There I was on the floor with N, who eagerly asked me to “read-read-read it” as I flipped each page of Yasmeen Eshta. He looked at my face in awe and wonder as I impersonated the mix of entitlement, banality, and helplessness in the tones of the male hippos in Yasmeen’s life. He laughed heartily at the part where Yasmeen cautiously yet assertively tells her father that her name is not Sayed; it’s Yasmeen! He paused at the word “mogtamaa” (society), which seemed to amuse him greatly, and tried to reproduce it, saying “kamana.” He pointed at the elephant and the lion, grabbed his stuffed elephant and lion, and hugged them tightly, saying “hug hug hug.” He quickly flipped past two pages: one where the text callouts take over the page and another where Yasmeen is on her way to Aly with the zoo guard. His eyes lit up when he saw Yasmeen eating fries with Aly, exclaiming “bantates” (batates is Arabic for potato). He also noticed the musical notes flying around Yasmeen as she bathed at Aly’s place, indicating that she was singing or listening to music. He pointed out a few other details in the illustrations that I only noticed thanks to him, like a small silhouette of a distant elephant in the background, the patterns on Yasmeen’s skirt, the banana peel the monkey holds as he explains the history of her name, and the carrot Yasmeen dips into her open mouth as she lounges, nonchalantly displaying her well-earned triumph. He even recognized the name “Marwa,” which appears in the middle of a long list of new female hippo names and also happens to be my name.
N’s relationship with Yasmeen didn’t end with the last page. He thought of her while taking his bath, laying flat in the tub and saying her name. He remembered her when picking up a French fry at a restaurant. And as I kissed him goodnight and told him we’d read in the morning, he hummed another “et-sha.”
My Take on What My Son “Understood”:
Did N understand the socio-economic and political factors at play in Yasmeen’s story? The depth of her underlying grievance, her quest for fairness, respect, and the right to self-determination? Her multiple acts of emancipation, from claiming her name to questioning the absurdity of giving all hippos the same male name, to trespassing the zoo’s boundaries and ultimately rewriting its constitution? Did he grasp that “where there’s a will, there’s a way”? Obviously, none of the above concerns the mind of a 21-month-old.
So why is this 21-month-old fascinated by a book written for an older age group? Why did he keep (and still does) asking me to get that book from the shelf and read it to him?
No one can answer this question with absolute certainty. But if I had to guess, I’d say that beyond the obvious connections to his prior knowledge—like linking the elephant in the book to his toy elephant or to the elephant sounds his dad makes—this reading may have met N’s need for authenticity and connection with me. I sense that through Yasmeen Eshta, he had a small window into a world he wasn’t born into—a world that I seem familiar with, which helps him discover more about me. I get the impression that he understood I wasn’t putting on a show to capture his attention or to get him to appreciate something I like. It seems to me that he enjoyed seeing me enjoy myself as I reconnected with my roots, just as my husband loves watching me savor an Alexandrian dish that reminds me of the women in my family.
What Can We Learn From N As Parents and Educators?
Maybe N is reminding us that one can hold several truths at the same time: we can respect child development by understanding that we can’t circumvent it, while also seeing the child right in front of us. Maybe he’s telling us that people engage with the same story or object differently as they mature, and that the way a baby engages with literature meant for older children is also worth respecting. Perhaps he’s telling us to let go of our adult agenda, to get curious about the child’s thoughts, and to genuinely wonder: How are they making sense of the world? What are they telling us about who they are through this experience?
Maybe N is also telling us that the most important goal of reading with children is bonding, joy, and playfulness. Perhaps he’s telling us not to worry about what we think they should learn, and just to embrace this unique moment. To let go of the silly questions we impose on young children while reading, such as “Where’s this?” and “What color is that?” (I’m guilty of that too—I could dedicate a whole article to my own silliness).
I would also say that through this less common co-reading experience, N could be telling us that reading with children is a chance for them to discover more about the adults in their lives as if to say, “I love you, and I love this, AND I’m actively digging into your soul as you read with me, I want to know what you are made of, what makes you click, how you’d engage with a character or an illustration or a situation.”
My goal here isn’t to recommend reading books for older children to younger ones. I only wish to encourage you to see yourself as a researcher, an anthropologist of childhood, and to try something different every once in a while—while staying true to your authentic self—and see what happens. I wish that you embody the value of co-protagonism by respecting your child’s reaction to the reading material you share with them and by accepting that they are important partners in their learning experience. They’ll let you know what they think about your reading picks. They may also take them to unexpected destinations that you can allow yourself to co-explore.
