I was listening to an interview with brilliant children’s author, Kate DiCamillo, on the On Being Podcast. She told a story of a little boy who was leaning heavily on her while she signed his book. His mother said, “Don’t lean on her, honey.” And the boy answered, “It’s okay, Mom, she knows me.”
This is what art does. It makes us feel seen. It makes us feel known. It’s why we cry when we hear a sad song on the radio, and why we keep circling back to that one painting in the gallery, and why when we read a good book, we become the characters. And for kids, especially, there is no separation between imagination and reality.
As I’m wrapping up another year of author visits to schools, I’m reflecting on all the times I’ve connected one-on-one with a child, but also the times we’ve connected as a group. For example, the other day I was talking to some fourth-grade students about World War II (the subject of my children’s novels). One boy asked, “So, who won the war?”
“Well, we did,” I said, and all the kids cheered.
“Now, wait a minute,” I continued. “Even though we won, it didn’t mean we were very happy. Most people had lost loved ones. Their husbands or sons or even fathers. We’d lost beautiful architecture and art. So many animals had been killed and so much nature destroyed.”
