Big brown bear, blue bull, beautiful baboon, blowing bubbles….the B book. A total classic in our house. I can read it backwards and forwards after having read it (mostly forwards) for the last 17-ish years.
I didn't think there was any depth to the book that i hadn't yet experienced. So the other night, when my two year stunned me with her question, i wasn't really expecting any kind of spiritual moment from bedtime reading.
Looking longingly at the bubbles in the illustration, she said, “Can I have those bubbles? When I go inside this book, can I have some?” At first I giggled, and then I thought: “When I go inside” - how crazy that she completely believes that it is fairly certain that at some point, she will enter into the reality of a work of fiction. What a sliding, shifting place, her reality is. She can talk sentences around everyone in her little life, but she still believes in fiction with a faith that most authors would love their readers to feel the tiniest fraction of. To her, entering inside a book is just as likely as fitting inside a teacup (something she has also tried lately.) I wish I could step inside her head for a bit and just remember what its like to feel like literally anything is possible, again.
No comments:
Post a Comment