First Encounter: The Seasons
by Stephen Adams
One of the earliest and most vivid memories of my childhood involves a series of children’s books, but not in the way most might expect. It takes place either around my first year of grade school, or kindergarten, the specifics of which are hazy for me now. Regardless of age and time, I was struggling to learn how to read. It wasn’t so much that my grades were declining but more so a feeling that I was the last of my friends to learn, so my older sister Jenny intervened with the intended goal to “teach me into shape.” She was a relentless but effective tutor, and her lessons relied on four small cardboard cut-out books that were each named after the four season. We started with Autumn, an irony I hadn’t noticed back then, and incrementally proceeded through Winter, Spring, and Summer as my skill level evolved.
Needless to say, my sister’s lessons were incredibly effective, and the whole ordeal taught me a very important lesson. Not only did I learn how to read, but I also learned that books had more to teach us than just their intended subjects. Those cheesy little books that lyricized the seasons in a way that was meant to be entertaining also help lay out the erroneous foundation for a passion that has led me to pursue a career in writing. I look back to the memory of these books often, a sort of symbol for me of perseverance and evolution. The essays I write on a seemingly daily basis are much more than just one clever sentence on a page, at least I hope, and the books that I devour for both my courses and my curiosity are even longer still.
It never occurred to me as a child that those books were specifically made for my age group. I remember being so fascinated with how such a tiny thing could capture so much, like a photograph or a painting, and the fascination only grew with every story I picked up afterwards; namely, A Bad Case of the Stripes by David Shannon, and, as the picture books began to lose their appeal, The Magic Treehouse series by Mary Pope Osborne. Looking back on the other side of time, it amazes me how smoothly these authors were able to get their works into my hands, works that they crafted for the specific purpose of my parents purchasing and delivering to me. These were the thoughts that came to mind when I heard about this class, and played a big part in me deciding to take it. There’s so much more to children’s books than many of us stop to think, and I am eager to see and learn more about their secrets.
