In honoring author Suzanne Collins for her extraordinary contributions to children’s literature, the Authors Guild annual gala focused on the importance of instilling a love of literature at a young age. Several children’s and YA authors were invited to share why they choose to write for children. Participants in the program included Norton Juster, David Levithan, Mary Pope Osborne, Andrea Davis Pinkney, and Rick Riordan. Here are the remarks made by Andrea Davis Pinkney.
Why I Write by Andrea Davis Pinkney
The first grader has hungry eyes. He speaks no English. But he wants to learn to read.
He says, Me gustan los libros!
“I like books!”
Yes, his eyes are longing for something wonderful.
When he receives a free book as part of a subsidized literacy program, he hugs it like a pillow.
“Gracias!” he exclaims. “Muchas gracias!” His excitement needs no translation.
And I am thinking, YOU, little one, are my Apple Pie.
YOU ― are the reason. I write.
YOU ― are the soil where I dig to find stories that will ignite. Delight. Let you rise above all the voices that tell you, you can’t. You don’t. You won’t. Oh, no. Not YOU.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
The shy teenage girl approaches me. Timid, but with an open face.
And an open heart. Wide, wide open.
Her teacher introduces us. The girl’s name is Hanifah.
Hanifah is ready for a story to be poured into her wide, wide openness.
But first, she shares her story with me. It’s a poem she’s written herself. Dare I respond in the little bit of Arabic I know?
“Shukran, Hanifah. Shukran.” Thank you. Thank you.
Hanifah, YOU are my Butterfly. Taking flight on the beauty of your very own wings.
Shukran, Hanifah. Thank you. YOU ― are the reason I write.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
The little girl, about age six ― toothless, happy, wiggling in her seat. Her hair, what some would describe as nappy, but neat. Braided to perfection by the hands of a mother, who like her, is eager to decode. To explode into the vivid techno-color world of words. And books. And pictures. That tell this mama and her daughter how to braid in new ways. And how, through words and pictures, we all weave the way.
To the toothless child and her dynamic mama, I want to say:
“Yes, I was like you once ― toothless. Clueless about what I didn’t know. Until I cut my own teeth on the chip of a book, fed to me ― thank you, Jesus ― by the hand of my own mother who refused to bow down to the committee of naysayers or the doom-chorus of “No.”
And so, to all the mothers who can turn nappy to neat.
To toothless daughters, YOU are myBouquet. Blooming. Zooming ahead when you are handed a book. Read to you by someone who knows how to read.
YOU ― are the reason I write.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
The teenager with pierced ears, a nose ring, and hint of a goatee. Living out loud in Lemon Jell-O high-tops. Clutching his copy of David Levithan’s Two Boys Kissing.
Yeah, he knows he’s cute.
Did I mention that he’s fluent in American Sign Language? He shows me how the Deaf express gratitude.
Little Boy Q, so proud to live out loud, YOU are my Rainbow. YOU are my pretty prism of multi-colored letters that spell JOY!
YOU ― so pretty.
Filled with wonder.
And music.
And light.
And smiles.
And, like the magical ride of a merry-go-round, we sing, “Again! Let’s go around again!”
Yes, again. Let’s take another joy-ride. Together. Just like in our favorite book. Let’s rejoice. Over and over.
No price to the ticket. Because, you see, reading is Free Freedom.
YOU ― Little Boy Q, Free Freedom. . .
YOU ― are the reason I write.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
A black boy.
Chubby.
A brown-sugar bundle of boundlessness who can’t sit still in his fifth grade classroom.
And who ― his teacher confides ― is the primary caretaker for his baby sister.
And ― his teacher whispers ― this chubby bundle of boundlessness does not like to read.
But today, the face on the cover of that book in his hands looks just like his face.
And, so, I say, “YOU ― brown-sugar sprite of a child, are the answer to the question when the hands shoot up during the author-visit Q&A, when someone asks, “Why, Mrs. Pinkney, do you write?”
YOU ― fifth-grade caretaker to a baby sister. . .
YOU are my Easter Egg.
Bright!
Sweet!
Colored!
Filled with possibilities.
And when you read that book in your hand with the face on the cover that looks just like your face, you will know that you can crack wide open. With ideas. And dreams.
Brown-sugar kid, you could even become the president.
And here’s another reason that I write.
Apple Pie.
Butterfly.
Blooming Bouquet.
Rainbow.
Easter Egg.
Please listen up good.
We have the stories of our people. We have a legacy. A lineage, expressed through a textual tradition that lands on the pages of so many books.
And that is why I write.
Muchas Gracias!
Shukran!
Thank you!
