The excommunication of Jules Verne

When I was a child, my father would occasionally suggest books for me to read. The works of Herbert Wells, Alexandre Dumas, Jules Verne, Arthur Conan-Doyle, as well as some books by russian authors, were all suggested by my father. I always took my father's advice and was never disappointed. He knew which books to pick for me, and I enjoyed every one of them.

Drawing from this experience, I often suggest books for my children to read. Only so far, they have been less than receptive to my advice. The works of Astrid Lindgren, "The Little Prince", and "Alice in Wonderland" were outright rejected by my first-born when he was younger, and now by my younger son as well. I don't know how they can not like these books. Only they don't. They don't even give them a chance, and if they agree to listen, it's only for a couple of pages, immediately declaring the book not worth their time.

I gave up for a while, and let my kids choose the books they want to read. But I still don't want them to miss the experience of reading the books I enjoyed as a child. I figured that my older son is now old enough to read Jules Verne, and given his love of science, I think he would enjoy the science fiction, so I suggested that he picked up a book by Jules Verne. That's when I became, again, a completely uncool, controlling, and pretty much the worst mother in the whole world. He doesn't want to read 200-year-old books, I don't understand what kids his age are reading, and he has a complete right to pick the books he wants to read without consulting me.

But does he? I am bigger and wiser, I've read the books I am recommending, I enjoyed them, and I know he would enjoy them too if he just gives them a chance. The only reason why he doesn't want to read Jules Verne is because nobody in his class has even probably heard of this author, and my son wants to read what his peers are reading. Rick Riordan has replaced Jules Verne.

That's not good enough for me. I KNOW what his peers are reading. I also know what they SHOULD BE reading. I am not banning Rick Riordan. There is enough time for both him and Jules Verne. But my son set his mind on not even trying. I think this is wrong. Is it worth the fight? There are not many russians who have not read "20 thousand leagues under the sea", or "War of the worlds", or "Three musketeers", or "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" in their teen years. But there is probably a majority of americans who did not, and they turned out just fine. If I give up the fight, my children will be a part of the majority. But is the fight worth the reward?

When kids grow older, there are so many things to fight about, and they are all serious. There is curfew. There are chores. There is homework. There are clothes they wear. There is language they use. The list is endless. At the end of the day, you feel like the relationship with your pre-teen has become a constant fight. There seems to be absolutely nothing you can agree on. Must books they read be another thing to fight about? How important is it, really, as long as they are reading?

I am torn. I don't want to seem mean and controlling any more than I already am. But I also don't want my children to miss the experience of reading wonderful books just because their peers are not reading them. I am not ready to give up the fight. But because I don't feel that it's right to impose punishment in this case, and my power of persuasion does not seem to be working, I think it's going to be a long fight without winners.

Reruns

In our family, we like to watch reruns of our favorite TV shows. My husband loves Sienfield. He watched every episode at least 5 times. My favorite is "Married with children." I know every episode by heart. And recently, I've been watching reruns of "Friends" at the end of each day. For some reason, I don't get bored with reruns.

Sometimes, I look back at my life and feel that there were some days so great that I want to re-live them. The day of my first kiss. The day I got engaged. My wedding day. The days my children were born. I remember all of these days as if they happened yesterday, and I feel so sad that they are behind me now and they can't happen again. In life, things are only meant to happen once. It's sad that you can't re-live them. But remembering them makes you feel warm and comfortable, like watching reruns of your favorite TV show.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I am thankful for all those wonderful days that I so want to re-live. I am so blessed to have had them. And I wish to all of my friends to have many more days that they will look back at maybe when they are 85, and feel blessed that once these days happened to them.

To my father

We are friends with a family that have a son and a little 4-year-old daughter. They are very loving parents, and when I observe the father interacting with his little daughter, it reminds me a lot of me and my father when I was four. My father was my favorite person in the world. He played with me, he took me to the park and pushed the swings, he taught me how to read, he gave me medicine when I was sick. I was a happy child.

Fast-forward to teen years, it all came to an end. My father suddenly became too pushy, too opinionated, too judgemental, too protective, too controlling. He wasn't a favorite anymore - quite opposite, I avoided his company. Being an angry teenager, looking desperately for attention of my peers and not always getting it, I aimed my anger at my parents. My father wasn't understanding. Yes, he wanted the best for me, but he went all wrong about it most of the time.

I never completely repaired my relationship with my father. Being as opinionated, as judgemental, and as controlling as him, it is hard for two of us to be friends. We fight a lot, and I blame him for a lot of things. I blame him for not understanding me and disregarding my opinion, now as well as back when I was a teenager.

I think about this as my 11-year-old, from being an affectionate and loving child, is becoming more distant and rebellious over the past few weeks. He refuses any signs of affection, he doesn't tell me anything about himself, he refuses to come near me when he is in school. And that reminds me of the way I was when I became a teen. And I wonder: is it just a stage that he will outgrow, or is it because I am too pushy, too judgemental, too opinionated and too protective, and our relationship is beyond repair? What will my son remember when he grows up: me reading books with him in bed and walking around the neighborhood counting pumpkins when he was two, or my nagging about cleaning his room, not letting him watch TV to his heart content, monitoring his computer use...

I am repeating my father's mistakes. Inheriting many traits of his character, I can't help it. I am not the world's most understanding mother, and I am not the world's most grateful daughter. But as I am getting older, and seeing people from older generations leave this world, I consider myself lucky. Every day when I wake up, before starting to complain to G-d about all those things I don't have (and believe me, I complain to G-d a lot) I thank him for having my father. For keeping him relatively healthy and relatively close. I know many people who are not that lucky, but I am, and I thank G-d for that. I owe my father a lot for being the person I have become. And even as he did a few things wrong, he also did a lot of things right. And most importantly, he loved me, and that's the best gift. He gave me love that I can now pass to my kids. He made me the parent I am. Too pushy, too judgemental, too opinionated, too protective, but extremely loving. I hope my kids one day will see that love right through all that other stuff. Just as I see my father.