The Magical Card
Article originally published in Chicagoland Daily Herald and other newspapers in the column titled, Slightly Off.
It was supposed to be a routine trip to the library. I would help my five-year-old pick out a few books, then head back home and move on to more important things, like the laundry, the bills and the home office, all overflowing after a long weekend. But my daughter’s simple question changed all that.
“Mom, can I get my own library card? I’m five now, you know.”
“Well, that’s true,” I sighed. “Let’s ask the librarian. But we’ve got to hurry.”
When Jenna heard she was old enough for a card of her own, she looked as if she had just won Barbie’s dream house. While I gave the librarian the necessary information, patrons smiled as she impatiently hopped up and down, Jenna skipped down the aisles picking out books. In honor of the momentous occasion, we decided to take out 20 books instead of the usual 10. While perusing the shelves, the librarian came over and handed Jenna her new card and a bright green sticker that said, “I got my library card today.”
Jenna scrutinized the card for what seemed like hours. “There’s my name,” she said matter-of-factly. Then she pulled the backing off the sticker and placed it proudly on the front of her t-shirt.
Once at the check-out counter, she carefully slid her card out of its brown paper envelope and ceremoniously placed it on the counter. The librarian congratulated her and Jenna looked like she had just been awarded lifetime membership into the Barbie fan club. On the way home, I told Jenna how it was important it was to keep her card in a special place. “When I was little I kept mine in my jewelry box.”
“It’s just so cool, mom,” Jenna said still in awe. “You don’t need money, just a card.”
We went home and ate lunch. An idea was brewing, yet I resisted it. I had work to do. But it finally bubbled to the surface of my heart. “How about if after lunch we get a blanket and lay it out under the tree in the backyard and read some of your library books?” By the way Jenna swallowed the rest of her PBJ in one gulp, I could tell she liked the idea. Together we pulled out a blanket and spread it under the trees lining our lot line. Then we settled down with a pile of books. Jenna insisted on using her card to swipe the front of each book, in librarian fashion, before she let me begin reading. We first read about a teen tiny ghost who is haunted by his cousin Brad. Jenna couldn’t help but see the connection between bratty Brad and the practical jokes her own brother often played on her. Then onto a book where the title alone had Jenna in stitches. Beware of Boys, from there we learned about a girl of Jewish faith who never had a Christmas tree. But Jenna thought the eight gifts for each candle in the menorah sounded okay too. We read about a mom’s good night game with her daughter which always began with the question “Who do you love?” And Jenna said quietly, “I love you, mom.”
Last, was a book about Paris. The mom in the book is describing the city to her daughter: “The city at night was like magic with the trees whispering and the river reflecting the lights and the moon in the sky.”
And our ordinary day became a magic day with the trees whispering, and the sun reflecting the light in Jenna’s eyes as she swiped her card across the page. That night, the magic was still alive as Jenna carried her card to her own room. She held it up for me to see and said, “Mom, remember?” Then she opened the lid on her Barbie Jewelry box and placed it gently inside.
