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When Antwon’s kids get a little older, he plans to tell them what he’s been through. A 25-year-old father of three, he’s working hard to give them all a better life.

Today, he is employed as a plumber, studying to get his GED and has completed a leadership and empowerment program for young fathers… twice. But this is a life he never imagined.

Antwon grew up in the Woodland Terrace housing development in Washington, DC where many families live off an annual income of $7000 per year.

“My mother worked on and off. She was raising five kids. She was struggling.” When his siblings’ father, who his family relied on for financial support, passed away, “everything changed.” As the oldest child, Antwon felt a tremendous sense of responsibility.

“The only thing I cared about was taking care of my family, but my mind wasn’t thinking that I could get a job. I wasn’t old enough to get a job. I was 13 at the time, and I got into street life. I was selling drugs.”

Antwon faced time in prison. While he was incarcerated, his mother passed due to a stress induced seizure.

A few weeks before returning home, something hit Antwon. “I had children, and I couldn’t do nothing for them but stand on the block all day. I needed a job. I needed to stay off the streets.”

That’s when Antwon connected with Smart from the Start, a family support, community engagement and school readiness organization. As a First Book partner, the nonprofit helps parents and caretakers become their child’s first teacher by supplying them books to help break the cycle of chronic school underachievement.

“I read to them. They like the sticker books, but I read,” he shares with a smile. “My oldest son, he is in school now. He’s got good grades. I sneak up on him sometimes, but I never let him know I’m coming. I just peek in the classroom. He’s doing good.”

Antwon knows there is work ahead, but he’s incredibly motivated. He needs to earn his GED to get an apprenticeship. Eventually, he wants to become a firefighter. But above all else he wants his kids to have a better life than he had.

“I want to motivate them to do better than I have done – finish school, get a good jobs; if they have kids, take care of their kids, be responsible.”

“It’s crazy,” he tells us, “I’ve seen a lot of things, but now I don’t even look back… My whole life has just changed.”

The post This is a Life He Never Imagined appeared first on First Book Blog.

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Check out Josh Bledsoe’s Selfie with Hammer and Nails, the story of a little girl and her dad.

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My Dad is a Giraffe Dads are often described as bears and can be boorish but does yours remind you of a giraffe? If he’s tall and gentle, fast and spotty and good to climb up, chances are he is a giraffe. My Dad is a Giraffe is the latest technicoloured picture book by genius, […]

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We’ve seen some wildly adventurous and hilarious new release picture books available for Father’s Day, now it’s time to celebrate with some more tender, but just as lively, titles that will melt your heart with their precious innocence and charm.   Daddy, You’re Awesome, Laine Mitchell (author), Renée Treml (illus.), Scholastic Australia, 2015. It’s the […]

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I bet your dad is not like other dads. It might be nice to remember this on Father’s Day – yes it’s just around the corner, but with fab picture books like these celebrating the quirks and qualities of fatherhood available now, why wait. My Amazing Dad by the very amazing Ezekiel Kwaymullina and Tom […]

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  Looking for great  gifts to buy for your Dad? Books make fantastic gifts for Father‘s Day! And to make your job easier, we’ve released our 2015 Father‘s Day Catalogue. If you order from our Father‘s Day Catalogue before midnight on Sunday 31 August, you’ll get FREE shipping on your order when you use the promotional […]

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When Antwon’s kids get a little older, he plans to tell them what he’s been through. A 25-year-old father of three, he’s working hard to give them all a better life.

Today, he is employed as a plumber, studying to get his GED and has completed a leadership and empowerment program for young fathers… twice. But this is a life he never imagined.

Antwon grew up in the Woodland Terrace housing development in Washington, DC where many families live off an annual income of $7000 per year.

“My mother worked on and off. She was raising five kids. She was struggling.” When his siblings’ father, who his family relied on for financial support, passed away, “everything changed.” As the oldest child, Antwon felt a tremendous sense of responsibility.

“The only thing I cared about was taking care of my family, but my mind wasn’t thinking that I could get a job. I wasn’t old enough to get a job. I was 13 at the time, and I got into street life. I was selling drugs.”

Antwon faced time in prison. While he was incarcerated, his mother passed due to a stress induced seizure.

A few weeks before returning home, something hit Antwon. “I had children, and I couldn’t do nothing for them but stand on the block all day. I needed a job. I needed to stay off the streets.”

That’s when Antwon connected with Smart from the Start, a family support, community engagement and school readiness organization. As a First Book partner, the nonprofit helps parents and caretakers become their child’s first teacher by supplying them books to help break the cycle of chronic school underachievement.

