The Suit

Hanging on the wall of my parents home is a picture of my father, Raymond. My guess of his age in the photo is eighteen to nineteen years old. In our first home in Milford, Connecticut, the picture hung above a photograph of my parents dancing at a wedding. When we moved to Maine, it was placed in the same arrangement...just a different wall. The same as when my parents moved to Florida for a year then came back to Fairfield, Maine. Their last home is their current home. They’re number thirteen on a dead end street across from a cemetery. Some might find that a little creepy. I think it’s pretty funny, myself.

On Tuesday, my mother had a doctor’s appointment so I volunteered to stay with my father while my sister took mom to see her physician. It was routine stuff. It wouldn’t take long, they said. The roads had been cleared of the snow that had fallen overnight. Dad was always worried about all of us when the weather wasn’t sunny and 75. Come to think of it, he worries about us when it’s that nice out, too.

Dad and I made small talk about the stimulus package the government was looking to pass, the weather for the weekend and how my son, Anderson, was doing in school. I sat in my mom's chair and looked up at the wall of photographs. The one of my father was hanging below a sketch drawing of the church they were married in. He had mentioned to me about six months before that he wanted me to find a tie just like the one in the photo so he could give it to Anderson to wear to church. I looked all over. I scoured the internet, called department stores in Connecticut, to no avail. 

I asked my father “Dad, where did you get that tie?”

And the story began.

“I bought that tie. I bought the suit, too, with my own money.”

He went to tell me exactly how.

My father was thirteen years old in 1949. The family was very poor. There were five sons at that time before the two little sisters came along. The house on Madison Avenue in Bridgeport they grew up in is now a parking lot next to an ice cream shop. His father was a box nailer at the Bridgeport Brass Company. That company, years before my father and his father were born, is credited for spinning the copper wire that made the first long distance telephone line from New York City to Boston possible. His mother, with five boys, worked hard at being a mom. From the stories they have told me...she had her hands full.

On a late winter day his mother, Grace, brought home new clothes. They had saved enough to buy each of the rambunctious boys pants and shirts. They were growing like weeds and hand me downs only lasted so long. She presented my father, who was tall and very lean, a pair of knickers. In the 1940s, it was common for teenage boys to wear “short pants” or knickers. They came just below the knee and sometimes they fastened with a buckle. My father took one look and asked her to return them because he was NOT going to wear them. She wasn’t very happy about the response. They had spent their hard earned money on new clothes for their eldest son only to have them refused by him. His excuse? He wanted to wear pants. Long pants. 

She told him “If you want pants, buy them yourself.” Grace took him and the pants back to the store she had already come from and told the manager her son didn’t want them. The manager asked him “What do you want?” My father perused the clothing and his eyes landed on a suit.

The Suit.

“I want this.” His mother knew she couldn’t afford it and, once again, told him he would have to buy it himself. Raymond walked right up to the suit and looked at the manager and asked him “Will you please hold this suit for me? It may take me awhile to get the money but I will be back for it.” He picked up a tie and asked him to hold it as well. They left the store with no pants and no suit. However, he did leave with a determination and an idea.

Before it became cheaper to buy at grocery stores, milk was delivered in glass containers by the milkman. A man in a white suit and cap would travel by truck with hundreds of bottles of milk to deliver around the city. He would arrive in the early hours of the morning, go to the stoop of a home and pick up the empty containers. He would then leave fresh full bottles in their place. With five growing boys, the family went through a lot of milk. 

Raymond, being the go-getter he was, woke up early the next morning and greeted the milkman. He asked him if he could work for him to earn a few dollars a week. The milkman thought a moment and told him “Well, I would finish earlier every day. Why not?” So they made plans for the next morning for Ray to start delivering milk.

After a month it had turned to Spring and the earning was slow. It was getting closer to Easter and Ray wanted to be able to wear the suit to church on Easter Sunday. The grass had sprouted up so he took the family lawnmower and went around to the houses in their neighborhood and sometimes beyond. On the weekends he went door to door asking to mow lawns. The money started adding up but it still wasn’t enough. He didn’t think he would be able to purchase the suit in time. What could he do?

