I read Mac Barnett’s remarks when he was named the 2025–2026 National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature. “I started writing books for children because I love reading picture books out loud to kids,” he told his audience.

Oh, Mac. May I call you Mac? We seem to be on the same wavelength, after all. 

Two weeks ago, when my grandsons were spending the night, I read aloud three chapters of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. It was like a homecoming, in two respects. 

I’ve read hundreds of books to these boys and their cousin, but at twelve and eight (the older cousins are the same age), these kids for the most part are reading on their own. The Harry Potter books are an exception. My grandsons’ parents have been reading them aloud for three and a half books now; I was permitted to read in their stead as long as I noted where I stopped, so Mom and Dad could catch up.  

I loved revisiting Hogwarts almost as much as I loved reading to these boys again.  At some point, an exchange involving Harry, Ron, and Hermione was so amusing we couldn’t move on. “Read it again!” my grandsons kept demanding, and I’d read it again.  

Pressing replay over and over is very much a part of our reading history. Furthermore, the smart-assed dialogue was so typical of Harry and his wizard friends that I wanted to reach through the portrait hole, past the Fat Lady, and hug them. 

Mac Barnett is among the many children’s authors who understand that writing for kids is writing both for kids and those who read to them. Readers are at least as susceptible to stories and characters as listeners. Sometimes more, depending on the story. 

I’ve written before about the teacher Mr. Slinger from Kevin Henkes’s Lilly stories. For a while, I had a little thing for Mr. Slinger, one of those firm but understanding educators we’ve all had if we’re lucky. I urge Henkes to consider a book starring Mr. Slinger. He might have a midlife crisis and need to buy a Camaro or something. I can’t be the only one who’d like to see him in a primary role.   

I count Daniel Pinkwater’s Irving and Muktuk among my personal friends, even though they live in a Bayonne, New Jersey, zoo and are polar bears. I’m also fond of Larry, the bear who works at the zoo but goes home to an apartment at night. I’m sure Pinkwater got a kick out of Larry, Muktuk and Irving too. That’s why those bears are so likable. 

I often mention author Bob Graham, whose stories about characters including Rose and Mr. Wintergarten, the tooth fairies April and Esme and Stella, who knew what might be done with an abandoned bus, celebrate both the commonplace and the spiritual. 

But here’s the thing. I read Mac Barnett’s inauguration speech in the first place because right off the bat he mentioned his single mom, who introduced him to books that she wound up loving herself. 

My mother also was a single mom, a mom whose husband walked away the day after my sister celebrated her third birthday, three days after Christmas and ten days after I was born. 

She was fortunate, my mother. She had supportive parents, a graduate degree and a profession. I was fortunate, too, because she also had a reading habit that she passed on to my sister and me. Reading has sustained us throughout our lives, which is more than many other habits can say. 

The best books are appreciated by everyone: those who listen to them, those who read them, and those who write them. Thank you, Mac Barnett, for understanding that. Enjoy your ambassadorship.