BY JOHN LARRABEE
Uncle John reading The True Story of the Three Little Pigs / Christine Cecchetti
Like many boys during the 1950’s I wasn’t much of a reader. I was more into playing cowboys and Indians, sports, and later, Boy Scouts. My sisters were the readers. But then there was “Ding Dong School” and, of course, my Nana. In 1951, my family had a Philco 9-inch, black-and-white television set. Most of the day it displayed a “test pattern,” meaning no programming. The reception was grainy and the sound was somewhat tinny. But early in the morning, before the school bus came to pick me up, the television ran a program called “Ding Dong School.” The whole show was shot at a low angle and from a youngster’s perspective. Miss Francis would start the program ringing her old school bell. Soft-spoken and with nimble hands, she led the audience of children through arts and crafts (I can still hear the sound of her scissors cutting through construction paper) and musical activities. But the thing that she did that made me a fan-for-life was to read aloud stories, usually about children my age. Getting me ready for school was no problem for my parents: I was ready early so I wouldn’t miss a single chapter of the current book or story Miss Francis was reading. The Story Time With “Uncle John” seed was planted at this early date.
In the 1950s my mother was raising four children pretty much by herself as my dad was on the road most of the time. Mom didn’t read to us much at all. It was all she could do to get through the day.
A couple of times a year, usually around the winter holidays and in early summer, my paternal grandmother and Pops would come from Colorado to visit us in Contoocook, NH. Nana’s visits were special on many counts. She smothered us with kisses and hugs, cooked her favorite dishes, and brought us presents. The presents were mostly trinkets she picked up at gift shops in airports. She lived in Durango, CO, not far from Mesa Verde National Park in New Mexico. (The ruins of this ancient ancestral Pueblo Indian cliff dwellings are still a very popular place to visit today.)
Well, my two younger sisters and baby brother got their trinkets, but Nana brought me books. When I was 3, the books were Winnie the Pooh and such; when I was six and older, the books were classics like Treasure Island, Last of the Mohicans, Tom Sawyer or the Hardy Boys series. Now, Nana didn’t hand me these books for me to read; she read them to me. She read them to me snuggled on the couch, or swinging on our porch swing, or at picnics, and most of all, after I had my early evening bath, while getting ready for bed. Nana would always sit next to me so I could see any pictures, and she occasionally would interrupt the reading to clarify something or answer a question. I was smitten. The gentle lilt of her voice, her breathing. Before she started to read, she would usually review what had already happened in the book or story. On occasion she would add different voices to characters when there was dialog.
My favorite book, The Indian Mummy Mystery, was about a couple of kids who explore the cliff dwellings of Mesa Verde. This was an even more special book because I had visited Mesa Verde several times when I visited Nana in Colorado. This book was read aloud to me many times and remained on my bookshelf well into adulthood.
So having stories or books read aloud became very important to me early on. I wasn’t much of a reader in high school or college, mostly reading textbooks.
When my son was born, I pulled out all the old books Nana had left me and started reading to him right away. It became part of a daily ritual. I even wrote short stories that were about a little boy and his daily adventures. Conspicuously, the main character in these stories had the same name as my son and had some of the exact same adventures.
During graduate school, I often substituted at local elementary schools. Even if it wasn’t in the teacher’s lesson plan, I began each morning with the kids in a circle, listening to me read a story or a chapter from a chapter book. I even did this with sixth, seventh, and eighth graders! Often, when I’d finish reading a piece to kindergartners or first and second graders, I’d look down at my feet and see a student fast asleep or with their thumb in their mouth. If the weather was bad and there was an inside-recess after lunch, I would volunteer to read books aloud in the library, usually sitting in a well-worn rocking chair. By request, there were several books that I read more than once. One of these books, Bud Not Buddy, became my trademark. Though technically a young adult book, like Charlotte’s Web, this is a book for all ages.
When I retired from education (pre-school through college level), I continued to substitute teach. Sometimes I was hired as a full-time sub, which was a win-win for me and the school. I was a known entity. I kept reading aloud and never stopped.
Little wonder that I volunteered to be “Uncle John” and read a few stories aloud for Eastman children during the pandemic.
Please read to your children, no matter what their age. You don’t need a rocking chair…but it can’t hurt.
John Larrabee enjoys working with young people and was instrumental in starting Eastman’s Boat Builders Program and the Youth Conservation Corps.
Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.