.@noraraleighB: The other day, I was organizing books. I moved RUBY ON THE OUTSIDE. To the shelf behind my desk where I could pick it up when I need. Now, the grown child of an incarcerated parent, I know the immediacy of the emotions that comes of the moment and the day-to-day.
I turn to the recent conversations regarding empathy and how it's expressed. I have come to believe that there is a form of empathy that is as old as story itself. Some might call this bibliotherapy, but I say, "No. This is still one person removed from the hurt offering a book."
The idea of Literary Empathy is that I have gone through a similar (not same) situation or moment or time and I have read into it for me. First. And then, I read some more. Now, I have resources that I can offer to you. We can talk about these together. This is who I am becoming.
After the shock comes the shame. The startling realization that this is who you are removed from the person who is going away. It is a symbolic death at best as there is nothing terminal to which one can point. It's another day. And to think that a child can process any of this?
I'm embarrassed, but I knew that you'd know the name of the group. RCA or RTA? They do reconciliation through the arts? We've been in contact, but I cannot remember the letters or the name. I would like to be plugged in. I really need to be plugged in. Empathy begins in knowing.
@noraraleighB: I'm almost 50 years old. For two months, I've walked around thinking to myself, "They know that my father is going to prison. For life." What does this look like a child without coping tools? Without the guidance that Literary Expression and Empathy could provide?
The most striking (and sad) for me is that resources designed to begin to help people with incarcerated parents are not accessible for the sheer price point of many of the books I am finding. Where do people find the resources they need the most as they begin to process and heal?
Our institutions must find the seam between themselves. The child of a incarcerated parent's eyes are fixed upon a jail. And we suggest that they go to a library. Both may be a foreign entity to the child. Navigation of either system could be aided by a sense of Literary Empathy.
Up until a few months ago, I may have been romantic in the sense of saying something like, "The consideration of our readers with incarcerated parents is an essential piece of reader advisory." And I would be most informed and pleased with my own sense of like-worthy platitude.
Here is where we come upon a question: Do we have picture books that do this? Do we have poetry that does this? Do we have between any two covers of any resource we might hand to a child that says, "We have a lot of work to do; let's begin here with ________." Literary Empathy?
Our lanes change because our lives change. Ask me about #BuildYourStack for children of incarcerated parents two months ago. I could've given you VISITING DAY or KNOCK KNOCK or RUBY ON THE OUTSIDE. Now, my lane is changing because my life has changed. So, too, for young readers.
Bibliotherapy is limited to one person removed from a situation by experiences and limited awareness of resources. Children of incarcerated parents might not appreciate a book, but it could help as they begin to realize that, in time, they'll need the whole shelf in the section.
And on those shelves will be RUBY ON THE OUTSIDE. As a new and still processing child of an older incarcerated parent, I see the whole thing here with new eyes. My mind is not settled. My gut aches. But, my heart still beats. On the inside. We need these books for young readers.
We need them for younger readers for no other reason than a healing that will take time. Time is the theme connecting the child and the incarcerated parent. I'm 48. My father is 70. He will die in prison. This is how it ends for us. What of the four-to-eight-year-old? More time.
So many tweets. One more. Had I not been collecting "tough stuff" picture books for the past few years, I might've been blown over by the realization that my father will die in prison. Instead, my anchor comes in the form of the thirty-two page picture book. Keeping me grounded.
Wait. . .just one more. . .from the perspective of a child of an incarcerated parent. What effect do you think the chanting of "Lock her up!" or "Lock him up!" has upon the child who has internalized these messages within themselves? I can tell you. It's like three direct blows.