Go to his favorite uncle, of course.

Howard Holt was born Halvor Fostvet in Eydehamn, Norway. He came through Ellis Island on the ship Stravangerfjord in 1923. A master craftsman who built cabinets, tables, chairs, and even boats, Uncle Howie, as he was lovingly referred to, was a kind man. He and his wife, Dorothy, doted on children. They couldn’t have any of their own so they spoiled all of their nieces and nephews. I can say I was lucky enough to be spoiled by them as well. He was my godfather and I was his only godchild. Never a holiday went by without them sending me a card with a little something stuffed inside whether it be a two dollar bill or a bunch of stickers. When they would visit, a bag of candy was brought with them just for me. Their hugs were the biggest, the warmest and the longest.

After school, Ray went to visit Uncle Howie who was building another project in his workshop. He wasn’t at all surprised at his nephew’s unannounced visit. They lived less than four miles away. Ray would often take the half hour walk to see him and help him with whatever he was working on. It was with him my dad learned to make the cabinets in our home in Milford, put upstairs bathrooms in our homes in Fairfield. He even built a garage. We were always so amazed that he could do all these different things. When we asked where he learned how to do it all he would always answer “Uncle Howie”.

That day Ray started helping like he usually did and tried, as casually as a thirteen year old boy could, to slide into conversation that he was saving money for something special. Uncle Howie, who could read between the lines, mentioned that he could use an extra hand around the workshop. “Some jobs are just too big to handle alone.” Right away Ray asked if he could have the job. How could he say no to his favorite nephew?

In a matter of two months a young man went from having no job to having three all at once. Each day was closer to Easter and he wanted that suit in time. In the mornings he would deliver milk. After school he would mow lawns. In the evenings he would help his uncle.

The Saturday before Easter, Ray counted all his money and headed straight for the store. The tinkling of the bell went off and it announced to the manager the arrival of the young man with whom he made a deal with a few months prior.

“So, I suppose you’re here to pick up your suit.” said the manager.

“And tie.” Ray quipped.

“Hmmph,” was the manager’s response. He went out back and a few minutes later a large cardboard box tied with string was in the man’s hands. Ray counted out the bills and coins to the exact amount. When the manager was satisfied he rushed home to his room. There he untied the string and lifted the cover. It was just like he remembered: Navy blue with a matching tie with an embroidered cross. He resisted the urge to put it on right then and there. He didn’t want to risk a single wrinkle. He hung it in his closet to await the next morning. 

And what a morning it was. Easter Sunday was as big a deal then as it is now. Families getting ready to head to church would see a flurry of activity in order to get there on time. Can you imagine what my grandmother went through to have five boys clean, fed and in their Sunday best before it was time to leave? 

Things came to a standstill when my father walked into the room. There he was in his new suit and tie standing before his mother, father and four brothers. “Raymond! Where did you get that?” 

“You told me to buy it myself so I did.” He told them of everything he did and how much he had saved in order to wear the new suit special for Easter. His parents were so proud of what he had accomplished. His brothers, well, they’d rather wear the knickers.

St John’s Episcopal Church on Fairfield Avenue in Bridgeport was full that day. Each person sitting in the pews had a full view of the choir raising their voices to the Lord in song. In that choir was a tall, young man in a snappy new suit and a big smile on his face. Though no one’s smile could be bigger than the ones of the parents watching their son who had worked for months just to wear a new suit to Easter Sunday service.

Where is the suit now? My parents like to be prepared for everything and that includes the time they pass on. The suit is now in a box and is ready for when my father passes on. The suit he bought as a thirteen year old boy will be the suit he is buried in. 

And tie. Never forget the tie.

Queenie - The Dog Who Would Be Queen

 My mother, Mary, is one of eight children. For a family of ten all under one roof life on Prospect Street in Stamford, Connecticut, wasn’t easy. When I inquired where it was located she told me “the wrong side of the tracks”. I decided to take a look and, well, she was right: it wasn’t in the best part of town. My mother always said they didn’t have much but what they had was enough.

