I forgot how, I forgot why but we were sitting at the dining table and talking about stories when I excitedly told Ryan, “When you grow up, you are going to read Enid Blyton’s books!”

Ryan: “Har, what is Enid Blyton?”
My mom: “No, he is not going to read Enid Blyton.”
Ryan: “No, I am not going to read Enid Blyton!”
Me: *aghast* “Huh why??”
My mom: “Haiyah, their generation where got read Enid Blyton one!”
Ryan: “I DON’T WANT ENID BLYTON AH YI I DON’T WANT!”
Me: “You are just parroting your grandmother. You don’t know what you want yet.”
Ryan: “NO! I TELL YOU I DON’T WANT!”
Me: “Then what will they read?”
My mom: “Harry Potter lor…”
Me: “What?!?! That piece of shit compared to Enid Blyton?!?!? NO I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!”
Ryan: “I DON’T WANT ENID BLYTON!!!!”

As you can probably see, my frustration was not with the respective authors but with my mom’s uncanny ability to effortlessly tweak Ryan’s needs and wants to her heart’s desire. I guess I should have gotten used to it, seeing how Ryan worships his grandmother since the day he was born. But it irritated me because this whole ‘exploring new things’ is best introduced at his age. As my close friends know, I tend to shut and slag off things and places I’ve never tried. But I’m 28 years old, I’m allowed to be jaded and cynical. Ryan’s only 4, there are plenty of years ahead for him to do that.

Enid Blyton’s works was a huge part of my childhood. I don’t remember how I got into it, probably I borrowed it from the school library or something. I think a few of my friends had certain titles as well and I devoured them like Starbucks iced latte. Oh I can’t begin to explain what and how I felt for those magical stories! They were most likely the reason why I love reading and day-dreaming. I wanted to be part of the Famous Five and the Secret Seven. I wished I had a wishing chair or that I lived in a caravan traveling with a circus. I imagined things I’d say to Mr. Pink-Whistle, Mr. Twiddle and Mr. Meddle. I wanted to smack Amelia Jane for being so mean and earnestly promised myself that I’d never be as cruel. I was pretty much in a world of my own, still am actually.

I glared at my mother with a ‘hmmphhh!’ and turned to Ryan.

“I am going to tell you the story of the Magic Faraway Tree.”
“Har what is the Magic Faraway Tree? Is it scary?”
“No it is not scary. It is a story by Enid Blyton and it is so magical and amazing and I promise you that you will love it!”

And so I began. It was only a summary of the story, for it has been well over 14 years since I read it. As I predicted, the boy was hooked.

“I want Enid Blyton.”

Yay.

This past week whenever I offered to tell him a story, he would ask for the Magic Faraway Tree. I told him that I would get him the book so we could read it together. Last night at Tropicana City Mall before watching Transformers 2, I dropped by Borders to purchase the Faraway Tree series. It is a hard cover compilation of 3 books, costs RM39.90 and has the same illustrations as the books I read so many years ago. It will be my present for the boy’s upcoming birthday in early August, and in it I shall write,

“To Ryan, Happy 4th Birthday and may you have many great adventures to come. Love, Ah Yi.”

Of course I am going to read it first.