My Youngest Reader

“I think, at a child’s birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift would be curiosity.”
-First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt


As promised yesterday I’ll now tell you the story of my youngest reader as first told to me by his mother.

Seems the copy of Dear Daisy that she had purchased went missing, only to appear in her 3 year old son’s hands. At first, no reason to think this strange or out of the ordinary, after all, little ones do have a tendency to pick up things around the house, that is until they come of the age where one would wish they would… But, I digress.

Seems this pattern continued. Not an issue until she wished to sit down with her copy to read. She asked for her book. In his 3 year old way he made it clear the answer was, “no”. Reasoning with him that he could have the book back but that at this time she wished to sit and read her book, his answer remained the same, this time “my book” being the answer.

From what I’ve shared so far…one would have the picture formed in mind that the book stayed missing each time, stashed someplace only he knew it to be. Well…that is part of the picture, and my first image as I listened to her storyline.

Seems not that the book was missing…hard to miss an object that the child insisted on carrying around the house with him, even taking the book with him in the car. Following him and watching, the mother discovered that those times when he wasn’t carrying the book, he was putting it in his bedroom closet. Knowing his age she thought it best to continue going about their days without pressing the issue.

Cleaning one Saturday morning, she ventured down the hall towards his bedroom. On a cleaning mission, she glanced in noticing he was sitting on his closet floor, holding the book open, reading his book. She then shared with me that her son of three was not a child prodigy capable of reading at advanced levels, in fact he was delayed in speech, barely, if ever speaking. Their origin language is Spanish, and growing up in an English-speaking neighborhood, she felt maybe his speaking delay was confusion over which language he should speak.

Curious what he was doing, and to ask the obvious question, she went into his bedroom only to find that he wasn’t reading. He was listening, or so it appeared from the look in his eyes and the tilt of his head. The little one, a nonreader was holding the book upside down. These things a mother would notice.

Still, she asked her question. “What you reading?” “My book,” his answer. With that answered, she went back to cleaning the house. Moments later she realized that her son was talking to someone, so she went back into his room. “Who you talking to?” “The kid,” his answer as he pointed.

Imaginary friends, weren’t they always the best? I’ll admit that was where my mind thought her storyline would end.

She went on to tell me that the next day she heard her son for the first time speak his own name. Actually, the way she told the story, he declared, “MY NAME IS….” (“MY NAME” said in Spanish”)

His companion and “imaginary friend” not imaginary in any conceivable way to this child playing, sitting, and walking beside, also had a name.

The next week his Grandmother went to a party and brought home balloons tied to a weight rock. The 3 year old passed up the balloons but insisted on the rock weight. The storyteller told me the rock was the same color as “my book”. Now, I, and maybe you, also would think this just coincidence.

The storyteller went on to tell me that she overheard her son talking to his imaginary friend the next few days, and his side of the conversation suggested that he was knowing the storyline I had written in Dear Daisy. The book was being read to him. The story, she had not been reading to him. The story, that he insisted his imaginary friend was reading to him…

I wrote to a friend telling the short email version of this story. I also filled her in on this little boy’s mother who is very open to her son’s mystical mind and ways. In this email I wrote, “The stones may just start talking.”

First Reviews

Searching for paths to sow Dear Daisy was literally feeling my way in a publishing world I knew nothing of firsthand. I read and searched and researched but most of all I spent time in reflection of what my heart mission would be and remain. At times this appeared in contrast to how the World said it should be. Each footstep, I introduced Dear Daisy to those on my path and awaited reactions and responses while I walked the road ahead.

Readers held Dear Daisy in their hands and I took pause when they revealed what page they were on, what story or mystery drew them to question. I waited for the children on that road to reveal their voices, their songs, and the echoes of their hearts.

Reader reviews came and somehow, I had connected. This truth was a mystery, in part even to me. It was this language of heart I most wanted to further explore.

Initial reactions of readers closest to me?

Immediate family was very supportive of my writing.
Mom “never before stayed up to read, any book” …alone in the darkness of night to catch a glimpse of light or enlightenment…an understanding of someone she thought she knew…all these years….
Dad couldn’t have been more of a father in that moment. Marketing…“you’ve just got to…the world needs this message…”
Sister…“I grew up with you… shared memories. I never knew you. Now I do.”
Her favorites: the Epistle…and the Lakeshore story.
Aunt: “Your grandfather would be very proud.”

Stories of locals who purchased the book?

Never did I anticipate hearing this next (ironic really) Spiritual based…Golden Rule…“I haven’t finished reading it yet. My book was stolen by…”

I joked that my promotion would have to include I had in fact increased the local crime rates. Theft was not my intention yet pride flooded my heart each time I heard their confessions.

Some readers…opened and discovered themselves or at least a part of themselves they had never taken enough time, became silent enough or quiet enough to read. Then again maybe it was a sense of contentment and the quiet time sitting there under the trees with Daisy and a young child who never quite grew beyond those moments regardless of how many days passed in between. Was it such moments and permission to be in such moments that the reader’s child decided to tag along?

Older weekly “church-going” Christian readers surprised me speaking out against their “modern” religious experiences.
One said, “I go to the place where we worship money. Building a building that no one seems to know why we are building or what the building will serve. Still mission money, money we have promised to aide others is behind schedule.”

I sent a gift copy to my advocate friend (support against violence in churches).

Dear James Evinger,

…It is true. I have written my book, Dear Daisy and forged the path to self publish. I chose the self-publishing route because I’ve always admired those of our history that delivered the message of their times despite “commercialism” and “limits”. I guess I am a rebel. I admit it.

Rising Sparrow Press was officially born December 2003 and now web site can be found at http://www.risingsparrowpress.com/.

I am in process of writing a second book, Rising Sparrow, a sequel to Dear Daisy. Still writing, far from final editing stage. Some of my writing is “too mystical” at times even for me and though true to my experiences, much of the World would believe it to be fiction. So I may have to write a third book, the true mystical stories of my life, label it “fiction” and call it, (“_________”).

(Of course the publisher in me edited out the title on this blog!!!!)

…I anticipate in the very near future expanding the web site writing on topics to promote nonviolent resolution pathways and to serve justice, speaking out about our times, and also to serve my passions for history and exploring the voice of ordinary day-to-day folk. I know I am a storyteller at heart and most wish to find my path to this mission.

…Hope you enjoy Dear Daisy. Once again, thank-you for being there when the World was throwing mud.

Keep in touch.

Jane Ver Dow


His response and review?

“I’m writing to thank you for the copy of Dear Daisy. It’s amazing and profoundly written. Thank you for your courage and the risk you took to create it. (But that is you, isn’t it!)
It’s direct, honest, truthful, personal, and always looks at the larger principles. It’s engaging and thoughtful, and so it has taken me awhile to complete it- I’d put it down because it forced my own reflections. May God’s Spirit continue to guide you.”

James Evinger


Honored and humbled would be the words my heart defined for my confused mind. This level of support I simply was not prepared to receive. It was this language of heart I most wished to leave behind as my personal legacy.

As for the fallen sparrow?
I had made a promise as we read Dear Daisy together, him There, me here…
I would not ignore nor turn my back on sparrows needing voice. Their song, his song would be heard.