To My Mom, the Reader

As written in a new hardcover copy of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

Dear Mom,

As I wracked my brain trying to figure out what to get you for Mother’s Day, I began thinking of books… because of course I did. I thought about getting you a new release… something historical, with a bit of a love story, or the newest courtroom thriller everyone is talking about. But I couldn’t decide. You have everything! You use the library! You read on your Kindle!

So I began thinking about books that you’ve given me throughout the years… books that I’ve treasured and loved and read and reread and recommended to everyone, despite knowing these books won’t have the same significance on them as they had on me.

Because you gave these books to me.

From the first day, you put books in my hand, and you opened up my perspective. On rainy elementary school days, I wasn’t a scrawny girl growing up in the country, but a secret detective trying to solve the latest murder or a girl on the Orphan Train or the brightest witch of my age. You gave me life, yes, but you gave me lives to live that were outside of my scope – lives that I was able to experience because you modeled a love of reading to me.

You gave me my first book subscription with the Nancy Drew series. I know I let my room get overrun with paperback copies of all of the Nancy Drew books, but oh how I treasured them! Getting them in the mail was my favorite thing ever, and reading about Nancy Drew, who needed no man, who fought the bad guys and won using her brain, who was always on the side of the good… that impacted me so deeply. I felt validated in my thirst for knowledge and my need to do what was right.

Then you began giving me the Dear America series. Your love of history spilled into my life, and I began to fight for the underdog… the ones whose stories don’t often get told. The forgotten girl in Queen Elizabeth’s court. The slave girl who was running away on the Underground Railroad. The orphan who would never see the land she knew again. These stories forced me to shine a light on the ones who have faded into the background… the ones that history forgot.

The first big book that I borrowed from you was Little Women. I loved the March sisters… I yearned to be like Beth, who I thought was most like you – giving, selfless, kind. I saw so much of myself in Meg – the oldest sister, the leader, the one who shunned her pain to take care of the others. But I admired Jo the most – the one who forged her own path, who shirked the responsibilities placed on women to become who she wanted to become.

Harry Potter taught me to believe in magic, and Hermione encouraged me to own my intelligence. You may not have handed me this book, but you fostered my love for it… reading it next to me and asking me questions, then taking me to see each movie. My love of Harry Potter is so tied up in my love of the shared experience I had with you.

And, finally, Rebecca. The first adult book you ever placed in my hands. The first book you trusted me with off of your beautiful shelf of books. Your gentle coaxing helped me through the confusion I had. Your love of this novel encouraged me to keep reading, keep pushing past my confusion, keep diving deeper until I figured out the mystery. This book taught me that a good book is worth the struggle… just like most things in life.

So, on this Mother’s Day, I decided to give you another copy of Rebecca. Not because I think you need it, but because it meant so much to me when you placed this book in my hands, and, one day, I hope I’m asking for it back so that I can place it in the hands of my own children. Reading has shaped me into the person I am, and I wouldn’t be the reader I am without you.

I love you forever, and I hope you have a wonderful Mother’s Day.

Love,
Emily