An Opinion: Patricia Polacco Books

In my children's literature class we have an author study due on Thursday. I pulled Patricia Polacco out of the hat four weeks ago. I dutifully ran off to the library and got a selection of her books and brought them home. Then X-man and I tried to read them. Snooze. Snooze. Snooze.

So, I began my research. She was born in Michigan -- great midwestern connection, right? Her mother's parents were Russian and Ukrainian immigrants, so I tried to channel my fave SIL's mother, who also immigrated from Russia to increase my interest. No luck. She overcame a learning disability to go on and get a PhD in art history. Her parents were divorced, like mine... alas, blah, blah, blah.

It's not that her themes or stories are terrible, they're just not -- compelling to me. I can completely get behind the idea of forming community, of appreciating and creating bonds with grandparents, of celebrating heritage and the wonderment of children from various cultures and socio-economic backgrounds. But, snooze.

I read all the books and chose the ones I liked the best for my annotated bibliography. I wrote my author's biography for my poster board and took the appropriate pictures for my poster board, which I'll put together tomorrow after work. And Thursday, I'll hand it all in, with my Polacco-themed book bag starring Reschenka the goose and her magically decorated eggs.

But I really wish I would have gotten an author I loved -- or even one I hadn't heard of before that was a new discovery. Instead, I got Patricia Polacco. She's written well over 20 children's books. She's won numerous awards. She seems like a tender soul, and yet, I couldn't get into her.

Clearly, working in a children's library department for six years made me particularly over critical.