One Book, One Family

Books are a recurring theme throughout my family experience.  At Christmas, each child, however old, always received a book & it was always one of our favorite presents.  

In our home, books were almost sacred.  In 7th or 8th grade, my Christmas book was Gone With The Wind  (I was a precocious reader) - my hands can still feel the sheer heft of the book, my fingers remember the sensation of turning the pages. 

Mom loved to read to us. I remember having a terrible case of strep throat & Mom's constant presence by my bedside, reading reading reading.  She loved to tell about reading The Birds' Christmas Carol to Peter when he was little & suddenly worrying that he might be distressed at how it ended.  She came to the last part, doing her best not to cry.  Peter looked up at her with a tear-stained face & asked, "Please, read it again."  One of my brothers balked whenever it was his turn to do the dishes.  Mom struck a bargain - she would read as he washed, then dried the supper dishes.  Win-win.
 
Mom was a book druid - she couldn't bear to part with a book once it entered the house. After she was reunited with her O Best Beloved, it took four trips to BATS to clear out her book collection.  If any book had page #s noted at the front, it was saved, along with her most dearly beloved.  Had I enjoyed Rosamunde Pilcher, tracking down those pages & passages would have revealed just how clearly Mom saw certain people - on the other hand, how wondrous to find out after she was gone. Blessings from books, even after death!  

There weren't a lot of things that connected us kids with each other, but books certainly did.  We delighted in The Tale of Timmy Tiptoes (there was a period in Peter's very young life when he would only answer to Timmy Tiptoes), entertained by a baby elephant on the great grey green greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees, wept at the end of The Birds' Christmas Carol.  
      
Our shared love of books, that experience of a mother who read to us, came into play four years ago.  

Over the years, my brothers & sister had disappeared from my life.  I missed being a sister, missed being their sister.  But I was stumped on how to crack open the door to a possible new connection, whatever that might look or feel like.  In so many ways, especially communication styles, my sibs & I are light years apart.  How to approach people who are non-verbal, who seem more comfortable with easy disconnection than bonding?

Then, about four years ago, inspiration struck!

John & I were down in Philadelphia to hear Gretchen Rubin talk about her new book, The Happiness Project.  On the drive home, I noticed banners hanging along Broad Street – One Book, One City.  As soon as we got home, I did an online search.

One Book, One City dates back to 2003.  The brain child of Stephanie Naidoff, its goal is “to promote reading, literacy, and libraries, and to encourage the entire greater Philadelphia are to come together through reading and discussing a single book.”

Hmmmm…  What worked for the City of Brotherly Love just might work for my USA-based family!   

Every other month, I picked out & shipped off a book to Peter in Pa & Mim in NJ (too $$ to include Mike in Australia), one carefully selected to catch their interest.  Each was inscribed with “One book, one family” and the month & year.  I did that for eighteen months, eight books & one dvd.

Friends thought I was bonkers.  “Why spend money on three books & postage for two when they never even let you know they got them?”  My friends meant well, but didn’t understand that this was the only thing I could do to try to forge some precious thread of healthy connection.  I'd do it for as long as it felt right.

After the 7^th book & no word from either sib, my attempt to literally put us on the same page wasn’t having its hoped for effect.  They were being received – praise be for tracking mail! – but not acknowledged.  It felt good to know I’d shot my bow; if the arrows missed their target, at least I’d tried.   

Without a hint of regret, I informed John that my ninth choice would be my last.

My last choice was given extra special consideration.  My goal was to find a book that was too spot-on with both of them to NOT elicit at least a short “Got it.”  The choice revealed itself to me as I was driving, listening  to George Dohrmann being interviewed on NPR about his book, Play Their Hearts Out, A Coach, His Star Recruit, and the YouthBasketball Machine. 

Eureka!

The story was sure to connect – “Following a team of pre-adolescents from its humble origins through national championships and high school, PLAY THEIR HEARTS OUT exposes a shady system in which talent is a commodity even before puberty and where big business rules the day.”

And it did.  Mim let me know she received it.  Just one line, a few words, but to me it was the BEST thing I’d read in years!  And, together, from that beginning we’ve built a connection.  We send things to each other through the mail – she sends me clippings, I send off whoopie pies & magazine articles – and occasionally talk on the phone.  

Through Mim, Peter & I reconnected.  He sends me clippings, too, and I send him notes & cards.   

It is a connection that seems to work for all of us.  They don’t let my irksome ways get on their nerves & I don’t go batty with their triangulated communication style.   We step lightly, but I like to think tenderly.

Thanks, Stephanie, for the great idea.  Thanks, Philadelphia, for over a decade of following through on her inspiration.  Thanks, George, for the book.  And thanks, Mim & Peter, for the reconnect.   

One book + one family = bliss.