As part of #ChildrensBookDay I thought I’d write about one of my favorite books growing up. This book is none other than Where the Wild Things Are. But to be completely honest, it wasn’t so much the book I loved as the experience. But to truly understand you have to know my Dad.
I was lucky to have a really amazing Dad growing up. He cared deeply about us kids, and our education, and spent plenty of time teaching and playing. We had a family motto: “Work hard. Play hard.” And we did a healthy amount of both. But anyone that truly knows my dad also knows he is super clever and extremely hilarious (as long as his funnies don’t go way over your head, which they often do).
This was no different as a child. We had story time every night for long hours at a time. Like any good storyteller he did the right voices, perfect intonations, and of course an energy that really helped us to engage in the story. And Where the Wild Things Are was one of the best. Right in the middle of the book are three amazing pages. No words. Pure party. The Wild Rumpus, of course.
Every night we would conduct our own wild rumpus, and I never wanted to the last rumpus page to turn. I hold that tradition with Logan still. When we read Where the Wild Things Are we hold a wild rumpus that Grandpa would be proud of. We party all around the house, and Logan loves it dearly. While my memory fails me, something deep inside of me tells me we throw down many of the same dance moves my dad and I did nearly 3 decades ago.
Thanks Dad for reading to me as a kid. My love for books is in large part thanks to you. And I’m doing my best to impart that same love to Logan, which is succeeding all too well. He is already bartering hugs for books. “One book, big hug”, he says, a request that is nearly impossible to deny.
(And thanks mom, you taught me to love books too. Although I sometimes think you gave me the, life-stops-because-I-can’t-put-a-good-book-down gene.)