Still, life was good. My grandmother, Fanny, was a stay at home mom while my grandfather, Daniel, worked as a brakeman for the railroad. He assisted the conductor, switched tracks when necessary and applied the brakes to the train when needed. His job was especially important because he worked overnight. My grandparent’s lifestyle bled into my mother’s own adult life when she married my father. He was a night worker who drove trucks. 

When residing in the “bad part of town”, being a woman with eight children and not having your husband home at night in the 1940s was a potentially dangerous situation. Luckily, one day they brought home a new member of the family of the four-legged kind that would provide a little security to the household. 

Queenie was a female, smooth-haired, Whippett-Terrier mix. She was white with a black saddle and very lean. She quickly became the family’s best friend. My mother once said she bit Queenie and the dog bit her back. That’s what she got for biting a dog, she said. Grandmother Fanny felt much safer with a dog in the home. This way the dog could alert them to anything or anyone who shouldn’t be hanging around. She slept better at night because of it.

When my mother was about eight years old she remembers Fanny giving Daniel a kiss goodbye and closing the door as he went off to work with his lunchbox. That night everything was normal. Doors were locked, kids were in bed sleeping and Queenie was snoozing in the living room.

Around midnight a man who had a bit too much to drink (or as my mother said “he was loaded”) mistook their house as someone else’s he knew. Could have been his own. No one really knows for sure. He was pounding on the door. Queenie started barking. Fanny told the man to go away but he persisted. He was yelling for the door to be opened and pounding the door even harder. As you can imagine all nine residents were very frightened. So Fanny did what she thought best.

She opened the door and shouted “Get ‘em, Queenie!” and the dog went after the man!

She could see the man run away as fast as he could but Queenie chased him across the street then across the ball field (which is now the interstate). Fanny lost sight of her in the dark. She anxiously waited for the dog to return. The kids were worried she would never come back.

But come back she did.

With the seat of the man’s pants in her mouth!

That dog was heralded in the house that night as the true “queen” she was! “Good dog!” and “Yay Queenie!” were heard over and over as they petted her in gratitude for the tremendous deed she had done. She wasn’t sure what all the attention was about but she was certainly happy with all the love she was receiving. 

While my mother was at school the next day, Daniel returned from the night shift. Fanny told him what had happened. He couldn’t believe it! Who would have thought the little dog would be such a big protector. The man never returned and no one ever bothered their house again.

When Daddy Sang

 

I sat there and tried not to let the tears flow. I really did try…but in the end I lost the battle…again.

Bing Crosby put me over the edge.

On a Sunday afternoon while home with my husband and son, I had the urge to watch a movie from my childhood. I wasn’t born until the mid 1970s but I grew up on black and white musicals from the 1940s and 1950s that television would broadcast on Saturday and Sunday afternoons much to my parents liking. That, for us, was family time. Stars such as Jane Powell, Fred Astaire and Mario Lanza would come thru the speaker of our 1960s Sears floor model television while I lay on my stomach watching intently.

Was this what people did in real life? Walk around and burst into song? They did it so, naturally, I followed suit. The hallways of school, the grocery store, dancing down the street: there wasn’t a place I could hide my excitement for life.  I was like a human version of Linda on Bob’s Burgers. At least, that’s what my family says.

It’s true.

I can remember Debbie Reynolds telling (or singing) to Gene Kelly “Here we are: Sunset and Camden!” during Singin’ in the Rain. Now, being 46, I arrive at a destination to drop someone off I will sing the same thing. There’s not a lamppost I haven’t hung off of or a park bench I haven’t tapped my feet under as I sit. It was all so REAL growing up, I have made it part of my life…part of me.

Sometimes it embarrasses my husband or my son. They have become pretty used to it and have ignored my theatrics for the most part. There are those times though. There are things they just don’t understand. Once I am able to tell them why I do the things I do, they are able to see me in a totally different way and I think I come off as not so crazy once they do.

