Childhood friends

The truth is that I don’t really remember reading being a big part of my childhood. I don’t think my parents were the kind that sat every night and read me a bedtime story. The imagine that mostly comes to me when I try to remember my childhood in relation to books is that of having to climb onto furniture to be able to reach the so-out-of-reach only-bookshelf on my house.

My parents used to have this old blue encyclopedia. And one of the many tomes contain several short stories.

Every now and then, I would rescue the correct tome out of the shelf and take it to my room. Of course, my mom would find it and return it to its correct place, but it would just find its way back to my bed (because even then, it was my favorite place to read).

I spent a good deal of time thinking about it, and couldn’t really remember any particular story that I could relate to that old book and be sure that was the first place I read it in. So I started to think of other stories that sounded familiar from when I was a child.

One of them was The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.image

I remember this story used to come in the official government-supplied basic education books, along with another one about a donkey. So, I thought I would give it a go.

I cannot say that it brought back memories, but it DID feel like going back to a place that was vaguely familiar. Almost the same feeling I would get as a child when we visited my grandmother. She used to live very far away, so every time everything felt slightly familiar but unfamiliar at the same time.

It was a quick read, and I did enjoy it. It felt like a surreal dream that you get to participate on. The kind where you can’t shake the feeling of lost once you wake up.

I DO wonder what was the objective of having us read such a story so young. And why didn’t they took it out of the public school books?



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