The best birthday gift I've ever received is one I never wanted.
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The best birthday gift I've ever received is one I never wanted.
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The best birthday gift I've ever received is one I never wanted.
When I was five or six, I told my best friend I wanted a Nintendo game for my birthday. "No problem," he said. Then the day came. I tore into his present and found -- a book.
I glared at my former best friend. He stared at the floor. His parents thought another video game would poison our brains. The book was the antidote.
Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves. Jack and the Beanstalk. Hansel and Gretel. One story for every day of the year. I tossed it onto the wrapping paper and ran off to play video games.
Then one night, bath done, teeth brushed, jammies on, I lay awake in bed. Mom suggested Dad read to me. I didn't want to hear that stupid book. But I relented.
Dad sat beside my bed and opened to Ali Baba. He started reading, and the bedroom disappeared. I was knee-deep in the Cave of Treasures. Gold coins slid off the piles like sand. Then 40 torches appeared in the tunnel, bobbing closer. Dad stopped reading.
"What do you do?" he asked.
"I pretend to be asleep," I said.
"Why?"
"Thieves never wake up a kid. Everybody knows that."
"Okay," he said. I think he almost laughed. He turned the page.
After that, every night, Dad opened the book, found the day's story and started reading. One night, I was Jack at the top of the beanstalk. The giant's footsteps shook my bed. Dad stopped reading.
"What do you do?" he asked.
"I say sorry about the hen," I said.
"He's the size of a house."
"That's why I say it loud."
"Okay." He turned the page.
Another night, I was Hansel, lost in the woods. The birds had eaten every crumb. Dad stopped reading.
"What do you do?" he asked.
I had no answer. I said nothing.
"Okay," he said, softer. "Think about it."
The next night, before he opened the book, I said, "I follow the birds."
"Why?"
"Birds know the way home. Everybody knows that."
"Okay." He found the day's story and started reading.
Soon, I answered before he finished the question. Then the book would close. Dad would turn off the light.
A year later, the thieves returned. That night, I really did fall asleep. Before he could ask. I woke to the hallway light and his voice, low, finishing the story to nobody.
"And they walk right past him. Because thieves never wake up a sleeping kid."
When I was five or six, I told my best friend I wanted a Nintendo game for my birthday. "No problem," he said. Then the day came. I tore into his present and found -- a book.
I glared at my former best friend. He stared at the floor. His parents thought another video game would poison our brains. The book was the antidote.
Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves. Jack and the Beanstalk. Hansel and Gretel. One story for every day of the year. I tossed it onto the wrapping paper and ran off to play video games.
Then one night, bath done, teeth brushed, jammies on, I lay awake in bed. Mom suggested Dad read to me. I didn't want to hear that stupid book. But I relented.
Dad sat beside my bed and opened to Ali Baba. He started reading, and the bedroom disappeared. I was knee-deep in the Cave of Treasures. Gold coins slid off the piles like sand. Then 40 torches appeared in the tunnel, bobbing closer. Dad stopped reading.
"What do you do?" he asked.
"I pretend to be asleep," I said.
"Why?"
"Thieves never wake up a kid. Everybody knows that."
"Okay," he said. I think he almost laughed. He turned the page.
After that, every night, Dad opened the book, found the day's story and started reading. One night, I was Jack at the top of the beanstalk. The giant's footsteps shook my bed. Dad stopped reading.
"What do you do?" he asked.
"I say sorry about the hen," I said.
"He's the size of a house."
"That's why I say it loud."
"Okay." He turned the page.
Another night, I was Hansel, lost in the woods. The birds had eaten every crumb. Dad stopped reading.
"What do you do?" he asked.
I had no answer. I said nothing.
"Okay," he said, softer. "Think about it."
The next night, before he opened the book, I said, "I follow the birds."
"Why?"
"Birds know the way home. Everybody knows that."
"Okay." He found the day's story and started reading.
Soon, I answered before he finished the question. Then the book would close. Dad would turn off the light.
A year later, the thieves returned. That night, I really did fall asleep. Before he could ask. I woke to the hallway light and his voice, low, finishing the story to nobody.
"And they walk right past him. Because thieves never wake up a sleeping kid."
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