My first favorite book was Eighteen Cousins. The central character is a little boy who visits a farm -- only to find eighteen cousins following him and looking at him everywhere he goes.
I don't know why I loved the book, why I asked to have it read to me over and over, why I couldn't wait to be able to read the book all by myself. It's true I liked to be alone, as did the little boy in the story until he finally gave in and let all eighteen cousins be his friends. And, it's true, I'd never been to a farm, but like the boy, I found peace in the sky and trees and animals and landscapes -- and thinking. Still do.
What's also true is that this book was my first book. I can't remember any other story preceding it. Perhaps for that reason alone, it was my favorite.
And that's reason enough.
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