Hello From The World Of Children

A book tour like no other

Photo by Mary Pat Jolivette

She was sitting in the front row, in one of the chairs reserved for children. She was smiling, her eyes wide, her hands folded on her lap.

I returned her smile as I stepped onto the slightly raised platform and settled into the chair. She leaned slightly forward. “I’m eleven years old,” she said softly. “I’ve never met an author before.”  

She looked surprised as I extended my hand. “Well now you have.” Her handshake started out soft and grew firm. “Yes,” she said, looking to make eye contact with the parent who had driven her to the bookstore. “Yes, I have.”

This has been my orbit since my first children’s book, Lola and the Troll, launched into the world about a week ago. So many children have been excited to meet me, and it’s not because they had any idea who I was. Until this month, they had never heard of me. But now I am a celebrity because of parents, grandparents and teachers in their lives who have already introduced them to the magic of books.

At one school visit, I was sitting in a virtually empty library awaiting the arrival of children in grades kindergarten through third grade. A steady stream of students walked past the open doorway, saw me sitting on the stool and gasped. Some waved. Others shyly smiled. Several yelled, “You are the author!”

The school librarian laughed at my confused face. “Their teachers have already read your book to them. They know who you are.”

I keep thinking about this, and what it says about trusted adults in children’s lives. Through their efforts, children are learning the power of storytelling. Little ones wouldn’t call it that, but with every book they hear or read, they are finding the words to tell the stories of their own lives.

As a visiting author in schools, libraries and bookstores, I am hearing bits and pieces of these stories. Some children whisper. Some declare their feelings in outside voices. A number of children have expressed themselves in notes and artwork handed to me. Messages scrawled during readings, hasty sketches in pencil, and colorful portraits made in advance of my visit—these feel like offerings of treasure. I cherish all of them.

I love how artist Camilla illustrates her evolution from bullied to brave.

What an honor to be on the receiving end of this trust. I have been overwhelmed, in a good way, which is why you haven’t heard from me for a bit. I had planned to squeeze in an essay for Hopefully Yours last week between book events, but I quickly abandoned that plan. Rushed, disjointed writing feels disrespectful to all of you who have so kindly walked this path with me since last July. Also, I confess to having succumbed to occasional bouts of exhaustion, for the best of reasons.

Alex gave this to me after a library talk. That’s us, walking hand-in-hand. “You can color it if you want,” he told me. I said I like it just the way it is.

The release of this book, beautifully illustrated by Sandy Rodriguez, has been like no other for me. I have written three books for adults, including a novel that came out in 2020. Children are a different kind of audience, and each book event feels like a sacred bubble. This requires me to engage with my heart and mind—and ears—wide open.

In addition to sharing whatever is on their minds, children listen to my responses and watch my every move. I feel a need to establish my credibility. At the beginning of each talk, I hold up my own copy of Lola and explain how I know it’s mine. I open the cover and point to the name scrawled in the top right corner: Grandma.

Adults in the room laugh. Children beam. I am somebody’s grandma! They are inclined to give me a chance. I love how so many of them lean into me as I sign their books. Littlest ones have climbed onto my lap. Twice, a child has gently placed a hand on top of mine as I write their name. It is a big deal to be known, at any age.

After one recent story hour at a bookstore, a mother told me all her children’s grandparents are deceased. “I really appreciated you being a public grandma for an hour,” she said.

Oh, my. A promotion! Connie Schultz, Public Grandma. I’m thinking of putting it on business cards.

I asked Ryder to add his artist’s signature. He kindly complied.

So often in recent days, I’ve left a building full of curious children and thought about our friend John Glenn, the hero astronaut. I told this story at his memorial service in 2016:

At age four, our grandson Clayton asked John how astronauts go to the bathroom in space. This was on Grandpa’s election night in 2012. We were in a crowded hotel suite, awaiting results.  

All of the adults gathered around as John gave a 15-minute tutorial to Clayton on the machinations of bathroom breaks in space. I learned more than I had ever wanted to know. Clayton became an instant expert eager to share his knowledge, for weeks.

Afterward, I thanked John for taking the time to give our grandson such a thoughtful answer. His response has been my guiding light: “A child who is old enough to ask a serious question is a child who deserves a serious answer.”

Children have been full of serious questions after hearing the story of Lola. She is a little girl who is bullied on her walk to school by a troll who holds up signs criticizing everything about her. Day by day, with her trusted little dog, Tank, at her side, Lola changes parts of herself until she barely recognizes her reflection in the mirror.

Fortunately, Ms. Sneesby--a trusted adult who owns the local  bookstore--has a talk with Lola and helps her see that see she is wonderful just the way she is. Lola finds the courage to confront the troll, who ends up being a child with his own fears and insecurities.

Children have many thoughts about all of this, I’ve learned. Teachers, principals and counselors do, too.

Bullying in schools is an ongoing concern. I am struck by how many young children tell stories of how they or someone they know has felt bullied and afraid. In school settings, our conversations pivot to what they could do if they were being bullied.

During these discussions, it is not lost on teachers, I’ve noticed, how often their students name them as their protectors. We ask so much of these people we entrust with our children.

Daughter Caitlin’s self-portrait as a kindergartner at Roxboro Elementary School. This hangs in our home, still.

Last Thursday, I visited Roxboro Elementary School in Cleveland Heights, where my daughter was a kindergartner 31 years ago. Over three-and-a-half hours, I read Lola six times, one grade at a time.

The next day, Mary Pat Jolivette, a parent who kindly kept me company throughout my visit, sent the photo that tops this essay. It was taken during recess at Roxboro, and I keep coming back to it.

I’m moved that this child is reading Lola, of course, but that’s not why this image has stayed with me. She is so young and yet so certain of who she wants to be in that moment. Surrounded by children who are playing, she chooses to read.

How many of us were saved by our early love for books?

This is Connie Marie, raising my hand.