.
Harvey's Hideout
Equally as entertaining to me as Frances was Mildred, the sassy muskrat who wouldn't share with her brother Harvey but she was so interesting because she had a secret hideout and tea parties. Besides which, in the end she and her brother made up and that was nice. Even though Harvey and Mildred were sassy little muskrats, they were not above forgiving one another to mend their brother-sister friendship.
There is one collection of stories that I can't really title and I can't really tell you where you can buy them, but it was perhaps one of the most memorable bed-time stories I was told. This collection of stories was mostly shared on cool summer nights, around a flickering campfire beneath falling stars. My father was a wonderful story-teller, his head so full of ideas that he could free them with a blink of an eye. There were numerous Ricky Raccoon adventures, and a very amusing tale on How the Cat Bird Got Its Call. Never once was a story told exactly the same, and they always became more grand than the last time- if he ever did tell them a second time. It was like magic, the way the stories were born in the dark and shaped at that very moment. I already loved words, and this was just proof that words were the least recognized but most valuable currency.
Words were shared in the morning when we woke, and whispered in prayer. They were recited midday at school and murmured after supper, then shared before bed to usher us to peaceful rests. The greatest gift Jesus gave to us was His Word, infallible and invaluable and that will always be the most precious book I have and will read.
No comments:
Post a Comment