Why I want my kid to read banned books

A few months ago, a long-awaited moment in my life arrived: My 8-year-old grudgingly let me read to her from my favorite childhood book, Harriet the Spy. As I opened my original copy, now faded, yellowed, and torn, and started reading about this judgy tomboy who is determined to be a writer, I had excited butterflies in my belly. But they stopped a few pages in, when Harriet’s nanny, Ole Golly, introduces Harriet to Ole Golly’s mother, who is obese. For several pages, Harriet keeps calling back to Mrs. Golly’s physique, describing her as a “mountain,” bursting out of her clothes, with “ham hands.” She has some sort of mental disability, perhaps dementia. “This fat lady wasn’t very bright,” Harriet thinks.

When I finished the chapter, I closed the book and reminded my daughter about how people come in all sizes and that it’s not nice to make a big deal out of the way someone looks. And I talked about her grandfather, my dad, who had dementia for her entire life — he had a problem with his brain, I said, which wasn’t his fault.

We have these conversations about older books a lot. The girl in The Secret Garden was born in India and is downright cruel to the local people who work for her family, calling them “pigs.” Stuart Little is kind of a sexist jerk. The Baby-sitters Club series has modern moments, but the books shouldn’t always call Claudia a “terrible student” when she struggles with math and reading, but clearly seems destined for a brilliant career in art or fashion. And as the only Asian character, she is consistently described in an exotic way, with “beautiful dark almond-shaped eyes” and “jet black hair.”

“Stuart Little is kind of a sexist jerk.”

I didn’t ban any of these books; they’re still sitting on my kid’s bookshelf. But I would rather she read them with me so that we can talk about the many harsh asides they contain.

Not all children’s books should take place in some politically correct utopia where difference is celebrated and everyone is gentle and kind. There’s a reason schools teach Lord of the Flies and The Merchant of Venice, even though cruelty runs rampant through both. It’s important for kids to learn that life isn’t a PC utopia, and develop tools to think about and deal with that.

That said, I also believe it makes sense to revisit some of the books we consider classics and ask ourselves if the moments they depict are truly teachable, or just plain cruel. If the latter, perhaps they should be part of a classroom, not the library, so teachers can talk to kids about what they read and help them place it in a modern context.

But we seem incapable of having rational conversations about books in school, mostly because of fear. On one side of the conversation, adults who want kids to have access to books with diverse authors and topics are afraid of being called “groomers” who seek to “turn” all kids gay or trans; on the other side, we have adults who are afraid of exposing kids to ugly parts of history or different kinds of people in a compassionate way. But these conversations are important, especially so since Central Bucks adopted a new ban on books with “sexualized content,” and Pennsylvania has the second-highest number of book bans of any state (after Texas).

So let me start. I believe we should revisit some older books that may make some kids feel hurt or unwelcome in the world. (That’s revisit, not ban.) But the books I suggest we revisit are not the books that will likely be banned by Central Bucks and other school districts across the state, which are targeting books that include LGBTQ characters, or address race or racism. I want my daughter to read the often-banned books The Bluest Eye and Gender Queer: A Memoir, even if she isn’t LGBTQ herself — I want to open her mind and heart to people who are different from her.

» READ MORE: Why I take my kid to Philly Pride

One of my favorite days of the year is Philly Pride, and I take my kid whenever I can. This year, the kids’ area included a book section with author signings, and she begged me to buy her a book called When Aidan Became a Brother, about a trans boy, and how he and his family learn from his experience when welcoming a new sibling. “You taught us how important it is to love someone for exactly who they are,” Aidan’s mother tells him.

My daughter loves this book, and so do I. It’s a beautiful story about family, acceptance, and a kid who is just trying to be himself. I hope that reading about Aidan helps give my daughter the courage to be herself, to know that she deserves to feel loved and accepted no matter what.

And I hope she always remembers the inscription the author Kyle Lukoff (who is also trans) included for her when we asked him to sign her copy. “Thank you for being part of this world,” he wrote.

Alison McCook is an assistant opinion editor at The Inquirer.