On my mantle is an elegant little clear glass elephant,
its trunk raised in joyful triumph. It is a reminder of a book.
When I was about eight, I took a book out of our branch
library. It was about a little elephant who, with great bravery and disregard for
himself, saved his herd from disaster. I thought it was a magnificent story. I
wanted to be that elephant. I wanted that book, to remember that little
elephant.
But my family had no money for books.
Later, in the window of a hardware/toy store on the main
street on the way to school, there was a little elephant statue, copper, its
trunk upraised in victory, the same way as the little elephant in the book.
Every day I passed that elephant twice, as I dodged drunks staggering out of
the taverns on the way, and dashed into alleys to escape the bullies. Each day
I plotted how I could get enough money to buy that statue, so that I could
remember the book forever. But we were very poor. I received no allowance. I
was too young to get a job, except an occasional errand for a neighbor, or
selling an occasional leftover newspaper that the delivery girl for our block
would give me, if she had any left over, for helping her on her route. I never
got that statue, that reminder of the courage of that little elephant, the
reminder of his story.
We usually don’t need reminders of books. They are
themselves the reminders. They sit on the shelf, or on the table, or in a
haphazard pile on the floor, and when our eyes happen onto them, we are
reminded of the enjoyment, the involvement, of reading that book.
I worry about what we’ll do to remember ebooks. No pages
within covers to hold in our hands to remind us of the story. Perhaps we’ll
need more elephant statues.
Reminders of books, of course, are not really reminders
of boards and paper and ink and glue. Having boards and paper and ink and glue,
together, in a book, is a great thing. But they are really a reminder of the
story and the characters in that book, a story and characters that have become
ours in the reading.
When our granddaughter was eight, I told her the story of
the little elephant, and how much I wanted that statue so that I could be
reminded of that book. When she was sixteen, she presented me with the little glass
statue that raises its trunk in victory, on my mantle. Now that elephant is a
reminder not just of one great story, but of two.
John Robert McFarland
Daughter Katie Kennedy’s Learning to Swear in America will be
published by J. K. Rowling’s publisher, Bloomsbury Press, in 2015.
My novel, VETS, about four homeless and handicapped Iraqistant veterans who
are accused of murdering a VA doctor, will be published by Black Opal Books in
early 2015.
I tweet as yooper1721.
I also write Christ in Winter: Reflections on Faith from
a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter. http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/
MY OTHER BOOKS:
NOW THAT I HAVE
CANCER I AM WHOLE: Reflections on Life and Healing for Cancer Patients and
Those Who Love Them [AndrewsMcMeel & HarperAudio, with Czech and
Japanese translations] Paul K. Hamilton, MD, the co-founder of CanSurmount,
called it “The best book for cancer patients, by a cancer patient, ever.”
AN ORDINARY MAN
[HarperPaperbacks] Randall MacLane just wanted to be an ordinary man. But sent
with a message for Custer, he became a drifting lawman with a knack for killing,
and a deep well of loneliness. Then a twist of fate brought him full circle…
THE STRANGE
CALLING: Stories of Ministry [Smyth&Helwys] I didn’t want to be a
preacher, but I made a deal with God to save my sister’s life. Was that really
a “call,” though? I said, “I’ll try it for 50 years, and if I still don’t know,
I’ll do something else.” These are stories of what happened in those years of
questioning the call.
WHEN FATHER RODE
THE MAIL and Other Stories of Christmas [lulu.com] ISBN 978-1-300-38566-0
If you like baseball poetry, take a look at “Frosty &
the Babe” http://www.baseball-almanac.com/poetry/frosty_and_the_babe.shtml
No comments:
Post a Comment