NOVEMBER 28, 2025 – In brief residence in the home of our two-year-old grandson, I’m impressed by the library of children’s books that surround him. More to the point, I’m envious: half the books are in French and half are in English, which reflects his bilingual language development. The kid’s parents, as well has his grandparents, love to read aloud to the little guy (the parents in French; the grandparents in English), which is a good thing, because the normally cheerful kid loves to sit and listen—often with a furrowed brow.
Yesterday, though, I pulled a fast one on him. Instead of reading one of his books to him, I read from one of my books—The Story of China by Michael Wood. I read the captions under photos on color plates in three sections of the book and showed him the collection of maps immediately following the table of contents. “Look at this photo,” I said excitedly. “The Great Wall of China!”
“China,” the two-year-old mimicked me.
“That’s right,” I said. “China . . .”
“China.”
I was thrilled that he seemed to have the name down. “And over here,” I pointed out another photo, “the Yangtze Gorges, and under that, the Silk Road as it crosses the western desert, and oh, look at this guy all decked out in his imperial finery, the Emperor Qianlong.”
On three separate occasions later in the day, our grandson called out, “China,” “photos,” and “pictures.” He wanted me to open the big book (unwieldy next to his books) that contained the exotic photos of China . . .
At Diogo’s bedtime, Grandma got the nod to read first while I warmed up in the on-deck circle. When I was called to the plate, however, the youngster lodged a vocal complaint; no way was he going to allow Grandpa to read yet another book about farm animals. Just when I’d concluded that the protest was not against the book or against Grandpa reading it, the two-year-old affirmed my assumption. What the kid was fussing about was having to go to bed, and Grandpa’s batting second was a signal certain that “The End” on the last page of the farm animal book would mean it would then be time to be carried off to the Land of Nod. Day over.
I was prepared to go with the flow of routine established by the parents. I was not prepared to hear, “China.” By George, he wanted me to “read” from The Story of China. “Photos,” he said. “Photos.” The parents granted their approval.
For the fourth time today, I was granted the chance to read the captions on all the glossy pages bearing photographs—and got to scour all those maps again.
Little did I imagine that our grandson would be so easily enamored of China. Of course I’m delighted. In my own little way I’m trying to expand his horizons. My simple system seems to be working—thanks to those three collections of color plates in The Story of China.
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
