Beverly and Her Ducks

Many years ago, back when I was in college working on my Master's Degree in Deaf Education, I decided to step away from the plethora of school work and attend a dinner party at the home of a friend. Going back to school awakened many dormant loves for me; the greatest perhaps is my love of children's literature. It is rather imperative that teachers in the lower elementary grades have a vast knowledge of interesting, motivating and high quality literature to use to hook children to the magic of story telling. And it is magic for me to share these wonderful stories with my students year after year.

During dinner I was discussing some of the titles I rediscovered while browsing in the children's department at Barnes and Noble that weekend, such as The Gingerbread Man and Curious George. As the conversation proceeded my host, Beverly, shared with me as well. It seems that Beverly's mother was an artist with an interest in using her talents to create books for children. Her passion resided with the paintings however, not with the text. Her mother would fashion detailed paintings that when put together would tell a story and later write out an accompanying text. When her manuscripts were completed she would send them out to various publishers who all gave the same response. They loved the artwork but were less than enamoured by the writing.

Intrigued and fueled by a few Bacardi and Cokes I asked Beverly if she had any of the paintings because I would love to take on the challenge of writing the text to go along with them. We'd be a perfect marriage, I assured her, because I have no talent as an artist but enjoy spinning a tale.

So, we weaved our way upstairs where Beverly showed me some of the artwork from this one particular book about ducks which was framed and displayed in her son's room.

It was reminiscent of the illustrations from one of my favorite authors as a child, Carolyn Haywood. Ms. Haywood's wrote and illustrated many books for children beginning in the late 30s and continued her prolific career for the next 50 years. I was constantly going to the library as a young boy to check out books like Here's a Penny, Penny and Peter, Two and Two are Four, Eddie and the Fire Engine, "B" is for Betsy, Betsy and the Boys and Back to School with Betsy.

She wrote sweet, innocent stories of children doing ordinary things. Nothing earth shattering happened in their white, middle class homes filled with love and respect and a mom, dad and 2.5 children. Can't you just feel the whispers of a bygone era wafting through the black and white lines of these two pictures from "B" is for Betsy and Here's a Penny? They stand as a portrait to America at a particular point in time and I could not get enough.

Several years ago I was curious to see if urban children living in the world of today would find these stories of interest. To test this point Lauren and I read Here's a Penny aloud everyday. Our students got it. Even though their world is far removed from the outside trapping described in the book they could relate to the characters as they struggled with independence while at the same time wanting to stay close to mom. We eventually read them the sequel to this called Penny and Peter which STILL makes me cry.

As I stood in that bedroom looking at the illustration illuminated only by the dim light of a Winnie-the-Pooh lamp, I thought how wonderful it would be to write a modern children's book that gave props to the fantastic Carolyn Haywood. Her prose include the following passage from Here's a Penny:

Penny picked up the kitten. It was so thin he could feel all of its tiny bones. The kitten curled up contentedly in Penny's arms. When they reached home, Penny ran into the house to show the kitten to his mother. "I've got a kitten," he cried.

Beverly agreed that this was a super-duper idea and several days later photographed 18 pieces of artwork that her mother had created for a book about a girl feeding some ducks and sent them along to me. It was about this time that I was taking a six day writing institute designed for lower elementary school teachers to improve their understanding of the writing process and thus inform their own teaching. Each section was led by a different group leader who met with us when the speaker for the day had finished presenting. My particular group leader was a young girl from Brooklyn with little teaching experience. It was in this small group that we spent time writing in our writer's notebooks. This meant sitting for almost an hour writing anything we wanted. By the end of the institute we were asked to share a piece with our classmates who would then provide feedback. I chose to share a bit of the text to the book (a work in progress) I now called Beverly and her Ducks.

My group leader took issue with my word choice in the following sentence; White cotton curtains that blew across Beverly's back, massaging her as she slept. Her exact words on the written critique were "Massaging her back? Are you sure about that word?!?!" She underlined the offensive word massaging and in the discussion that followed she stated that she thought it sounded inappropriate. I told her that that was her own personal hangup and she shouldn't try to make something innocent ugly. Ultimately in the end I changed it to "'sweeping' over her as she slept" but resented her for pushing her own dirty thoughts onto my little story. I changed it back when the class was finished. :)

Anyhoo, I thought I would share a few of the pictures with you and some of the writing I came up with to walk alongside it. I am especially in love with the first sentence because it captures exactly what I wanted to say as far as wedding the old with the new.

Beverly and Her Ducks

Many years ago when the adults of today were still children and those children were full of wonder, there lived a special little girl named Beverly. She wasn't special because she could jump the highest or throw the farthest or blow huge bubbles with her bubble gum, she was special simply because she thought herself to be.

Beverly's parents thought their daughter was special too and liked to surround her with things that were beautiful in their eyes. Red geraniums in terra cotta pots to line her windowsill, white cotton curtains that blew across Beverly's back, massaging her as she slept, and a soft feather pillow to place her small head in the evenings.

Beverly was living in her age of innocence and although she was too young to fully understand the words, inside she felt secure, happy and loved.

But Beverly had a secret.

Each summer morning before her parents awoke she sprang out of bed to anxiously peer out of the open window towards the pasture before her. The fresh farm air caressed her cheeks like a mother's gentle hand. She searched across the grass, past the splintered wooden fence to the quiet lake beyond. There she could see her friends silently frolicking in the clear water.

Sadly, Beverly's mother passed away and never got to read these new words or know that we were planning to make her dream of publishing a reality (please note: planning). I still hope that one day a mom or dad will pick up Beverly and Her Ducks and read it to their child before they tuck them in at night. And somewhere out there perhaps Beverly's mother is smiling.