Slowly and imperceptibly, the earth is constantly moving beneath our feet. Tectonic plates float, shift and move, ultimately creating rifts, oceans, mountains. Incremental movement and the passage of time have created the continents and landscapes that seem stable, eternal.

It was an ordinary spring day. I was barely 7 and had no idea my life was about to be forever changed. Nothing seemed different. The same Rice Krispies for breakfast. The same walk to Charles Wright Elementary School with the same kids: Cindy, Cathy, Barbara, and April.

Nothing unusual about the school day. I was in second grade and had math and reading in the morning. Lunchtime came; my lunch box contained the usual bologna sandwich, some store-brand oreos, and a thermos of milk. Recess was spent on the jungle gym and swings. Social studies, science and music in the afternoon. A return trip home with the neighborhood girls.

There was absolutely nothing to suggest that the earth was moving.

“Mom, I’m home,” I shouted as I entered the house. “Can I walk to the library with Cindy and Cathy?”

Mom was busy ironing and planning the evening meal. No doubt happy that I would be otherwise occupied, replied, “Sure. Just be careful crossing Church St. It’s a busy road. Use the walk signals.”

“I know,” I groaned disdainfully. She did not need to remind me every. single. time.

So the Ireland Road gang walked, skipped, and trotted to the public library, making the perilous crossing of Church Street safely. We dashed past the Police Department and opened the library’s glass door. Once in the light drenched children’s room, we split up to make our selections.

I loved browsing the shelves brimming with possibility and choices. Finally, I selected three titles. One was an alphabet book in four languages – English, French, Spanish and German. apple, pomme, manzana, Apfel. My older sister, Kathy, was studying French in high school and Nana spoke German. Different languages seemed exotic and I thought it would please them both. The second book was a biography of President John F. Kennedy. It had a lot of words, but I read some and thought I could manage it. Mom and Dad had been distraught by the assassination; maybe this book could grant me entry to their world.. The third book was “Stuart Little” chosen purely for the cute picture of the little mouse on the cover.

My brother and sister laughed at my selections. “You need more than an alphabet book to learn languages. You should learn English first.” Kathy taunted. Steve looked at the biography and said, “You can’t read this. This is for kids my age– junior high.” He took that one to his room and started reading it.

Only a little deflated, I sat down at the kitchen table and began to read Stuart Little. I was immediately captivated by the tale of a tiny mouse child in a house of big human people. Big people that didn’t seem to understand that little people could do useful things. A tiny mouse terrified of the dangerous cat. I kept reading as Mom prepared dinner. She took the book away as dinner was served. I cried, “But I’m not done yet!”

“You can read more after dinner,” Mom said.

I inhaled my food. “Can I be excused?”

“No. You know the rules. You can not be excused until everyone is done.”

Impatient, I squirmed, tapped my fingers on the table, told everyone to hurry up. Finally, Mom glared at me, “Deborah Jean, behave!” she said.

“Oh PLEASE, can I be excused?” I wailed.

Dad never the disciplinarian, spoke up. “Oh, just let her go. Then we can eat in peace.”

I ran off to my room before Mom could object and picked up the book again. I loved Stuart and his adventures. Sailing boats in central park, being lowered into the drain to retrieve a ring, his terror at Snowball,the big fierce cat, and his love for the sweet bird Margalo, the only other creature his size in the family. I did not stop until I finished the book.

On that otherwise ordinary day, Stuart Little changed me from a young child who could read into a reader, and over 60 years later, I still carry that mantle. Stuart showed me that being the youngest and smallest was not the same as being unimportant. Stuart, a tiny fictional mouse, caused the earth to move slightly beneath my feet, slowly and incrementally launching my lifelong journey into the world of curiosity, imagination, and knowledge.

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