My eyes were dark brown, but the Hollywood ideal was a blue-eyed blond. Thus, I pondered what I could do to make myself more attractive in the eye department.
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My father was leaving the lecture hall when he stepped out of the doorway and a snowball—or more accurately, an ice ball—came hurling from the side and hit him directly across his open eye.
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I was a voracious reader in my day and read many books that had been banned at one some point. I read most of them just for fun, or to satisfy a quota to read “so many” books per card-marking period. I read “Huck Finn” in 5th grade. Perhaps I was too young to understand all the nuances. I thought it was a great adventure story, reading it right after “Tom Sawyer”.

I read “1984” and “Catcher in the Rye” on my own during periods of high school vacation. The first I found very disturbing (even more so now, as we creep in the direction of totalitarian government and thought police). The second was a coming of age story – a disaffected youth. I didn’t relate to it all that well. I had my own stuff to deal with, but not like Holden Caulfield dealt with his stuff.

But the book that I loved best and had the most impact on me was “To Kill a Mockingbird”. I read it in 8th grade, not for a class assignment; again I read it on my own. My thoughts about it are probably mostly shaped by the Academy Award winning movie. I thought I looked like Scout, as depicted in the movie.

See what I mean? I had to look up what was so controversial that the book was banned. I gather it was the use of the “n” word. Interesting…that was how prejudiced people in the deep South spoke (the story takes place in rural Alabama from 1934-1936). It is based on Harper Lee’s own childhood experiences, whose father was a lawyer and newspaper publisher.

The novel also depicts prejudice, a lynching, poverty, the unjust accusation of a Black man assaulting a white woman. These are difficult subjects to be sure. A white lawyer is chosen to defend the Black man, so he has the hope of getting a fair trail. But there is no justice for Tom Robinson, even though it is clear that he couldn’t possibly have done the crime of which he is accused (he doesn’t have use of his right hand after a cotton gin accident, so couldn’t have struck the girl, as she claimed). The white girl committed the sin of flirting with him, her father beat her for it and falsely accused the Black man, knowing the other townspeople would back him. The jury, of course, sides with the perjured white people, the good lawyer tries to keep Tom Robinson calm, saying they will appeal to a higher court, but Tom is shot by the mob on his way back to jail.

Atticus Finch, the noble lawyer, is a widowed father of two young children, Jem and Scout, who have their own adventures. He tries to teach them morality, but Jem and Scout are attacked on their way home from a school play one autumn evening by the man who has killed Tom Robinson and is out for revenge on the family who defended Tom. Scout is in a costume and can’t really see what is happening, hears the scuffle, Jem’s arm is broken, she is picked up and carried to safety. A reclusive neighbor, who the children have tried to contact for years, actually rescues them, but wants to remain in the shadows. Scout realizes that her rescuer is none other than “Boo” Radley, her reclusive neighbor. She quietly escorts him home, understanding that exposing him would be as senseless as shooting a mockingbird, a bird who does nothing but bring joy with its song and is defenseless.

That is the basic plot. Published in 1960, the book won a Pulitzer Prize and is considered one of the greatest pieces of American literature ever published. Harper Lee remained reclusive her entire life. At the end of her life, she published a follow up novel (which was actually written first, but set aside for decades), that was not well-received. “Mockingbird” teaches moral lessons on race, prejudice, class and social welfare. I have always found it very moving and more than a few lawyers cite it as the reason they became lawyers. It is a movie I never tire of watching.

Shortly before the pandemic, we were lucky enough to see the Aaron Sorkin-adapted Broadway production of the work in New York. It obviously had to take a different slant, given the time and physical constraints of doing a live production. In it, he emphasized the role of Calpurnia, the housekeeper, who becomes more a moral center, speaking truths to Atticus, pointing out his flaws and weaknesses. He is no longer a perfect individual, but rather, trying to improve. It is a strong piece, even though it is different. We, the audience, are given a different, but equally interesting, perspective, now 60 years after the book was published.

