”Well, when I changed schools, when I was a kid, my Dad made a point of telling me how much he had always looked forward to Presidents’ Day, when he was a boy, because it’s the law that on Presidents’ Day, the kids who go to school dressed as their favourite presidents get a big bag of candy.”
“My parents would frisk me before family events. Before weddings, funerals, bar mitzvahs, and what have you. Because if they didn’t, then the book would be hidden inside some pocket or other and as soon as whatever it was got under way I’d be found in a corner. That was who I was…that was what I did. I was the kid with the book.”—
… My mother asked me to give up books for Lent once. I was so quiet. She wanted to talk and interact more.
Two days later, with me pressed up against the bathroom door and her inside, with forty-eight hours behind us of me being the noisiest person in a house full of… well, my siblings, who played ball indoors and ducked witches in bathtubs, with me reading off the back of cereal boxes and being like ‘POTASSIUM, interesting, let’s have a discussion!’, with me desperate to talk and joke and share ideas and act out stories, anything, anything… my mother begged me to go get my book.
You cannot keep confined to one world a child who is used to being able to escape and adventure through thousands.