something about a book

where: Cover of the 1950 1st edition

where: what my copy looked like.

where:  what jack's copy looks like.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe was my favorite book when I was nine.   I loved it.  I  remember the details, the beauty and the magic I felt around me while reading it and for long after I had finished.  To this day, I'd like to believe that there is some magical place you may find in the back of a closet.  I've tried to introduce this concept to my children...they're not buying it.   My son is now nine and loves to read comics, Calvin and Hobbes and Tin Tin being two of his favorites.  But given the choice, he would not read a chapter book on his own.  He has to in school, but before bedtime, never. 

Last night I decided to change the course and that was not easy.  I had stopped reading to him before bedtime about a year ago...he told me he was old enough to read on his own. Understood.  But now, he wanted me to read.  A privilege I felt, as well as an opportunity...and I chose the story.  I had bought The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe back when Jack was in pre-school because I loved it so much as a child, and now here was my chance.  Boy did he fight me on it.  His claim- I don't like fantasy books.  Ok, I said, allow me one chapter and then you can choose another book.  

By the end of that first chapter I had him hooked...not that he'd ever let me know it.  It was getting late, I closed the book and he begged for another chapter, just as I had hoped.  I continued reading.  The book is as brilliant and magical as I remember...and my nine year old is so excited for the next chapter he can barely breathe...not that he'd ever let me know it.