On Ezra Jack Keats

A little sister is a major event, so there is a body of work specifically about "the big sibling acting out."

The big sibling can run away--as in "A Baby Sister for Frances." The big sibling can torment his sitter--as in Tomie dePaola's "The Baby Sister."

"Peter's Chair," a sequel to "The Snowy Day," has Peter in a rage, because his baby sister, Susie, is soaking up attention. Peter's high chair has been re-purposed; it's now pink. (The book comes from an earlier era, with some rigid ideas about gender. That's not to say that the ideas are now dead.)

Peter must shed his crib, his wall-paper; even a "toddler chair" seems to be on the verge of "going pink." Peter grabs it and throws a tantrum outside; it's only then that he discovers he no longer fits in the chair. Something seems to happen between the lines. Peter realizes he is a big boy; he can relinquish the chair. He can also play tricks; in a statement of independence, he stashes his shoes under a long curtain, then hides far away from the curtain, so his mother thinks she is dealing with the Invisible Man.

This book makes me believe that I'm reading about my own children; it's plausible, and it's not saccharine. It's just the truth. Also, it's a clear source of inspiration for Christian Robinson; both Keats and Robinson use collage, and they like to employ white newsprint (for carpets, or for snowflakes).

I wish Ezra Jack Keats were still around--but it's nice to think that his spirit lives on, in Robinson and in Kevin Henkes.

Comments

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

Search This Blog