Inspired by this piece, which commemorates Beverly Cleary’s 100th birthday on April 12, I wanted to try and write about what Beverly Cleary and her books meant to me as a kid. I can tell that her works were so ingrained into my childhood because I can’t remember how I was introduced to her books or when I started reading them. All I recall are the constant rereads, which were also common with the works of Judy Blume, Andrew Clements, and Ann M. Martin. 

Somewhere along the line, I read books like Henry Huggins, Socks, and Ellen Tebbits (I have very strong memories of my mother’s old copy on the shelf and Ellen’s encounter with a beet), but my allegiance rested strongly with the Ramona books. Like with Blume’s Fudge books, I read the Ramona stories over and over again.

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I’ve mentioned time and time again on this blog how the Weasleys are my all-time favorite fictional family. I want to be one of them. I want to grow up in the organized chaos of the Burrow and eat Molly’s meals and have six older brothers. In a contradictory manner, I’ve also always said I’d marry a Weasley boy, so if my alter ego in the Wizarding World isn’t cool enough to be in this family by birth, I guess she’ll hunt down Charlie Weasley and make an honest man of him.

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