As I have said before, I'm not sure it's a talent that will get me anywhere (except, perhaps, a headline gig at the library story time), but I can still recite, by heart, "Where the Wild Things Are."
I can also do "Good Night Moon" and "I Am a Bunny." And I know all the words to "Angel from Montgomery" and can recite Emily Dickinson's "Ample Make This Bed," but neither of those seems to resonate with the pre-school crowd. Just nice to know I can.
As I have admitted before, I'm probably not unique in this (OK, the "Angel from Montgomery" and Dickinson stuff is a little out there). Most parents, by the time their offspring have hit school age, have a pretty solid repertoire of stories that don't require actual page-turning to be told.
It's a neat little ritual, a wonderful bonding time between child and mom or dad and it's one of the reasons most parents' brains turn to mush. Because, let's be honest: These things aren't exactly Elmore Leonard, and it's the same freakin' book every night.
I recall a certain "Calvin and Hobbs" comic strip where Calvin insists his dad read "Hamster Huey and the Gooey Kaloobie" again for the millionth time, despite the fact that they've read it so many times everyone, including Hobbs the stuffed tiger, has it memorized. His dad relents, but with a few modifications that, in the last, darkened frame, have Calvin staring wide-eyed and saying "Wow, the story was different that time," and Hobbs wondering "Do you think the townsfolk will ever find Hamster Huey's head?"
Been there. And while I haven't actually said it, there were times when, at least in my mind, the Wild Things ate Max, hijacked the boat, returned to his room and burned down his town. And are even now roaming the streets listening for children who think they need a drink of water in the middle of the night. Sleep tight there, kiddos!
I mention this because my oldest daughter called me the other day, complaining because the Little Princess/my granddaughter has taken to watching the same movie over and over and over and over and over again.
My external response was, "well, Honey, don't worry. It's just a phase they go through. Perfectly normal, all kids do it." My internal response was, "BAWAHAHAHA!!! REVENGE IS MINE!"
I'm going to pause here to say that wasn't helpful. Satisfying, but not helpful. And because I was enjoying it just a little too much and was feeling guilty, I researched why, exactly, kids will engage in the same activity repeatedly. And by repeatedly, I mean every single minute of the day, endlessly, over and over again with no letup ... OK, I'm better now.
It seems behavioral scientists believe kids do it because (A) it provides them with a sense of security, (B) they are mastering new skills and want to be sure of them, (C) they want to fully grasp the plot points (which, by now, the deaf dog grasps, thank you) and (D) because they just want to mess with you and know they can.
Yeah, I don't think the scientists actually mentioned "D." But they probably thought it.
It seems children operate in exactly the reverse of Einstein's famous comment about insanity. They want to do the same thing over and over again the same way and are perfectly comfortable with the idea of getting the same outcome.
I mention all this because, in this time of uncertainty, when no one is acting the way we think they ought to be acting and we hear every few minutes that society as we know it is either in the process of crumbling or has crumbled and we were out of the room and missed the news flash, it was good for me to know there are some things you can count on.
Kids will do the same thing, day after day, and insist that you join in. At least until they become teenagers and don't want to talk to you. Which, at times, is OK, too.
Odds are, my granddaughter will want to hear, time and time again, that in the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture of the cowing jumping over the moon. Just like her mother did.
And if you think everyone outgrows it, I've watched the last hour of the movie "Deadpool" about 15 times now.
Never not funny.
Commentary on 02/10/2017