My father brought home two copies of Little Women by Louisa May Alcott one day, I'm not sure what spurred this, I've never asked. However, every available night one summer I read while he followed along, when I hit a word I didn't know, we looked it up together. Afterwards we talked about the chapters or characters, reviewed words I didn't know or anything else about the book. I really can't remember how I felt about reading Little Women at the time, if I was frustrated with it or if I loved it. As an adult I can say that I love the memory and the book holds a certain fond place in my heart from reading it with my dad. It was my first real book, we read the book the summer between 1st and 2nd grade, so it was a bit above my level at the time. The same summer he read Little Joe Otter with my brother, I wonder if it had the same impact on him.
Later, when I was in 7th or 8th grade we went to the Smithsonian and saw dolls of the Little Women. They were a porcelain bust, arms and legs with instructions to sew the body and clothing. All they had left was Amy, I'm guessing not as many people felt akin to her, since she was a bit spoiled. She lived in the box for a while, my Amma (grandmother in Icelandic) made her body and dress for me a few years later.
This is the book we read that summer complete and unabridged, and Amy (who normally lives in a doll stand, but she's laying down for this shot).
I can't wait for the day when I can share Little Women with my own daughter. Thank you Dad!