Why Ma Ingalls and Mrs. Quimby are my heroes

Much has been said on the topic of children's literature as viable literature in its own right—not just, as labeled, for children. I agree with most of it—in fact, much of it has been said, or quoted, by me personally. But it recently came to me that there is another reason for a particular group of adults—parents—to read kids' books. To read them to themselves, for themselves, and not just to their children. And it's simple: a children's book, better than any novel for adults—probably better than any non-fiction, psychology or self-help book, either—has the ability to help us form the type of parents we want to be.

Consider your other chances to observe parenting:

Everyday life gives us myriads of examples, but they are all incomplete. Family is a private thing in many ways, and what you see will almost always be a projection of what you are meant to see. You'll learn a lot about parenting from your close family and friends if you have the chance (and many aren't blessed with that chance), but don't hope to learn much from a ten-minute trip to the grocery store.

Then we have television. Don't worry—I haven't forgotten The Cosby Show....I still laugh remembering Theo's explanation to his dad about how all he needed was some support, that there were more important things than good grades and succeeding in life...and his father's answer: “That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.” Best TV dad ever—even accounting for the sweaters. Unfortunately, he doesn't have much competition. The few shows about intact families tend to make a mockery of the role of parents, painting them as stupid, uncultured, oblivious and selfish, but justified by the occasional blind love for their children.

Books should be a help. But the self-help or psychology-type books are just facts and figures—they don't, they can't, show you the truth as a living, vivid thing. And unfortunately, the majority of novels with adult protagonists have nothing, or little, to do with raising a family. There's a good reason for this: the little struggles of everyday life are rarely drama-worthy compared to, say, falling in love, falling out of love, running a country, facing down aliens, etc. That is to say, it is very difficult to convey the inherent drama of family into a novel.

Unless...the protagonist is a child. Because family is the drama of childhood. Little struggles, in the reality of a child, can be gargantuan. Getting that puppy you've always wanted...overcoming your jealousy of your smart, pretty sister...wondering if your parents love you as much as they love the new baby—when seen through the eyes of a child, these are some of the most poignant dramas you'll ever read. To a child, your home is the stage on which all the conflicts in your life will be acted. Even the exterior conflicts are formed and influenced by your family life. So family will always be part of your story—even if it is present as a lack to be filled.

And that's why now, as a mother, I can turn to Little House on the Prairie for help when I feel unsure of the type of parent I want to be. When I feel overwhelmed by parenting a four-year-old with a brilliant imagination and the personality to go along with it, I have Mr. and Mrs. Quimby as my mentors. I have Coraline to show me, in its unique creepy way, that parenting is about taking an active role in your child's life. The unnamed mother in Where the Wild Things Are reminds me that being loving and flexible are just as important as being forceful—and that in only two lines of text! I could title-drop for pages: Frank Cottrell Boyce's Cosmic—which should be much better known than it is. A Wrinkle in Time. Betsy-Tacy. The Moffats. Even the plethora of orphan books (yes, I confess to contributing to that already-full category) show me very clearly the needs in every child's heart, the needs I mean to make it a priority to meet.

And of course, for the inevitable blue day when I can't help but feel inadequate, there's always Matilda, to remind me of just how great my kids have it. :)