Those of you who read my blog on a regular basis know that I was away from the internet this week because I was a camp counselor at Camp Kesem, a camp for children with a parent who has or has had cancer. The purpose of the camp is to give children a break from the stresses of having serious illness in the family. Most of our time was spent in making crafts, playing games, swimming, and other similar summer camp adventures. However, in addition to a few special activities, we had a nightly "cabin chat" with our campers in which we could discuss anything from our favorite activities of the day to more serious topics. I worked with 6-8 year olds, meaning that our discussions were often about how awesome swimming was, our favorite jokes, or occasionally silly questions posed by the campers to the counselors (examples: what was our favorite makeup; what was our favorite stuffed animal). However, one night our group leader, Daisy (we use only our camp names at camp - if you say someone's real name you have to go kiss a tree) pulled out this book, When Mama Wore a Hat by Eleanor Schick, and asked the girls if they would like to read it. We'd read another picture book about cancer the night before around the campfire, but the girls were excited to read this one.
I was amazed at the power it had to allow them to open up and talk about cancer. Before, we'd kept our conversations to our daily activities - sometimes I even forgot that the campers had this looming presence and fear in their lives. However, as we went through the book, the story was interrupted by comments and thoughts - "My mom doesn't smile very much either." "My mom isn't bald anymore, she has really short spiky hair." "My mom has a lot of hats too!" I think the book served two really important purposes that night. First of all, it let the girls know that they were not alone. They recognized in each other and in the characters of the book that other people understood their experiences. Secondly, it allowed them to talk about their experiences. They could laugh at some of the sillier aspects of changing hats like moods and how it felt to rub their hands over their parents' short, spiky hair and they could open up about the more serious aspects, like the fear of losing a parent, the relief of knowing they don't need any more treatments, or the confusion about what exactly the cancer does to their parents' bodies.
I've honestly never given picture books much thought. I enjoyed them when I was young, but I bounced out of them as quickly as possible, devouring Babysitter's Little Sister and American Girl books as soon as possible and leaving the "baby books" behind. I was astounded at the power that was packed into this little volume, and for the first time realized that books not only touch and help those of us who are mature and "educated" - they can also heal and comfort smaller people. I don't have any children yet but this experience really opened my eyes to the importance of carefully selecting picture books for my future children's bookshelves. Yes, I love and look forward to reading the silly childhood classics, but knowing that these "silly" little volumes can also pack a powerful lesson has resonated so powerfully with me. I am hoping to start a collection of books for my own library and possibly also for when I am a nurse. I think stories are some of the most powerful threads that link humanity together, and I am glad I could have that lesson reiterated to me through the eyes of the children that taught me this week.
