The Magical Powers of Books

I remember when Samantha was a baby, putting books on her high chair tray to amuse her while Mommy and Daddy quickly scarfed down their own meals (dinnertime was never particularly relaxing...).  We were amazed to find that no matter how the books were set down in front of her, she always turned them right-side up, carefully paging through from right to left, ensuring that no pages were inadvertently missed, no page was left unturned.

I read to her often, although I felt at the time that it wasn't enough.  The diagnosis of Down syndrome, to me at least, meant that I must have to do double-time on academics and well-rounded experiences.  Not like I was about to make her sit and listen to me recite the contents of my dust-covered collection of college notebooks, but I felt that I could cause her to suffer setbacks because I didn't expose her to enough classical music in the car, or didn't sing enough to her, or didn't read the right books, and so on and so forth.  Actually, I had words with Steve one day because I felt that he didn't sing enough to her.  Really?

I don't know if Sammi's love of books is innate, genetic (I could never keep my nose out of books, was the first child reading in my Kindergarten class, and read Stephen King's "The Stand" at age 11!), or a result of our early efforts, but let's just say, it appears that the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree.

Samantha is happiest, no matter where we are, when books are available.  Read a book to her once, and she'll recite the story back, page by page, on her own, in her own slightly alternate take on it.  Take her to someone else's house, and issues of Washingtonian, or Better Homes and Gardens become just as fascinating to page through as one of her own children's tales, fascinating to us as well, as she makes up stories about the pictures on the page.  Take her to a book store, and she's in her element.

An impromptu playdate at Borders on Saturday morning provided a sweet photo opportunity, but first, standing in the checkout line, Samantha proved to me the value of her education-to-date, and the impact of the childhood literary greats on her young mind:

Sammi (excitedly):  "Look Mommy, Dr. Seuss books!"

Me (whaaa...?):  "Where, baby?"

Sammi (pointing to the wall behind the register):  "Right there!"

And sure enough, there was an entire shelf full of Dr. Seuss books on display, from Cat in the Hat to Oh the Places You'll Go.  All of my inadequacies as a parent suddenly flashed in front of me, as I realized that I never knew Samantha even knew who or what Dr. Seuss was, or if I had ever even read a Dr. Seuss book to her (other than Green Eggs and Ham, but the words "Dr." and "Seuss" probably never passed my lips).  Had I missed an important boat?  Was I actually relying on her school to be her sole source of education?  Why hadn't I thought of that? 

I am exaggerating, but I'm sure at least some of you know what I'm talking about...

Three books-worth and a coffee-shop visit poorer in my wallet, there's nothing like the joy of a child, some chocolate milk, and her new books.