Last night, my son picked out Possum’s Harvest Moon as his bedtime book. It is a sweet story of a darling possum that goes around inviting all kinds of animals to a moonlit party. I couldn’t stand it. I suggested another book, but my son was really excited about that one, so I drew in a deep breath and read in a calm and cheerful voice. Every page included the word “possum,” which I often substituted with the word “he,” because I couldn’t bear saying “possum” over and over again.
When we had reached the last page, I did not linger on the drawing of the cuddly, contented possum settling in for a long winter’s nap. I shut the book, took another deep breath, and congratulated myself on getting the job done.
No comments:
Post a Comment