I still don’t understand why the book was ever banned. There is much going on around the world, but particularly here in the United States that baffles and horrifies me today. How can children learn if their stereotypes are not challenged, if they are not taught to be critical thinkers, if they are not made to feel just a little uncomfortable and pushed in some ways. They need to leave their comfort zones and walk in another’s shoes, experience another’s ways, see how others feel and what better way to that than through the safety of reading and using one’s own imagination.

 

My father taught me to say prayers at bedtime: “Now I lay me down to sleep/ Bless my Lord, My soul to keep. If I should die before I wake/ Bless the Lord, My soul to take. God bless Mommy and Daddy and Ricky.” It was years before I realized that was not a Jewish prayer! I have no idea what my father was thinking, but I did like the ritual.

I don’t remember my parents reading to me (maybe my mother did a bit, but not a lot). I liked to read to myself as soon as I was old enough. I’d read for a while with the lights on (Mary Poppins, Cat in the Hat, Winnie the Pooh, Little Women when I was older), and under the covers with a flashlight after the lights were supposed to be out. My books were good company and I lived inside my head.

In Detroit, we had a small, three bedroom house. All the bedrooms were corner rooms. The window by my bed overlooked the driveway. My father worked two nights a week (and six days). I’d listen and wait for his car to come up the driveway. Once I heard it, I could truly rest.

I began reading to my own children as soon as they could sit still and sort of pay attention. My dear friend Valerie worked for a children’s book publisher when I was pregnant with David and a huge carton of books arrived before he was even born – all kinds from squishy, plastic books to be played with in the bath to cardboard books for infants to books for slightly older readers.

It was the beginning a great children’s library much of which I kept and a huge bag was brought over to London last December for Rosa. She is 5 months old, but they already read to her. She particularly likes “Chicka Chicka Boom Boom” because her dad makes a big sound “BOOM BOOM”. She waits for that.

Above, Jeffrey has a book open in his lap, ready for Dan to read to him, while David looks on. In the Featured photo, I’m pregnant with Jeffrey, sitting on David’s bed, reading a stack of books at bedtime (I believe they are Richard Scarry books). The children knew this was the way to relax at the end of the day: bath time, sometime to sip on before tooth brushing, reading, then into bed. David has always been a great sleeper. With Vicki’s hyperactive brain, not so much. Both of them sleep weird hours however, and there is nothing I can do about that at this point in their lives.

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I’ve already sent most of the classic young children’s books to London, but have one copy of this here in Newton. Eric Carle is the master and even has his own museum in Western MA, as his drawings are sublime.

I loved reading to my children – “Goodnight Moon”, “Chicka Chicka Boom Boom”, even the scary Roald Dahl books. As Jeffrey grew older, we read the whole Brian Jaques “Redwall” series aloud (eventually he outgrew me and read the books on his own; I missed snuggling and reading with him).

As I’ve described in previous stories, I’ve struggled with migraines for decades now and have been on a prescription cocktail at bedtime for over 20 years. An interrupted night’s sleep is a migraine trigger for me, so these meds help me fall asleep (though none are actual sleeping pills). Increasingly, the problem is getting enough sleep. I have become an early riser. As a teenager, I could easily sleep until noon. Once I entered the work force, of course, that had to end and early on, I discovered the best time to reach an executive (back in the days before cellphones) was early mornings, before secretaries arrived to screen calls. So I became the first person in the office. When children arrived, the habit of rising early was firmly established.

So now, even though nothing presses me to get up early, I find that I usually wake up around 6:30am, even though I usually go to bed around midnight. I no longer read much (due to dry eye). I know I am not supposed to read on screens at bedtime, but I do like to watch the news, so I get washed up, record the news, then fast-forward through it. My doctor recently said that the news these days is anxiety-provoking and it may not be a good idea to watch it and then try to fall asleep.

Lately, my sleep patterns have become weird. I’ve been waking in the middle of the night. I do fall back asleep, but certainly don’t feel rested when I wake up. I find that I nod out at night while watching TV. I may wake early in the morning, and have weird dreams as I drift in and out of sleep, also provoking feeling ill and headachy all day. I’m watching to see if this abates or if this becomes a permanent way of existence.

Having Rosa fall asleep in my arms was the sweetest!