When I was young I read so much, that I often got through more than one book a day. Some nights I even waited till everyone was asleep and took a pillow and blanket and made a bed in the bathtub and read for hours. (I never had my own room so I couldn't just keep a light on in the bedroom.)
One of my favorites was The Boxcar Children. I read all 19 originals and many more in the series that now has 130 books. My favorite was the first one. I liked to imagine that I would be as resourceful and independent as the Alden children if I found myself parentless.
Today I finished reading the original book aloud to my children. They're watching the movie (yes, there's a movie now) on Netflix. When it's done we're going to compare the book to the movie and my six-year-old, who loves opinion writing, is going to write about which version she likes better and why.
My children seem to love the book as much as I did. I found the Alden children more patronizing that anything this time around. (Oh, please can I hem the tablecloth begs Violet. Oh, Benny! the other three children laugh at Benny's antics. He's five, but acts like a toddler. It is oh so wholesome and the children sound like what an adult would like children to be rather than what they actually are.)
But who am I to deprive my kids of a story I loved, and a potential series with enough books to last them 130 days of reading if any of them end up reading as much as I did?