Revisiting the Classics

Fatherhood—well, parenthood, because it's happened to both of us at various times—has brought its share of unanticipated revelations.  For me, one of them has been to revisit children's literature, including many classics and many books I read when young.  (Yes, I read books other than Johnny Tremain, and no, I still haven't read Jane Eyre.)  We've already introduced Nicholas to some of these books, very short ones or picture books.  I don't recall ever reading Goodnight Moon, but we have it, and read it to him, and I'm glad that we have the Little Bear series.

Then there are those that he'll get to when he's a little older.  One of those is My Side of the Mountain, the tale of a 13-year-old who runs away from home and spends a year living off the land in the Catskill Mountains of central New York.  It was brought back to my attention this weekend by a profile piece in the Washington Post Sunday magazine.  The author of the article had read the book when young (many times, apparently), and found it moving enough to try his own hand at camping in the Catskills ... though with the advantages that come with being upper middle class (he bought his food at REI rather than training a falcon to hunt, for example).  In addition to the author's camping adventure, it discusses the origins of the novel in the author's youth (that is, Jean Craighead George, still alive at 90 and living just twenty minutes from my parents' house), some obstacles to publication (you try being a children's book publisher in 1959 and see whether you publish a novel that seems to endorse running away from home).

One thing that struck me in reading the article is that I remember enjoying the book and identifying with the main character (Sam), but for the life of me I can't remember why.  I don't enjoy the outdoors at all, so even if I harbored delusions of running away, it wouldn't have been in so idealistic a manner as to live off the land on my grandfather's farm.  I'm not nearly crafty enough to have figured out how to carve a fishing hook, let alone know how to fish.  On the other hand, I've always admired self-reliance from afar (though ironically I've also read very little Emerson and Thoreau).  And, as silly as this seems, I think I was attracted to the idea that the book was set in New York State.  I know, I'm a geographical snob, but I seem to recall that I found it cool that the story took place nearby, in a place that I was vaguely aware of rather than someplace I would have considered exotic, like California, or China, or the South.

And yes, I'm counting the days until Nicholas is ready for Johnny Tremain.  And April Morning.  And My Brother Sam is Dead.  And the book I read about Paul Revere's horse.  That was a classic, whatever it was called.

UPDATE (10:00 a.m.): Leave it to one of our intrepid readers, herself an elementary school teacher, to bail me out on the title of the book about Paul Revere's horse.  It is Mr. Revere and I, written by Robert Lawson.  And I'd forgotten another of his books (helpfully pointed out to me): Ben and Me, about Benjamin Franklin's friendship with a mouse named Amos.  No word on whether it was the true inspiration behind the Jackson Five song.