While sitting on the couch watching “Going My Way” starring Bing Crosby I knew the part was coming up. I certainly tried to hold myself together but the dam burst and there I was wiping away the tears on my shirt sleeve.

Elder Father Fitzgibbon (Barry Fitzgerald) had come in out of the rain late one night and was put straight to bed by house keeper Mrs. Carmody (EIly Malyon) and Father Chuck O’Malley (Bing Crosby). The subject came up where Father Fitzgibbon had not been home to Ireland in 45 years. He missed his 90 year old mother. He always said he would go home if the church’s problems were solved and there was someone there to take care of things while he went for a visit. To fight off a bit of chill, Father Fitzgibbon mentioned that hidden in the bookcase was a music box that held a decanter of whisky and two shot glasses. When the case was opened the old Irish tune of “Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ra” began to play and made Father Fitzgibbons think of home. After a quick drink, Father O’ Malley sings the elderly priest (almost) to sleep while singing along with the music box.

It’s at this point of the movie my husband and son look at me like I’m completely nuts. What on earth could possibly make me bawl? It wasn’t like we were all watching Marley and Me all over again.

When the movie was over and I could breathe through my nose again, I said to them there was a reason I was crying. I explained the vivid memories of when I was a little girl.

There wasn’t a song my father couldn’t sing or whistle for that matter. Hearing my father’s voice boom throughout the house with a song from Bing Crosby or Perry Como was a normal thing on a weekend. My mother would play the records while she cleaned and my father would sing along. His voice was truly amazing. He sounded just like the records and the men in the movies I had watched over and over. Sometimes he would sweep my mother off her feet and dance her around whatever room they were in and sing at the top of his lungs. It was like watching “The King & I” on a Broadway stage right in our very own living room.

Back in 1974, the year I was born, Hoffman Distillery bottled their whisky in decanters shaped like leprechauns. The alcohol would come out of their hats and they had a music box attached to the bottom. My parents owned two of them. One of the played “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” and the other “Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ra”. Being little and loving music, I would ask for them to play the music box of the latter. My father would sing along to that music box and, to this day, I can still hear his voice: Strong, deep and gentle. Bing Crosby had nothing on my dad.

Emphysema and COPD has silenced that beautiful singing voice. 65 years of smoking can do that to a person. He stopped smoking cold turkey six years ago after a heart attack scare. Doctors say he is with us now because he let go of that nasty vice. My mother followed suit a few years later. Each year, each DAY for that matter, that passes is another moment with them. I am so grateful.

My husband and son now know another little piece of why I am the way I am and do the things I do. If you see me in the grocery store dancing with my shopping cart or if I suddenly start singing my answers to your questions, you’ll now understand why.

It’s just me being me and thinking about my dad when he sang.

True Tales of a Talker #6: The Birthday Girl

 

When people ask me what my favorite holiday is I always answer the same: my birthday. Mine is October 6^th and I love celebrating it! I guess for one day a year it makes me feel special. In my family it marks the beginning of Christmas. Yes, the holiday is still over two months away from that date but I am the only one in my family with a birthday after July if you don’t count my dad’s which is in August. I get to signal the start of Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas and all the decorating it brings.

On this particular day, I was calling Medicare for information on how to fix an MSP claim. That’s when another insurance is primary over Medicare. Things have to be just right in order for it to pay.

Gina, the representative, was very nice. It sounded like she was having a good day already. And, being me, I wanted to find out why.

I asked her flat out “Just what has you in such a great mood today?”

She answered back “It’s my birthday!”

I immediately sang the ‘Happy Birthday’ song to her. I refrained from the “Are you 1? Are you 2?” and so on.

She let out a little squeal and thanked me. I could tell she wasn't working from home as so many employees are doing at call centers during the pandemic. She was using her inside voice.

I inquired as to how she was going to celebrate. She was eager to say she celebrates for an entire week. Last week her family took her out for dinner. Another day, her husband spent the entire day with her going to their favorite places. A few nights before the kids had made her favorite for the family dinner. Just last night she went out for drinks with her coworkers.

