Family Reading

In anticipation of our recent trip to Israel we received a request from Gilda’s cousin. She’s an ex-patriot living on a kibbutz, having emigrated to Israel after graduating high school four decades ago. A grandmother now several times over, Tzvia, nee Harriet, would rather not repeat with the new generation what she considers an omission of parenting, namely, not reading to her offspring English language children’s books to increase their facility in her native tongue.

We were happy to oblige her request to bring books for newborns-to-elementary school age children. We picked out about 20 of our favorites, including Frederick, Corduroy, Sylvester and the Magic Pebble, and a handful of Sandra Boynton classics.

I’ve mentioned before our preference for giving books as children's presents, accompanied by a short poem I penned several years ago:

Children outgrow clothing,
They tire of toys,
But the memory of reading
Books with your parents
Lasts forever.


Reading to Dan and Ellie was among the most glorious and rewarding of parenting activities. One reading session stands out, about the time Ellie was 10 and Dan 13. Like most young girls, Ellie loved the animated Disney movie, The Little Mermaid. As part of Disney’s promotional campaign for the film, I received a copy of the video and a handsome, illustrated bound version of the Hans Christian Andersen story. After watching the video several times, Ellie asked me to read the book before bedtime.

Ellie, Gilda and Dan piled onto our queen-sized bed for the command performance. All went well until I started reading the last page. In the movie, Ariel was transformed from a mermaid into a woman so she could marry her human sweetheart. But as I gazed down a few paragraphs, I stopped reading. The kids and Gilda wondered what was wrong. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Gilda’s quizzical look.

She was sitting right next to me. I whispered, “She dies.” Gilda said, “Huh?” “She dies,” I repeated. By now Dan and Ellie suspected something was not right. When I told them the original outcome of the story, like their parents, they couldn’t believe it. How could she die?

Perhaps Hans Christian Andersen wanted to give children a life lesson, that not everything turns out for the best. Or perhaps he wanted to nip in the bud any thoughts different cultures could successfully mingle. Whatever.

The Little Mermaid is one of his most endearing and enduring stories, commemorated by a statue of the mermaid in the harbor of Copenhagen. It’s a comely statue, a big tourist attraction but one without the impact one might expect. Indeed, Gilda and I were less than impressed when we saw it during a trip to the Danish capital, as the backdrop to the statue is an industrial portion of the harbor.

About eight years after the family reading, in a repertoire theater production, Ellie played Ti Moune, the lead in Once on This Island, a musical with significant parallel plot lines to The Little Mermaid. Ti Moune is a peasant on a Caribbean island who falls in love with an upper class islander she saves after an accident (Ariel saved a prince from drowning). As in The Little Mermaid, her would-be husband loves her dancing, but, alas, marries someone else. Just as in the Andersen story, she’s given a chance to save her own life by killing him; she resists, proving love is stronger than death.

On the wall above my desk there’s a picture of Ellie dancing as Ti Moune. It’s among my favorite pictures of her.