Dear Rita Mae Brown,
In the “Keep the Horse
Between Your Legs” chapter of Rita
Will: Memoir of a Literary Rabble-Rouser, you say “Reading, like breathing, is energy, ideas,
life. I am a promiscuous reader. Military history, biography, novels, poetry,
your grocery list, I don’t care. If it’s scribbled or in justified type, I’ll
read it….Mother, a nonreader, never minded that I’d snuggle up in a corner and
read.”
Reading is magical. I like how you describe it.
The one summer that my
sister did not accompany me to Alabama
and the other siblings were out of the house on their own adventures, my
stepmom took me to the library to help me pass the hot, quiet days of summer
with library books. Some of my best memories are those drives to and from the
library with her. We chatted in the car about what we had checked out. I was
never talkative, but I ate up this little bit of adult attention.
I read about the paranormal
(of course), the history of spy activity in wars and biographies. You mentioned
your mother never censored your books. My parents never did either. I found it
interesting that the adults surrounding me seemed to think it beneath them to
converse with the children, yet I was allowed to read books that contained far
more adult material than anything discussed in the house by anyone.
I read about life, death,
and all the mysteries in between. It matured me.
I now take my three boys to
the library weekly. Sometimes their only interest is to play games on the
computer or check out a DVD. If that is the case too often, I’ll insist they
pick out a book and read it to the rest of us. I find it enchanting that they
don’t complain. Kids crave attention and to have three other people listen
while you speak can be a great rush. I hope it brings them a comfort level in
speaking in groups in the future, whether in a boardroom or an auditorium. They
all can use the practice in learning vocabulary, spelling, etc. All three are
all “boy”. They would much rather be out blowing something up than reading.
The eldest has taken to the
idea that he can learn anything. He checks out books on card games, science,
magic, sports, Native Americans and more. The younger two have seen a glimpse
of this and checked out books with holiday stories and jokes. If I hear one
more knock-knock joke from the back seat…
Every few months I am sure
to check out a bilingual book that we read together. They may only get a
smattering of Spanish, but it makes them familiar with the language and will
come in handy if they are ever serious about learning it. I know it helped me.
My mother was Mexican and I
grew up hearing the language spoken and learning words here and there. You would not guess me half Mexican if you
saw me. My father is a blue eyed Pennsylvania Dutch. The two did not mix in
more ways than one.
When I was born, my hair
genes battled for dominance and split the difference. I was born with blond
hair and a blue eye on my left side, brown hair and a brown eye on the right.
My mother asked the doctors “What is wrong with her?”
They assured her that in
time everything would turn to the dominant color. Within a year, the blue eye
was light brown, but my hair will be the same color only when it is all grey. I
am nearly there. The blond did turn a bit darker, more like a sandy brown. The
eyelashes and brows are slower to change and still stand out, although not as
much as you might think.
It made my baby pictures
easy to pick out from photos of my siblings’. My parents’ constant reminders
that I was perfect just the way I was, resulted in my feeling imperfect.
Fortunately, no one ever made fun of it. A common expletive from classmates was
“neat!”
Few people have noticed this
right off. Some will look at me funny and eventually figure it out. The first
thing that many people would ask is “Why did you dye your hair like that?” the
second thing they would ask was “Why don’t you dye your hair?” (so it could be
the same color). I found that ironic and amusing. First people want to know why
you are trying to be different and then as soon as they discover you are
naturally that way, without any consideration at all they instinctively want to
know why you don’t take action not to be different.
I never dyed it and won’t.
Perhaps I can credit this twist of fate as my first lesson that it was okay to
be different, that I was made the way I am, whether it be anyone else’s picture
of how I should be or not. As one particular author I enjoy reading asserted,
“I am what I am.”
I am also tired, it is five
in the morning and I have been reading your book and rambling for a couple of
hours. Time to start my day. When I woke up, I thought I would jot a few lines
and go back to bed. So much for that :)
Yours truly,
Loraine
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