“I read to them. They like the sticker books, but I read,” he shares with a smile. “My oldest son, he is in school now. He’s got good grades. I sneak up on him sometimes, but I never let him know I’m coming. I just peek in the classroom. He’s doing good.”

Antwon knows there is work ahead, but he’s incredibly motivated. He needs to earn his GED to get an apprenticeship. Eventually, he wants to become a firefighter. But above all else he wants his kids to have a better life than he had.

“I want to motivate them to do better than I have done – finish school, get a good jobs; if they have kids, take care of their kids, be responsible.”

“It’s crazy,” he tells us, “I’ve seen a lot of things, but now I don’t even look back… My whole life has just changed.”

The post This is a Life He Never Imagined appeared first on First Book Blog.

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Tad and Dad

Words and pictures by David Ezra Stein

 

Tadpoles grow into frogs and kids grow into bigger ones, in case it’s escaped your attention.

And just in case it has, David Ezra Stein, receiver of a Caldecott Honor for “Interrupting Chicken” and the Ezra Jack Keats New Writer Award for “Leaves” is here to gently remind you with an antic pair of father/son amphibians named Tad and Dad.

This duo are greatly and charmingly greenly joined at the hip for adventures. The small frog gazes adoringly and approvingly at each and every loud burp that “echoes across the pond.”

Tad’s dream is to swim as fast as Dad as they tuck in at night on the shared lily pad.

And suddenly…he can! He’s grown; legs that is, that hop and reach new heights every day.

Then the singing starts as Tad lung power rivals his Dad’s. Mr. Stein has a wonderful way of showing both fatherly frog pride in accomplishments and exasperation as growth spurts in his young one causes sleep deprivation.

Yet each step of Tad’s growth is punctuated with approval by his Dad, with phrases like “Great shot, son! ( bug tackling) and Great hopping, son!” (leaping lily pads).

That is till the wiggling, poking, kicking and croaking of young Tad keeps Dad up nights. Growing frogs need room!

And tad is quick to tell Dad he snores!

What’s a frog family to do? Separate?

Well, maybe for a bit. But guess what? Green blood is thicker than water. Seems neither can sleep without the other’s company, even if it involves kicking, croaking, snoring and what all!

Kids er frogs! Can’t live with’em; can’t live without’em! But ya gotta love’em! Ribbit!

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Granpa

By John Burningham

 

As Father’s Day approaches, there will be a ton of emphasis on fathers. But what about your father’s father? The one called grandpa or another affectionate term, is probably what he might be called, such as Gramps, Pop, Poppy, Pop Pop or any number of other endearments.

John Burningham, in a series of softly sketches moments of give and take dialogue between a young girl and her “Granpa”, will endear this duo in your heart for some time to come.

Their stream of consciousness back and forth is human, honest and humorous, all at once.

It’s the sharing and acceptance of who they both are on a very real level that gets to you. And I think it will resonate with the adult reader, maybe sometimes at odd moments, even more than the one they are reading to. And that’s great, too!

Here’s a sample of the gentle and, at times, unfiltered give and take between the generations. Not so nice is first.

 

Disembodied voice heardsaying:

 

“That was not a nice thing to say to Granpa.”

 

Picture: Both the older and younger generations in a back to each other stance.

Young girl: “When we get to the beach can we stay there for ever?”

 

Granpa: “Yes, but we must go back for our tea at four o’clock.”

 

 

Granpa: “When I was a boy we used to roll wooden hoops down the street.”

 

Young girl: “Were you once a baby as well, Grandpa?”

 

 

Granpa: “If I catch a fish we can cook it for supper.”

 

Young girl: “What if you catch whale, Granpa?”

 

 

Granpa: Harry, Florence and I used to come down that hill like little arrows. I remember one Christmas…

 

Young girl: “You nearly slipped then, Grandpa.”

 

 

And the cycle of life comes to each as the give and take fades and Grandpa is confined to his chair.

 

     “Granpa can’t come out to play today.”

 

 

And the final page is simple, sad, yet oddly undramatic nor morose in the least, as the young girl sits in her chair, thinking about Granpa’s empty one.

It is a real and true moment. For sharing life….and death is what the generations are bound to do with, and for, one another.

But it is everything that comes in-between those two events that John Burningham’s generations live to the full. And this simple, profound picture book reminds readers, in its way, to try and do the same.

For that is what truly matters; the moments in life shared with the ones you love; the young and the not so young.

 

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Perfect for Father’s Day read-alouds, these picture books show a variety of dads—from those on lily pads to those in eucalyptus forests, from fantasy kingdoms to suburban parks—raising, teaching, and loving their children.

