Do you remember your favorite book from childhood?

The Book That Made Me Famous

When I was a little girl, my favorite book wasn’t about a princess, a superhero, or a talking animal.

It was about me.

At least, that’s what I thought.

My grandmother gave me a personalized book with my name throughout the story. Every page had “Christy” in it, and I was convinced I had reached celebrity status before I even learned long division.

I carried that book everywhere. Why wouldn’t I? Most kids had to read about other people having adventures. I was reading about myself. I was basically the star of my own bestseller.

Looking back, I’m pretty sure thousands of other children had the same book with their names printed in it, but don’t ruin the fantasy. For several years, I was convinced publishers had discovered my greatness and decided the world needed a story about me.

I wish I still had that book. Not because it was a literary masterpiece, but because of who gave it to me.

My grandmother had a way of making me feel like I was the most important person in the world. Truthfully, I was pretty sure I was her favorite. (If my cousins are reading this, let’s just keep that between us.)

I stayed with her all the time. At night, she’d sing “You Are My Sunshine” while gently tickling my arm until I fell asleep. To this day, hearing that song takes me right back to her house and those peaceful nights.

She taught me so much. She taught me how to cook, iron clothes, wash clothes, and somehow trusted me enough to teach me to drive when I was 12 years old. Looking back, that last one may explain a lot about both of us.

She loved people in a way that made them feel seen. She didn’t just say she loved you—she showed you. Every meal she cooked, every hug she gave, every lesson she taught, every song she sang was wrapped in love.

And that’s why that little book meant so much.

It wasn’t really about me.

It was about how she made me feel.

She made me feel special, important, capable, and loved. She made me feel like I could do anything. She made me believe I was worth celebrating.

The older I get, the more I realize what an incredible gift that was.

I miss her every day. She was my world, and somehow she made me feel like I was hers too.

The book may be gone, but the lessons, the memories, and the love she poured into my life are still with me.

And honestly, if they ever reprint that book, I still expect royalties.📖☀️🙎🏻‍♀️