I was amazed. "You've had quite the week! What do you plan on tonight?"

She took a deep breath and let it out. "To tell you the truth, I hope we just stay home. It's been a wonderful week but I'm kind of tired. A night in with my family relaxing would be the best thing right now."

Totally get you, girl.

She went on to help me with my claim and when we were finished I, again, wished her a very happy birthday.

I have worked on my birthday before. In fact, I remember a long time ago on my 20th birthday I was working at Ames Department Store and, much like I do now, if work needed me I never said no. Well, I can't say NEVER because I am getting better at saying no for the sake of my family and my own sanity. Back then, though, I didn't miss an opportunity to work because we had no money when my first husband and I got married. Minimum wage in 1995 was $4.25 an hour. We needed to make every penny we could.

On my birthday that year, I remember my manager, Mr. Scott Finnemore, calling me and asking me to work. I knew we had a band practice that night (or so I thought). We needed the money more than I needed to practice. I said yes and I told my husband at the time that I was going in. The person covering the front desk called out sick and they had no one.

While I jumped in the shower to get ready, my husband quietly called my workplace and explained the situation. When I came out of the bathroom I got another phone call saying they didn't need me and that the other person was coming in anyway. I thought nothing of it. I asked if they were sure because I would cover for anyone. I didn't mind. He laughed and said "Enjoy your night off." 

We went to a band member's house and it looked like no one was home. We walked into the house and the lights came on. It was a surprise party! I literally had no idea. My husband said "I had to call Ames and tell them you couldn't work tonight. We all had this planned for you." 

The next day when I walked in Mr. Finnemore wished me a belated happy birthday. I thanked him and asked how he knew. He told me that my husband had called in a panic last night and explained everything. "That's why I called you back and said we were covered." He then said "Sharon, what would ever make you think to work on your birthday?" 

I told him what my father always told me.

When you work hard and give 150% every day you WILL be rewarded. Your boss will recognize this and see the dedication you have to your work. Never slack off. You'll be better off for it.

He just looked at me, nodded and said "Okay...but next year you are not working your birthday."

I have used my father's advice every day of my life. It HAS paid off. I think every supervisor I have ever had has realized the good work ethic my parents installed in me from a young age. From working 4 jobs at once to put my first husband through nursing school to still working 4 jobs...somethings never change. Granted 3 of the jobs I have now are per diem: the radio station Cruisin' Country 93.5, the tv station WABI-TV and my band, Sharon Hood & Dixon Road. I have the best full time job in the entire world here at Maine Veterans' Homes. 

And I now take my birthdays off.

 

 

True Tales of a Talker #4: The Flat Tire Edition

 

There is a story with every person on the planet. Each one is completely different than the last. Think about it. Just as no two fingerprints or snowflakes are the same, there are no two people that are the same.  There may be identical twins or triples but no two human beings in this world are exactly the same. 

And each life is amazing.

You can learn so much from just a few minutes of conversation with a complete stranger. That's what I did on a hot summer day in August 2020.

I was headed to pick up my son from paintball at my friend Julie's house when I saw my turn coming up. As I got closer I saw an old woman parked at a stop sign with a red car directly behind her. There was no one behind me so as I slowed to take the turn I asked if she needed help. She said she had a flat tire. I told her to move her car into the parking lot and I would help. When she had successfully moved her car into the dirt lot the red car moved up and sped away.

I pulled in and could see the passenger side rear tire was flat. She got out of the car and met me at her trunk. She said she had a spare and we unloaded all her packages to get to it. She didn't have a jack or wrench. Her son had taken them out a week ago because while using her car he too had a flat tire. I told her I would get mine. It wouldn't take long to change it out. 

I introduced myself and she told me her name was Maryann. She had been traveling from her apartment in Levant to medical appointments in Augusta. That's a seventy mile trip and takes over an hour. Something was telling me she wouldn't be making those appointments on a donut. It was already four o'clock.

I got her spare tire out and went to my car to get my things. I had never seen my spare tire, tire iron or jack because, truth be told, I hadn't thought to ever look. I had never needed them before.

