A Mountain Bookstore and a Banned Books Shelf

Last weekend I found myself in my very favorite bookstore, tucked into the mountains on Main Street in Frisco, Colorado.

It’s the kind of place with wooden shelves from floor to ceiling, the smell of paper and ink the second you walk in, and little corners where you could easily spend an entire afternoon reading. The floorboards creak a little as you wander through the aisles, and every table seems to hold another stack of books you didn’t know you needed.

I never leave empty handed.

One for me. One for my kids. Usually one more for someone else, because I cannot help myself.

While wandering through the children’s section, I noticed a shelf labeled banned books. I stopped, curious. As a teacher and a parent, the idea of a children’s book being “banned” always makes me pause.

Right there on the shelf were Charlotte’s Web and Goodnight Moon.

I paused when I saw Charlotte’s Web. I had just finished reading it aloud to my first graders. They loved it. They gasped when Charlotte spun words into her web. They worried about Wilbur. They had a million questions about the fair.

My first graders certainly did not think there was anything wrong with that story.

Standing there in that cozy mountain bookstore, I found myself wondering what it means when a story like that ends up on a banned books shelf.

Charlotte’s Web is a story about friendship, kindness, loyalty, and the cycle of life. It has been read with children for generations. And yet, there it was.

It reminded me of something I learned in graduate school. Rudine Sims Bishop described books as windows, mirrors, and sliding glass doors.

Through books, children should be able to see themselves.

They should be able to see other people’s lives and experiences.

And sometimes they should be able to step through a door into a world different from their own.

When we remove books from shelves or decide certain stories should not be available to children, those windows begin to close. Mirrors disappear. Doors quietly lock.

That idea has stayed with me.

One of the quiet powers of reading aloud is that children do not have to be able to read a book on their own to benefit from it. Stories can open doors long before children can decode every word on the page.

When I choose books for my classroom, and for my own kids, I try to be thoughtful about that. I want stories that make children laugh, think, wonder, and sometimes sit quietly with big ideas.

Books that open windows.

Books that offer mirrors.

Books that invite children to step through a door and experience something new.

Seeing Charlotte’s Web sitting on a banned books shelf made me pause. Not because the story suddenly felt controversial, but because it reminded me how much power stories have.

If books can open the world for children, then the stories we choose to share matter deeply.

The books we share with children shape how they see themselves and how they begin to understand the world around them.

And that feels like the kind of responsibility that calls us to keep opening those windows and doors.