Ruminations of an Old Goat

Even before our son was able to understand what we saying, my wife and I would hold him in our laps and read books to him. An early favorite was Goodnight Moon. I had never heard of it until friends gave us a copy, but it turns out to have been around at least 10 years longer than I have.

By the time the Boy was two, his favorite books were Stop Train, Stop, a Thomas the Tank Engine story (though not one of the original stories) and an electronic Star Wars book that made all sorts of sounds and even played the music the Cantina Band was playing in the original movie. The Boy called them the "doot band." (If you don't understand why, trying singing the cantina music entirely with the word "doot.")

By the time the Boy was three, he had decided to make it tough to get him to go to sleep. We'd read books, turn out the light and leave. He would follow within 15 seconds. When we made him stay in his room, he would stay awake singing or talking to himself. He would do this even if my wife and I were already in bed. We decided we would turn out the lights before reading to him, making him lay down while we read from a book illuminated with one of those book lights you see at bookstores. That helped, though the light worked against us.

By the time the Boy was four, I decided that we weren't even going to use the book light. That meant I either had to memorize the books we'd been reading and retell them exactly as written (any parent can tell that children will notice if you get just one word wrong) or I had to make up stories to tell. I chose to make up new stories.

Those early stories would feature the Boy as the main character, though I added a four foot-tall dragon named Roger as his regular companion in the stories. These adventures featured such things as the Great Broom Race, rescuing a princess from a giant, saving Dreamland and even going up against space pirates. The Boy got to redirect the plots and suggest ways to solve problems. Thus the giant was convinced to release the princess by giving him books and the space pirates were defeated in a particularly nasty bout of thumb-wrestling.

Along with the stories featuring the Boy, I also managed to work in a few stories featuring other children. Of those stories, I consider half a dozen or so to be good enough to try to sell to a children's magazine or picture book publisher. Among those stories, my favorite is called "I'm in Charge!" It's about a ten year-old prince who gets to be in charge of the kingdom while his parents are away. Letting the power go to his, the prince throws people in the dungeon -- starting with the Royal Tutor when the tutor wouldn't cancel the prince's lessons -- until he ends up with everyone in the dungeon except himself. In the end, the prince learns he needs other people to make the kingdom run smoothly. Fortunately, that one was also a favorite with the Boy.

Skip forward to when the Boy was seven and starting second grade. At "meet the teacher night" we parents could sign up to come into the class one Friday afternoons and read books to the kids. I love doing this kind of thing (and really miss it now the Boy and the Foster Boy are in the eighth grade and parents are no longer invited into the classroom). Unfortunately, the earliest date available by the time I got to the sign up sheet was December 5. I signed up for it and prepared to wait impatiently for the months to pass.

December finally arrived and, as fate would have it, my wife and I had a conference with the teach on December 3. After discussing the Boy, his grades and his behavior, I asked the teacher a question about my reading date two days later.

Looking surprised that I was asking about reading, the teacher said, "I'm so proud of you for remembering! All the other fathers have to be reminded by their wives."

My wife said, "You don't understand. He's been looking forward to this since school started."

I discussed with the Boy what books take to class. He agreed to let me bring The Day I Swapped My Dad For Two Goldfish by Neil Gaiman with art by Dave McKean. He liked the story well enough but it was my favorite of all of his picture books. (Also check out Wolves in the Walls by the same team.) I asked what book the Boy wanted me to take. Instead of a book, he asked me to tell "I'm in Charge!"

December 5 finally arrived. Armed with the book and snacks (something else we parents were supposed to bring), I arrived at the classroom. The children gathered around and the Boy got to come up and sit next to me. I read the book, having some success at keeping the attention of the children. Still, there was just enough restlessness for me to know that, like the Boy, they didn't enjoy the story as much as I did.

Putting the book aside, I said, "This is a story I made up to tell to my son. He wanted me to tell it to you."

With that, I launched into "I'm in Charge!," doing different voices for the characters (I did that when reading the book, too) and acting out some of the simpler character actions. Here's the thing -- the children kept their attention riveted on me. There was no fiddling, no interrupting to ask if they could have another juice box, no whispered comments. In fact, the children were so quiet they got the attention of the teacher. She stopped doing paperwork and listened and watched as well. Even better, and totally unbeknownst to me, the Boy, sitting beside me, was mimicking my every action.

As I finished the story, the children just sat there for about fifteen seconds before exploding with comments and even applause. Before I left, the teacher told me she had never seen the children so rapt and quiet, including when she was teaching.

Telling "I'm in Charge!" to the Boy's second grade class was the first time I felt like a storyteller. Fortunately, it wasn't the last.