I put down a blue sweatshirt to protect my knees from the gravel and got my first real glimpse at the tire. Not only was it completely flat, it also had no tread and was bulging out in one spot. It was no wonder it had gone flat. I went about jacking the car. I located the frame and lifted it up. I put my tire iron to the first lug nut and found it was too big. 

What was I going to do?

I told her I would call my friend Julie who lived about 10 houses down and ask her to bring hers over to see if it would fit. She said she would bring them down right away.

All this time people were driving past and looking at us. They would drive past the road or even turn up the side road and rubberneck to see what was happening. You could clearly see the spare tire, the jacked up car and the tools from every angle. 

Yet no one else stopped.

Until I flagged down a sheriff.

Somerset County Deputy Sheriff Stephen Arminger pulled in and asked if he could help. I explained the situation and he went immediately to the problem and took a look. He got the tire iron out of his vehicle and tried it.

Still too big.

He said he lived just up the road.  He would drive there and bring his back. His iron had 4 sizes. One HAD to fit.

While he was gone, I talked to Maryann. What else was there to do?

Maryann was one of seven children. She was the fourth in line. First came triples, then her and then three brothers. I told her I came from a large family too. There were nine in mine. She said it was just her and her youngest brother left. She was seventy-two and helped take care of a ninety-two year old man who lived alone. 

Maryann had four children: two daughters and two sons. She lived with one daughter because she had medical problems and her daughter helped to take care of her.  Her other daughter lives in Kansas City, Missouri and works for an eye doctor.  One of her sons moved in with them after the COVID-19 virus hit. He was just accepted into college. She said he had just turned twenty-five and told her it was time to to do "big boy things".

I asked her if I could call anyone for her and she said no. If she could just get back home, she would be okay.

Julie arrived with her tire iron and it was too big as well. Deputy Arminger came back and, sure enough, brought his four-sided iron. It turned out he and Julie knew each other.  While we were trying to figure out what to do, a Pittsfield police cruiser had turned in to see what was going on. 

Officer Jeff Vanadestine offered his assistance as well. He saw Deputy Arminger in his attempt to loosen the lug nuts but to no avail. The wrench didn't fit some and the ones it did fit were on too tight.They put their heads together and decided to call a friend of theirs that lived on the outskirts of Palmyra. It would take him about fifteen minutes to arrive. He owned a towing business.

Julie had to head home to a house of boys who were playing paintball while being supervised by her husband, Brett. She said she would drop off Anderson to me since I wasn't far away. The officers stayed and struck up a conversation with Maryann. I stayed too. My jack was still under her car but I really just wanted to keep her company. We had already been there an hour. What was a few more minutes?

So I talked. 

More.

I told her the story of when I was eight months pregnant in 2006 with my only son, Anderson. I was driving from Oakland to Waterville when I discovered I had a flat tire myself. I pulled over and thought "Well, time to get dirty." I put my hazards on and started getting the spare tire and equipment out of my trunk. 

What I didn't notice was that where I pulled over was directly across from KMD Driving School. Owner Mike Perkins was in a car with one of his students and saw what was happening. As I remember from him telling me a few years back he told the student to pull in behind me. The student asked why and he told him "You're getting your first real lesson on how to change a tire." The young mas said "Why?" Mike looked at the young man and asked him "You'd seriously leave a pregnant woman to change a tire on the side of a busy road by herself? Remember this, son, whatever you put into this world is what you're going to get out of it." 

Back to 2020 and Mike Perkins is now a 2nd term State Representative.

I called my son's scout leaders to tell them we would be a little late for our meeting and what was happening. They said it was fine and that they'd see us when we got there. Julie stopped and dropped off Anderson and I told him what was happening. I also introduced him to Maryann. About fifteen minutes later the tow truck arrived and the man from All Time Towing and Recovery immediately put a jack under the car. I removed mine and packed up my car. I gave Maryann a huge hug and she said thank you. She asked what I owed her. I told her I didn't do anything. All I wanted was for her to get home safely. 

