|Mom on the Long Island Sound, 1966|
When I was little Mom would read stories to me.
Mom was the only one who seemed to understand how much I loved stories.
She’d let me read much more than the assigned reading,
And she’d sit out on the porch with me in the sun and we’d both read our books together.
She introduced me to Gandalf the Grey, and Mariel of Redwall,
And Peter and Susan and Edmund and Lucy.
And she’d read aloud to me and try and make sure all the characters had the right voices.
Sometimes she’d make a mistake but for the most part she was spot on.
On Tuesdays we’d go to the library and we would get piles of books,
(And sometimes I’d get to play a little Oregon Trail on the library computer.)
Mom knew so many good books and would always have a recommendation.
She and I both thought Ramona and Beezus was a riot.
And Fox on Wheels. Fox was always up to something.
One day I carried home a big pile of books from the library,
And I sat in the living room and put my nose to each one,
Because each one had a distinct and delicious book smell.
Mom laughed at me but I knew she understood-
Because mom loves a good story as much as me.
Mom is turning fifty years old, and she still loves stories of all sorts.
And I still love stories of all sorts.
But I think my favorite one is the story Mom has been writing all this time.
The story where she raises four children,
And reads to them on the couch in the living room.
The story where she has a husband who is her best friend,
And they go on adventures together.
Mom has a whole slew of people who respect and admire and look up to her,
And that’s because Mom has true character.
Mom’s story isn’t near finished yet, but so far it’s really, really good.
I can’t wait until the part where Dad takes her to Australia (hint hint, Dad),
But most of all I can’t wait to see how much more love Mom can write into this world.
- Michal Benik, March 2012