My first read of Dr. Seuss was, surprisingly, not one of his picture books. I discovered Bartholomew and the Oobleck in the school library, and loved the marvelous chaos of the falling green goo, the word “oobleck,” the spooky executioner, and the thoroughly satisfying ending. Our third-grade teacher required us to read a book aloud in class: my read of Bartholomew and the Oobleck enthralled my classmates and was a high point in an otherwise pallid year.
As an adult, I read Dr. Seuss to my students and then to my daughters. The man—Theodore Geisel—had an innate sense of a child’s mind and needs. He also wrote and illustrated some racist stuff.
But here’s the thing: Dr. Seuss realized his wrong. He apologized. And he wrote Horton Hears a Who as an amends for his racist depictions. In addition, he ceased “othering” people groups in his depictions, and his estate, following Seuss’ lead, ceased publishing the earlier, troubling texts. Was it enough? As a white person, that’s not mine to answer. I can, however, speak to Dr. Seuss’ courage.
It takes guts to admit when we’re wrong: I’m not talking about tossing off an apology. I’m talking about sitting with the damage our actions caused, grieving that, and taking action moving forward to first right the wrong as best we can, and then to alter the arc of our lives toward the Good.
Because, if we cannot muster the courage for honesty and humility, we fall prey to hubris: a faux strength that expresses itself in bullying, lying, projection, verbal and physical abuse, and/or willful denial. Hubris hurts everyone—ourselves included.
On the Christian calendar, it’s the season of Lent: a time to get real about ourselves and our relationship to the Divine. A time to confess our “bads,” to seek the Good, and to live into the freedom of authenticity and abundance. After all, “A person’s a person, no matter how small.”
Share your thoughts about Dr. Seuss, about second chances, about courage. at contact@aspaciousplace.com.
Tag Archives: Reading
Soul & Solace: Let’s Talk About Sex
My high-school health teacher assigned me a research project on abortion. Surprising, right, for a seventies military school in the deep south? Still, that was the assignment, and as research material, she suggested what was commonly known as the “little yellow book” and whose actual title was “Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex: But Were Afraid to Ask.” I relayed the information to my mother and was met with pursed lips and a gaze of steel. Nevertheless, she purchased the book and placed it into my hands with a command as from on high: “Only read the chapter on abortion. Do NOT read any more of that…thing.”
I, of course, read the book cover to cover: a fact my mother knew and expressed disgust about. Since that time, I’ve made healthy, informed decisions about sex due, in part, to the little yellow book, and also, in part, to my upbringing.
So why am I sharing this pearl from my days of youth? Two reasons, really: both tied to choice. First relates to parenting. Parents ought not be the sole selectors of their children’s reads. Why? Because 1) caring parents are hard-wired to protect their offspring (to my mother’s mind, knowing about sex would lead to acting on that knowledge and down the slippery slope I would go), and, while protection is necessary, so is challenge. Youth need to read books that stretch their perspectives, that trouble their preconceptions, that fire their imaginations, and that show them their potential: for good or ill. Also, 2) parents are people, and, as such, have limits. That’s why we need pediatricians, school teachers, and librarians. At some point, we parents need to trust these professionals to care about, and to care for, our children.
The second reason is tied to recent legislation restricting choice, including Texas’ book-banning legislation (largely focused on books about race and gender), which purports to support parents’ rights.
Perhaps the rights of some hand-picked parents. Certainly, not all parents. But even so, the point is not parents’ rights: it is children’s rights. The right to learn what will feed their souls. The right to find in the library a wealth and diversity of readings to blow their minds with possibility. Because, in the end, children of caring parents will, in turn, care what their parents believe. A book on the banned list could well be a key that opens a deep family conversation about values and choices. Let’s not be so fearful of another’s perspective that we shut down the possibility of such teachable moments. Does banning The Cider House Rules lead a woman to make compassionate, informed choices? Or a man to respect the consequences of his desire for the woman—or young girl—involved? Whatever our position on abortion, or any other ethical conundrum, does denying knowledge of differing perspectives result in healthy, informed choice for anyone?
Choices that restrict the choices of others carry serious consequences: not made any less serious because the choice-restrictors refuse to see them.
I offer this pearl from my teen years as a plea: let us, as creative people, take a stand for books, for knowledge, for imagination, for selfhood—and for choice itself. We stand at a crossroads in this nation. Let‘s together choose the path that leads to choice for all.
What are your thoughts on choice, on reading, on parenting? We would love to hear from you. Share your Soul & Solace thoughts at contact@aspaciousplace.com.
Want more info on book bans? Check out https://ilovelibraries.org/ and mark your calendars for this year’s Banned Books Week: September 18-25, 2022 (https://bannedbooksweek.org/).
To support “a world in which all children can see themselves in the pages of a book,” check out We Need Diverse Books: https://diversebooks.org/.
Concerned about other restrictions on our choices and rights? The ACLU and Southern Poverty Law Center work to defend the liberties of all U.S. Americans and to combat injustice and hatred. You can learn more about them at https://www.aclu.org/ and https://www.splcenter.org/ , respectively.