I am a lover of country music and one of the songs that sticks out to me is a song by one of my favorite writers, David Lee Murphy. Sure you may know 'Dust on the Bottle' but my absolute favorite song by him is 'The Road You Leave Behind' . It never made it to #1 on the charts but it became #1 in many listeners hearts including mine. The lyrics tell the story of a young David traveling in the backseat of his dad's car when his father stops to change a family's tire in the rain. When David asks why he did it the chorus rings out:

"The road your leave behind you

Is another road you're gonna have to come back down.

It's just the way this big old world turns 'round.

You'll find somehow somewhere someplace sometime

You gotta go back down the road you leave behind."

I remember them stopping. I remember them helping. I remember not taking anything and not asking for it either.

I also know after talking to Mike many years later that the young man never forgot the lesson. I hope Anderson remembers on this day I stopped to try and help and the wonderful officers and business owner who helped as well.

It's a lesson well worth remembering.

A Boy and His Books

When the pandemic started and the kids were kept home from school the remote learning started. I had bought all these wonderful workbooks to keep my son's brain stimulated but not overly. He thought it was great that "summer vacation" started early but was sad that he wouldn't see his teachers or his friends until the next school year (hopefully). He would miss his eighth grade graduation and the finals of the state portion of the National Geography BEE of which he was so proud to be a part of. I believe he had a good chance at placing. He loves geography.

The biggest thing I was worried about was his love of reading. I was afraid that he would lose it with not being assigned a book to read and do a project on. Mr. Morin's class was always fun for him and the projects he assigned were sometimes family oriented where we could all participate. We once went around our town of Pittsfield, Maine to shoot a small film. He edited it and it came out hilarious!

His assignments included the writing of stories. He was given a topic and then had to write a story around it. In most of them he included the character of Garfield the cat. He and his uncle Ray would watch the cartoon together a lot. So much so that Ray calls him 'Garfield' just for fun. The stories were cute and really made him stretch his imagination. Being descriptive when writing was difficult for him but it had come a long way since the beginning of the year.

So what could I do? I remembered that he still had a Kindle that my friend Lynne had given him a few years ago. On it were downloaded books of Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Dog Man and Geronimo Stilton. I thought it was time for him to upgrade his reading level. I went online and found numerous blogs and articles on the books kids should read, specifically boys. They ranged from the classics to newer Newbery Award winners. I had heard of a few on the lists but many I had to do a little research on. I decided to make a compilation of the lists and then add in some of my favorites. When presented with it, Anderson said it was a good one. I took that as high praise from a kid that was going to have to read all summer. We went through it together.

He was able to show me which ones he had already read in school. Six was a good start! I told him we still had the copy of "The Indian in the Cupboard" by Lynne Reid Banks that used to be his Uncle Nate's. He said if Uncle Nate had read it then it had to be good. If that was his philosophy he was going to be pretty happy when he found out which book his stepdad, Chad, had read. I didn't know until I made the list and showed it to Chad that he had read the three books in The Black Stallion series as a kid.

So the reading began. After "The Indian in the Cupboard" came 'The Call of the Wild' by Jack London. We watched the new movie with Harrison Ford after. When it was over he said it was kind of like the book but it was missing "a whole bunch of stuff". Overall he liked it. He looked at the list and saw another Jack London book: 'White Fang'. He asked if it had a dog in it and I told him yes. Off to the Kindle we went and downloaded it right away.

For the weeks we didn't have enough to buy a book on the Kindle, Anderson would ride his bike to the Pittsfield Public Library to check out the book he wanted. He would take his phone with him in case there were any problems. There never were but he took it just in case. My thought is he wanted to catch a few Pokémon along the way. That was fine with me.

He was on a schedule. His bedtime is ten o'clock so at nine at night I would tell him to get his book and he could stay up and read until ten.  He does this every night. Not only is it good for him but reading just before bed makes you sleepy. He gets a great night's sleep every night. Sometimes he reads a chapter, sometimes two. I ask him every morning what went on in the book last night and he tells me. I always ask "Are you enjoying this book?" Sometimes it's a yes...sometimes it's an "It's okay". But not once has he ever said no. By the third or fourth chapter it's always a yes.