In David Ezra Stein’s Tad and Dad, little frog Tad loves his father so much that he can hardly bear to be away from him, even at night. Kids will chuckle at Tad’s energetic bedtime antics; parents will laugh with grim identification when Tad starts to swim and grow but still crowds onto Dad’s lily pad to sleep. Stein uses color to great effect in this little book that is both a celebration of the father-child relationship and a good-night book that will hold up to repeat readings. (Penguin/Paulsen, 2–5 years)

In The Big Princess by Taro Miura (a companion to The Tiny King), a childless king finds a bug-size princess in the castle gardens. His and the queen’s love for her grows daily, but, worrisomely, so does the princess. How to stop her from physically outgrowing the castle (and hence the family)? Miura’s digital collages feature improbably harmonizing elements: brightly colored, blocky geometric shapes coexist with photography, while characters whose faces assume Hello Kitty–like blankness nevertheless live out emotional scenes. (Candlewick, 3–6 years)

Bernard Waber‘s Ask Me gives an idyllic view of an ambling, chatting father-and-daughter pair. But there’s more to their walk than meets the eye; the queries and responses they share capture the kind of give-and-take that gradually refines a small child’s language. “Ask me what I like.” “What do you like?”…”I like bugs.” “Insects?” “No, bugs.” With spare, informal colored-pencil lines; welcoming white space; and an eye for color, action, and witty detail, Suzy Lee depicts the two figures in a landscape littered with bright autumn leaves. This outing might inspire young listeners to form their own questions or can help tuck in a toddler with a sweet good night. (Houghton, 3–6 years)

Claire Saxby’s nonfiction picture book Emu relates the life cycle and habits of those birds through the story of a male emu who raises his young in an Australian eucalyptus forest (with this species, the female departs after egg-laying). Graham Byrne’s spiky digital illustrations perfectly display the emu’s hairlike feathering and their awkward-looking flightless movement. Each double-page spread includes the main narrative, in slightly larger type, along with additional statistics and facts about emus in a smaller, more casual font. (Candlewick, 5–8 years)

From the June 2015 issue of Notes from the Horn Book.

The post Hoppy for Poppy appeared first on The Horn Book.

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Enter to win a copy of Monster Day at Work, written and illustrated by Sarah Dyer. Giveaway begins April 25, 2015, at 12:01 A.M. PST and ends May 24, 2015, at 11:59 P.M. PST.

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A picture book may not be every dad’s ideal Fathers’ Day gift, especially if he is really counting on more socks and jocks. But think about it, what better vehicle than a picture book to share some real short but sweet moments of physical and emotional connection between a father and his offspring. Tossing a […]

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I thought I'd take the opportunity of Father's Day to show some of my dad's paintings.

I inherited it all from my father. Though I generally take after my mum, an imaginative and aspirational woman who had a great influence on my development, the nuts and bolts of drawing and painting is all from my dad.

Ken Shelley (after Charles Brooking)

Ken was born with a natural ability to paint, but had no opportunity to develop this in the post-war landscape of Birmingham, like many of his generation art school was out of the question, it was straight from school to National Service, then a succession of mechanical jobs in the metropolis. Ken worked tirelessly in often uncomfortable jobs to raise a family, and through that created the carefree space for me to explore my creativity. I was given the chance to pursue art in a way that was entirely denied his generation. I'm incredibly grateful to my parents for that.

Ken Shelley, (after Charles Brooking)

In the meantime Ken's own talent was completely suspended until he retired. Suddenly, with time to pursue art for the first time since he was at school, Ken picked up a paintbrush again and started produced a string of oil paintings, mostly focused on his love of the sea and the heritage of the English countryside.


Ken honed his technique producing copies of the great 18th century sea painters, which is a great way to learn. However he's also painted many of his own compositions, most of them covering the walls of his house, rarely seen by anyone. The next time I visit him I'll take some more photos and post some more.


Please do comment with feedback. Ken rarely paints now, few people ever see his work so he needs some encouragement, I'd love to see him pick up a paint brush again.

I own everything to my parents, however where my dad gets his painting abilities from though is much more of a mystery.

Happy Father's Day dad!
 

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Ramos, as if he knew he'd win

Tim Z. Hernandez

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How to Cheer Up Dad

By Fred Koehler

 

June is the month for Dads, grads and brides to be front and center. For all those dads out there who point out the overkill for Mother’s Day, lament their own second-class status and lack of attention on Father’s Day, here is one picture book that tries to set it all right!

