An Autobiography
The scattered story of a life lived in books. Books shape us, teach us to feel, comfort us, and ruin us irrevocably if read correctly. They change us.
Books are the affliction and the cure. And if you find one that is special enoug...
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The other day, my daughter and I were driving in the car listening to her playlist on Spotify. It was on shuffle and a song came on loud and undeniably festive. My Little Pony, Rainbow Dash singing, "Dashing through the snow..."
That was when I made a grievous and shameful error that irrevocably ruined our drive.
I pressed skip.
Our car has a screen embedded in the dash so this is not like a distracted driving thing. I'm not a maniac. But I did wake the beast.
It was, in retrospect, not worth it. The rebuke I received from my little girl withered any conviction I had about the dangers of pushing the season. I should have backed down. I should have listened.
Instead, I doubled down.
Christmas may arrive before Hallowe'en in our house if I'm not careful. Sometimes, I don't know what I'm thinking going up against her. She's just like her mom - brilliant and fiery.
Later, after all the shots were fired and peace accords ratified and we were back home cuddling with a movie, she voiced what I'm sure many people feel at one time or another, not just children.
"Daddy, I wish we could have Christmas every day."
"But kiddo..."
No. Don't do it.
"We can't..."
Lord no. What are you thinking?
"Because you see..."
What's to be gained? You'll just get her going again! You're a young man. Don't do it!
I realize sometimes I don't have a lot of sense. I'm shooting from the hip and speaking from my gut. But my gut has shit for brains. Why argue with her? It's so stupid. She won't be reasoned with. It's a fool's errand.
I tried to explain, "If it was Christmas every day, it would stop being special. Christmas is so great because you look forward to it all year. Like if you could have a birthday every day, and you had to eat cake every day, after like, a week say, you'd be so tired of cake..."
Incredulous. The look on her face.
"I could eat cake every day."
"Yeah, but like, if you had to..."
"..."
Blank. Just stunned. She was shocked at just how much of an idiot her dad is. To realize such a thing at 7 is a hard reality to wake up to. You're 7 and you have nothing left to learn from your dad.
He.
Is an idiot.
Who am I to say this? I was no more amenable to the concept of delayed gratification as a kid. My mom could attest to this, knowing how frequently I wanted her to read Riverboat Adventures for my bedtime story. It was all I wanted, and yes the other stories she read were good, but Riverboat took me places, in a manner of speaking.
Mom told me, "You have to be patient. We'll read it again in a few months. After you forget it a little."
I thought she was crazy. How could I forget Thomas and Minty? And Fergus! Like when weasels stole his bike and hit a rock and bent the wheel and he rode it all jaunty and crooked with his big froggy legs sticking out! And the duck under the dishcloth and how Minty thought it was a ghost!
To be fair, she was probably tired of reading the same book. I've been there, but still, it's just irresistible. This book had my heart. And read by my mom, well it doesn't get any better.
Talk about comforting.
There is a gift you can give every day that feels like a Christmas present. It never gets old - it's always special. Reading aloud to someone you care about. Your voice will be as important as flavour in a delicious meal. The food is necessary but the flavour makes it enjoyable, memorable.
It may not be this book. This book was special to me. But if you can find a copy, I think you should try it.
It's a bit like Wind in the Willows, but we'll get to that eventually.
