Mom gave me a wide variety of books to read.  From the first Little Golden Books to the little green Beatrix Potter books in the Fillmore Library, to Nancy Drew, Meg, and later Atlas Shrugged and Flowers in the Attic.  I read 'em all and everything in between.  When I look back, I wonder how I missed all the "stuff" that was in those books.  I think mom knew I'd either not "get it" or knew I'd just skip over the more "racy" sections of things like Alas Shrugged.  All I know is, I was surprised at what was in some of those books when I reread them older.

One of my favorites was, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.  It is considered a children's book but I honestly believe most children don't fully appreciate what a masterpiece it is.  I know I didn't.  To me, it was just a great story of kids in turn-of-the-twentieth-century Brooklyn.  It was about kids who had fun in spite of their poverty, how they grew and matured, and life in the tenaments of Brooklyn's marvelous melting-pot. 

I understood Francie.  Maybe Mom realized that when she gave it to me.  It wouldn't surprise me.  I understood her desire for things to be cleaned up and perfected.  I understood the turmoil between fierce pride in her family and frustration when things didn't go how she thought they should.  I understood. 

And yet I didn't.  I'd never had to wonder where my parents would find the money for food.  As a student in private schools, most of my classmates were much wealthier than we were.  We were just average Joe (literally... that's what Dad's family calls him, Joe) blue-collar workers.  Yes, dad's uniforms were almost always light blue shirts and dark blue pants.  I had an allowance that kept me in books and fabric and junk food.  Francie and Neely scrounged rubbish heaps for anything to recycle so they could buy penny candy and a pickle.

She and I shared a love for our father's music and our parents were surprisingly similar in many ways.  My Dad, however, was as fiercely anti-union as Francie's was pro.  Her father died  but thankfully, I was not so unfortunate.  She and I both loved school and worked hard for good grades.  We loved beauty and were very innocent of the realities of life around us even though by the standards of some I went to church or school with, my life was just as difficult and sordid as they would have pronounced Francie's.  How very pathetic.  I wouldn't change my life for anything.

I loved talking over this and other books with mom.  I think I'll finally read The Chosen by Chaim Potok or something like that.  I started it, got sidetracked, and then never got back to it again.  If mom recommended it, it has to be good.  However, since I don't have that book in hand, I think I'll go reread A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.  They really should make a good movie out of it.