If there is a movie made about the book he has read then we watch it directly after. He has come to realize that you can't put an entire book into a two hour movie. But they did succeed in one.

'Old Yeller' by Fred Gipson has, so far, been just like the book. Disney did a great job with it including using dialog word for word in some spots. Both he and Chad had never seen the movie. I had watched it numerous times as child. I thought my crying at the pivotal scene would be nonexistent. Nope. This woman was a blubbering mess much to the delight of Anderson and Chad.

With four months of reading gone by and Anderson only being with me every other week he has completed fourteen books. Not every book on our list is serious in nature. Some are outright fun to read. He is currently on "Where the Red Fern Grows" by Wilson Rawls. Another movie this mom may need tissues for. And that's okay. The more books he reads, the more movies we'll watch together and the more things we have to talk about and discover.

Here is our list of books that you can use to start your child's reading list if you wish.

TITLE	AUTHOR
A Long Way from Chicago	Richard Peck
A Separate Peace	John Knowles
A Wrinkle in Time	Madeleine L’Engle
Artemis Fowl	Eoin Colfer
Blue Skin of the Sea	Graham Salisbury
Bridge to Terabithia	Katherine Paterson
Calvin and Hobbes	Bill Watterson
Canoeing with the Cree	Arnold Sevareid
Captains Courageous	Rudyard Kipling
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory	Roald Dahl
David Copperfield	Charles Dickens
Diary of a Wimpy Kid	Jeff Kinney
Ender’s Game	Orson Scott Card
Geronimo Stilton	Elisabetta Dami
Goosebumps	R.L. Stine
Harris and Me	Gary Paulsen
Harry Potter	JK Rowling
Hatchet	Gary Paulsen
Heart of a Champion	Carl Deuker
Heat	Mike Lupica
Holes	Louis Sachar
I Survived	Lauren Tarshis
James and the Giant Peach	Roald Dahl
Lord of the Rings Trilogy	J. R. R. Tolkien
Maniac Magee	Jerry Spinelli
My Side of the Mountain	Jean Craighead George
Old Yeller	Fred Gipson
Red Badge of Courage	Stephen Crane
Rocket Boys	Homer Hickham, JR
Shiloh	Phyllis Reynold Naylor
That Was Then, This is Now	S.E. Hinton
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn	Mark Twain
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer	Mark Twain
The American Boy’s Handy Book	Daniel Beard
The Art of Manliness	Brett and Kate McKay
The Black Stallion	Walter Farley
The Blue Star	Tony Earley
The Boy in the Striped Pajamas	John Boyne
The Boy Scouts Handbook
The Call of the Wild	Jack London
The Cay	Theodore Taylor
The Chocolate War	Robert Cormier
The Chronicles of Narnia	C.S. Lewis
The Complete Maus	Art Spiegelman
The Dangerous Book for Boys	Conn and Hal Iggulden
The Giver	Lois Lowry
The Graveyard Book	Neil Gaiman
The Hardy Boys Series (1-5)	Franklin Dixon
The Indian in the Cupboard	Lynne Reid Banks
The Invention of Hugo Cabret	Brian Selznik
The Johnny Dixon Series	John Bellairs
The Last Mission	Harry Mazer
The Little Britches Series	Ralph Moody
The Lord of the Flies	William Golding
The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane	Kate DiCamillo
The Neverending Story	Ralph Manhein
The Outsiders	S.E. Hinton
The Phantom Tollbooth	Norton Juster
The Story of King Arthur and His Knights	Howard Pyle
The Thief of Always	Clive Barker
The Trumpet of the Swan	E.B. White
To Build A Fire	Jack London
To Kill A Mockingbird	Harper Lee
Treasure Island	Robert Louis Stevenson
Watership Down	Richard Adams
Where the Red Fern Grows	Wilson Rawls
White Fang	Jack London
Wonder	R.J. Palacio
Wonderstruck	Brian Selznik