Heroes Needed: No Cape Required

The world is filled with heroes.

It's true. And if you're reading this, odds are you're one of them.
I'm not talking about the tights-wearing, cape-clad, witty banter kind of hero (although what you wear in the comfort of your own home, or while grocery shopping, or when feeding your goats, is entirely your business).
No, I'm talking about the kind of hero that takes the time to share a book with a child. I'm talking about the kind of hero that delights in watching the joyful smiles form on little faces when he or she shares the magic of  a story. You don't need tights, or a cape, or some super emblem on your chest...not when you sit down to share a story with a child. The book, your voice, your time and interest and genuine

commitment to your young audience makes you a hero in their eyes. A shared story, a favorite book, a bedside read...these moments wrap children up in love and affection. These are the moments that can put a smile on a child who has had a bad morning, or comfort a kid who is nervous about his first night without his nightlight. Reading a story to a sick child can help soothe their pain and comfort them in time of need.

Trust me, I know. First hand.

March 25th is always a difficult day for me, and for my family. Eleven years ago, on this day, my youngest brother, Jack, passed away. He was 7-years-old. Jack was born with cerebral palsy. And while he couldn't walk, or talk, he knew what was going on. Despite his handicaps, he was a very happy boy. Jack loved to hear me read to him. His favorite was Dr. Seuss's Fox in Socks. The faster I read it (and I can read it quite quickly), the more he'd laugh and smile. We read many books together, but that was our favorite. So on this day, eleven years ago, as he lay dying at home, comforted by his family and a slow morphine drip, I read to him. I read Fox in Socks and I can still see that smile on his face. Even through the medicine, even through the pain, I know that in that last hour my reading to him helped him when he must have been so scared. While it is not my intent to declare myself a hero, it IS my intent to demonstrate that we can help brighten a child's life just by reading a story to them.

But it does not have to be as heavy a moment. I read to all three of my boys each night. Arms laden

with books, I make the rounds. My 10-year-old and I are reading the Harry Potter books. To my youngest, it's a picture book, or some of the Chronicles of Narnia. I sit at the bedside of my middle-schooler and read him a couple of pages of the Percy Jackson books he's devouring. No, he doesn't need me to read them to him (he tears through the books), but he just likes the experience of hearing my voice; of sharing a few minutes with me. It's an important moment for all three of my boys. So, I guess, in a way, that makes me a part-time hero in their eyes. Maybe?

But you're heroes too, or you can be. Make sure you are taking the time to read to your children. If you don't have children, read to your nieces or nephews, or volunteer to read at your local library's story hour, or go to a children's hospital and read to the kids there.

You might be surprised how much of a difference you can make in a child's life just by reading them a story.

Share a book. Be a hero.

MYTHS, FABLES, and STORIES WE KNOW by Eden Unger Bowditch

There are myths or fables that we know without even knowing how we know them. Lots of Aesop’s Fables are like that (sour grapes, singing donkeys, mama bullfrogs) as stories from Greek mythology (Achilles, Odysseus, Hercules/Heracles) and the bible (Jonah, Noah). We have films coming out that regularly revive old stories and myths (Snow White, Jack the Giant Slayer, et al) and let us not forget that Sophocles, let alone Shakespeare, took those old stories and ran with them. A good myth never dies.

Living in Egypt, I have discovered that many (if not most) of the stories I have heard from here are very close to many of the myths we know in the West. Some of the ancient stories, like the stories of Isis and Osiris and the Egyptian gods, have a familiarity all their own. But the later stories, from around this region, areclose to other stories we have heard, as well.  Here are some Middle Eastern stories that might seem familiar:

The Boatman and The Scholar

As the boatman rowed the scholar across the river, the scholar chided the boatman for his lack of learning. “Your life is nothing if you have not learned your letters,” he said. Suddenly, the boat was tossed and broken and began to sink. “I am drowning!” cried the scholar. “Your life is nothing if you have not learned to swim,” said the boatman.

The Smuggler and The Official

There was news that a smuggler was bringing in stolen goods. The official stopped a man who had a donkey carrying large bags of straw. Searching the straw, the official found nothing. Every day, the man came with a donkey carrying great bags of straw Every day the official checked. For months, this went on and never could the official find anything of value in the straw. Many years later, the retired official and the man met at a café. They sat together and shared tea. “I tell you, my friend, I know you were the smuggler. But I could never figure out what it was or how you did it. Please tell me, what were you smuggling?” The man smiled, “Donkeys.”

And there are stories of the Mulla (or Mula), the wise fool, like the story of the man who lamented that all he owned filled only a small sack. The Mulla snatched the sack and ran. The man began to cry and walked all the more sadly down the road. The Mula then left the sack in the man’s path. When the man came to the sack he rejoiced! The Mula smiled because he had made the man happy.

When we read these we say, Oh, yeah, I think I’ve heard that, because likely, you have. Remember the story of the blind men and the elephant? Each one touching a part of the elephant and saying “I know the elephant, it is very like a tree,” or “It is very like a rope,” depending on what each an held. This story is from India. There are fables from China, Ireland, Japan, France… and somehow the stories, and the lessons they teach, are familiar.

 

Does anyone else have tales from their childhood?