The World in Grandpa’s Hands

Margaret Mason’s gentle picture book These Hands features a loving grandfather who has much to teach his grandson. He uses his old and capable hands to show young Joseph how to tie his shoes, how to play the piano, to shuffle cards, and how to hit a line drive.

He also reveals a slice of history neither the boy nor many of us readers realized. “Look at these hands, Joseph. Did you know these hands were not allowed to mix the bread dough in the Wonder Bread factory?”

The tender sepia-toned oil-wash artwork by the renowned Floyd Cooper sheds a warm glow on the earth-toned images of the boy and his grandfather. The illustrations contribute to the reassuring tone and message of this simple, yet powerful picture book.

Grandpa tells Joseph how “these hands joined with other hands. And we wrote our petitions, and we carried our signs, and we raised our voices together. Now any hands can touch the bread dough, no matter their color. Yes, they can.”

The author’s note explains how, in the ’50s and early ’60s, African-American workers at the Wonder Bread, Awrey, and Tastee bakery factories were allowed to sweep and load trucks, but were not permitted to work as bread dough mixers. The author relates how she learned the history from Joe Barnett, a leader of the bakery labor union.

Don’t miss this fine inter-generational story, as it provides so many wonderful opportunities to discuss the role of families and the need to work together to battle injustice in its many forms.

And see …

Love’s Arduous Path

How can an author squeeze sweetness from such bitter facts: A mother must give up her son upon his birth. Forced to work in the cornfields 12 miles away, she gets to see her boy only a few times before she dies.

That motherless child would become the famous writer and activist Frederick Douglass, who wrote in his groundbreaking autobiography, “I do not recollect of ever seeing my mother by the light of day. She was with me in the night. She would lie down with me, and get me to sleep, but long before I waked she was gone. Very little communication ever took place between us. Death soon ended what little we could have while she lived, and with it her hardships and suffering. She died when I was about seven years old, on one of my master’s farms, near Lee’s Mill. I was not allowed to be present during her illness, at her death, or burial.”

In her moving debut, Love Twelve Miles Long, Glenda Armand takes us back to 1820s Talbot County, Maryland, to imagine how precious those few visits could have been for the two. Wrapped in her shawl, Mama arrives late at night, bringing Frederick her full heart and a slice of ginger cake. Mr. Bootman strews soft candlelight in his lush watercolor painting of the reunited mother and son sharing smiles no one can buy or sell.

Of course, the boy longs to spend more time with his mother, but she tells him it’s too far for him to walk. How, then, does she do it?

“The way I walk makes the journey shorter,” she says.

“Tell me how you walk, Mama. Tell me how you make it shorter.”

What follows is a beautiful evocation of the mother’s loving ritual, as she makes each mile special. The first is for forgetting: “I forget how tired I am. I forget that my back hurts and my hands and feet ache. I forget that I’ve worked all day and have to be in the fields again at sunup. And when the forgetting is done, I start remembering. That’s what the second mile is for.”

Other miles are spent observing the stars, praying, singing, remembering happy times, giving thanks, hoping, loving, and dreaming of a good life: “We’ll have our own land, and we’ll work for ourselves. There will be no slaves or masters. . . . You are going to do big and important things one day. But right now it’s time for you to go to bed.”

In a story brimming with hope and love, the real-life horrors of slavery lie elsewhere, where an older audience can grapple with them. The author’s note gives additional information about Frederick Douglass, who changed his surname in order to obscure his identity from the master he escaped. Douglass wrote that his mother, Harriet Bailey, taught him a powerful lesson: that he was not “only a child but somebody’s child.” How remarkable that she accomplished this under such despicable constraints.

But let us leave the mother with her miles to go before she sleeps. We can all use a comforting story of love, even—or especially—if it is ripped from a brutal past.

Reprinted with permission from New York Journal of Books

McClintock’s Magical Spin on Dickens

We’ve witnessed a bevy of books relating to the awesome Victorian author Charles Dickens, as the bicentennial of his birth approaches February 7.  Some of the best of the recent Dickens-related children’s books include Deedy’s charming The Cheshire Cheese Cat (see my prior post), Deborah Hopkinson’s dramatic picture-book biography, A Boy Called Dickens; and Andrea Warren’s insightful Charles Dickens and the Street Children of London, which places the author’s fictional references to the poor in historical context (recommended for ages 10 and older).

This month seems like the perfect time to revisit Barbara McClintock‘s lovely, wintry picture book based on a little-known 1868 Dickens story. Molly and the Magic Wishbone, winner of a 2001 Parents Choice Award, is one of those endearing books that children, especially cat-lovers, cherish — if they have the chance to hear or read it. (Even though Molly‘s already out of print, you can find a copy either at your library or through a source such as Alibris.)

With fantastic, atmospheric details, McClintock paints the lively streets of a nineteenth-century London populated by an assortment of expressive birds, foxes, mice and other creatures, dressed in top hats, long gowns, and bonnets. Molly, a gray-and-white cat, is the wise sister and heroine of the story. With Mama ill, she sets out for the market to procure dinner. While carrying her basket of fish home, Molly meets a kind, elderly fairy godmother who tells her she will find a magic wishbone that will grant her one wish.

Molly searches for her sister.

“Sure enough, that night, right after all the fish was eaten, one thin white bone was left on Molly’s plate./ It must be true!” What will she wish for? While the younger siblings hatch visions of candy, toys, and such, Molly exercises patience and common sense. Just as she entertains wishing for a wardrobe of elegant dresses, little sis Phylis comes up missing. The impish kitten has sneaked out to seek a wishbone of her own and has become lost in the snowy streets. Molly realizes this is the time to put her magic to use.

I feel quite sure Dickens himself would embrace McClintock’s Molly and the Magic Wishbone, with its handsome illustrations and cozy, reassuring conclusion. Like her other children’s books, it both reflects and responds to the emotional needs of children (in this case, of ages 5 to 8).
Here are other McClintock books that are great to read aloud:

Related article

“What the Dickens?! For Kids!” from Riverfront Times.

An African-American Book Feast to Savor

Celebrating its 20th anniversary, the free African-American Children’s Book Fair returns Saturday to the Community College of Philadelphia. One of my favorites, the fabulous Bryan Collier (see this prior post), will be there, in addition to the indomitable illustrator Jerry Pinkney and author Walter Dean Myers, national ambassador for young people’s literature. Acclaimed illustrators such as E.B. Lewis, Floyd Cooper, and Sean Qualls are on the schedule, as well as the award-winning poet Marilyn Nelson.

And …

The American Library Association’s announcement of the 2012 children’s book awards is a great source for ideas for kids of all ages. Of those winners, many are great to read aloud to children 5 to 8, including …

 

 

 

and for ages 8 to 12, consider

Congratulations to the beloved author/illustrator Ashley Bryan (see my prior post) for the Coretta Scott King – Virginia Hamilton Award for Lifetime achievement.

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