When my kids (my daughter especially) were small I’d fantasize that they could meet people that I knew in my youth who were not around today. My grandfather, for instance. How he would have loved young Clare whose nose was always in a book. My grandmother would have found Andrew to be as irreverent as she was — she was always fond of the rebels.
One day it really happened.
Clare decided to read The Chronicles of Narnia on her own. I’d read it to both kids when they were very (probably too) young, but this time Clare could absorb more of the series.
We chatted about it as she read and when she finished she was as heartbroken as I was that Susan was not let back into Narnia simply because she’d developed a taste for nylons and lipstick. See, she felt the same as I felt about Susan — she was our favorite, almost a friend. It was like (Clare said so too) that she was meeting an old friend of mine.
Clare read other books I’d recommended (Andrew too) and this occurred over and over.
My kids were able to meet old friends of mine.