The Books They Kept Bringing Back

There is something very special about a child asking you to read the same book for the fourteenth time in a week. If only those authors could see. Not because it was planned in any way, not because it was on some curated list of improving literature, but because something in it caught them. Some small hook they couldn't quite name but absolutely felt.

That's where this whole thing started for me, honestly. Not with a grand plan or a publishing strategy, but with watching what my kids kept bringing back off the shelf.

Some of those books were unexpected. I Want My Hat Back by Jon Klassen is one I'd hand to any parent who's ever had a three-year-old in the room. It's incredible. It's deadpan, it's a bit absurd, and it has an ending that goes somewhere the grandparents in our house absolutely do not get. They were and are baffled by the whole thing. The kids thought it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen. That gap in reaction told me something important: children understand more than we give them credit for, and they respond to stories that treat them accordingly. (Find it here)

Then there are the classics. The ones you find yourself reading aloud and thinking, oh -- that's why this is still here. Goodnight Moon (link) has been sending children to sleep for.. well let’s just say a while, and it works because of its rhythm and its quiet and its complete lack of urgency. The Very Hungry Caterpillar (link) is counting, colour, and transformation all wrapped up in a shape that fits perfectly in small hands. And I Love You to the Moon and Back (link) has a nose-kissing moment that, in our house at least, became entirely non-negotiable as a bedtime ritual for about two solid years. My nose wore down a little.

What all of these have in common is that they each did something slightly differently. A subverted ending. A rhythm that becomes almost meditative. A declaration of love that a small child can physically act out. They didn't just tell a story, they gave the child something to do with it.

And that, in a roundabout way, is what started me thinking about the books I couldn't find. Because as wonderful as all the above are, I found some gaps. Big feelings that weren't being addressed. Moments in childhood (losing a grandparent, having friends from different backgrounds, or being far from where you were born) that needed more stories. Illustrated ones. Told honestly. Told well.

That's the gap I've been trying to fill. Trying, being the key word.

In the next post, I'll tell you about my first book, which began in a rather less poetic setting: the middle of toilet training. But that's a messy story for some other time.

In the meantime, I hope you have a great week.

Ross