My parents might need to be brought up on child-neglect charges: I had not heard of Leo Lionni until my son insisted we buy some of his books. Laughably, I assumed that Leo Lionni was a character, much like Junie B. Jones (consider the alliterative). I’ve learned otherwise. The recent purchase, “Alexander and the Wind-Up Mouse” has been a delight to read. Exploring the art, I expect Eric Carle’s art was inspired by Lionni’s. As I delight in literature, I wonder why I’ve never encountered his name. Then I wonder if I haven’t. My journey as a father is laden with discovery. Discovering so much that I would expect to have known.
Perhaps my mother read to me from Lionni and Carle every night. I do not remember. I do remember such seminal works as “Harry: The Dirty Dog”, though. Strange thing, memory. I delighted in Dr. Suess, too. I wonder, at times, whether too much has been lost from my childhood memory. The loss of my mother took with it so much memory. Those moments that wouldn’t be possible for a young child to remember, no one else does, either. My father was off serving in the Navy; other relatives thousands of miles absent. So much of my sister and my early childhood had only one witness, who is silent. I’m left rattling cerebral cobwebs, and creating new memories with my son.
Random side note: I came across this video of Harry The Dirty Dog and just had to share. It’s only a trailer, but still