<\/p>\n
I am 5 years old, sitting at a small round table in the library, a picture book open in front of me. It is the third time I am reading this particular book \u2014 or rather, seeing it. Reading is a strong word. I use the pictures to guide me along, skipping ahead to the next page to guess what the words will be. My mom sits beside me, hands folded patiently in her lap.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cBrown bear, brown bear, what do you see?\u201d I peek over to the next page before saying the next line, \u201cI see a red bird looking at me!\u201d<\/p>\n
The colorful pages of \u201cBrown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?\u201d continue to bring joy to five-year-old me, no matter how dull the plot and repetitive the structure. I\u2019m sure my mom must be bored out of her mind by now, but the smile on her face refuses to show it.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Like most of my early childhood, this moment of my life is ingrained in my mind not in actual memory, but as a recording. The grainy, pixelated video is a Sayed family favorite, and one that I happily watch all the way through every time I come across it. Though I don\u2019t remember being the little girl in the jean jacket, obsessed over one painted brown bear, it feels as though that book and that day mark some special beginning in my life.\u00a0<\/p>\n