Little Jumbo, a small pachyderm, notices his dad is having an off day. But isn’t it odd that right from the start, dad starts off with HIS BAD day as Little Jumbo’s is just humming along. Hmm. Cheer up dad; it’s one on one time with your son! And as Little Jumbo starts his observations of dad by taking his emotional temperature, he fails to notice that the downturn in the “glad factor” in dad’s humor lessens by half immediately after breakfast. Might the downturn have something to do with the cutie Little Jumbo shooting the raisins his dad has lovingly provided on Jumbo’s cereal and aiming them in a fully loaded trunk, onto the CEILING?

Bath time for Little Jumbo results in a parade of raisins trailing through tousled towels on the floor. And guess what? This small pachyderm hates overalls post bath, so he turns into a little neighborhood “streaker” with his dad in full pursuit. Ah, the appearance of the unexpected in one’s progeny takes parental pachyderm patience to new levels here.

Things mood-wise are reaching critical mass as Little Jumbo suggests DAD needs a time out, perhaps? Wrong tack, small elephant child, as any small reader could advise that YOU will be the one with the time out!  

What to do? How can one small elephant cheer up his dad? Why naturally enough, start with the simple things; they usually work best! And a hug starts things off on the RIGHT foot, followed closely by a catch with dad. Things ARE improving! Ice cream cones followed up with fishing is a great way to make dad feel needed –and JUST MIGHT make Little Jumbo a tad happier too! And what better way to bring the energy level down after a tough day than a snuggle and a book, followed by the role reversal of Little Jumbo tucking a tuckered out dad into bed.

Hey, Little Jumbo has this cheering up dad thing down cold. That is until the new day dawns with a whole new set of ways to relax dad needing to be devised by Little Jumbo, who is at it again with ways to unrelax him. Twas ever thus!

Fred Koehler’s debut book is just in time for Father’s Day. And every dad can surely identify with young ones who are eager to help you “ree-lax”, but are oblivious to the reasons why you need to. Kids and pachyderms – Ya gotta love’em!

 

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Happy Father’s Day! As summer rolls around, it is time to celebrate the special men in your life!!   Father’s Day is the perfect time to add a few books to programming about the unique gifts and joy that comes from spending time with an uncle, father, or grandfather. It is also a time to salute your heritage by starting a family tree or making a photo album to honor all those special people in your life. Here are some books that may get your creative juices flowing.

Papa and Me by Arthur Dorros (HarperCollins, 2008) is the perfect way to start Father’s Day! This stunning book, winner of a Pura Belpre Honor Illustrator award, has very brief text and works well read aloud. A young boy wakes his father and begins a day of rituals together as they cook breakfast, then prepare for an adventure in the park and a family party. While the father only speaks Spanish, the boy is bilingual and often answers in English. The vibrant, colorful artwork by Rudy Guttierez, playfully underlines the love between the father and son.

A Beach Tail by Karen Lynn Williams (Boyds Mills Press, 2010) portrays a simple day at the beach with Greg and his father. The adventurous little boy cannot sit still and enjoys exploring and building in the sand, especially because he knows his dad is there to protect him. Lovely, oversized pastel illustrations by talented Floyd Cooper will make this title very enjoyable for young children.

What is it like to work at running and owning a Chinese restaurant? A young boy takes the reader behind the scenes at Big Jimmy’s Kum Kau Chinese Take Out by Ted Lewin (HarperCollins, 2001) as he helps his dad, uncles, and other family members scramble from morning to night to prepare the delicacies that make this place a popular neighborhood destination. Arresting watercolor paintings capture the energy of the hustle and bustle as the restaurant opens for business.

Imagine what it would be like if your grandfather was the town bee expert! The Beeman by Laurie Krebs (Barefeet Books, 2008) is a charming and whimsical look at the many tasks a grandfather performs in his job as a beekeeper and how proud that makes his grandson.   Bright acrylic illustrations and simple rhyming text make this a great book for sharing.

What are some of your favorite titles to share on Father’s Day?

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Debby Gold is a Children’s Librarian at the Cuyahoga County Public Library for over 30 years and is writing this post for the Public Awareness Committee.

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Following Papa’s Song

By Gianna Marino

 

Recently, we observed “Take a Child to Work Day” and I’m sure loads of moms and dads took their young readers to see what they “do” all day. Young children have images in their minds, I’m sure, of where their parents are while they are at home, school or daycare. So, it’s a treat for kids to tag along and actually see where you are when you’re not with them, and what activities occupy you!

Gianna Marino, author of Too Tall Houses and Meet Me at the Moon has used animals in her picture books to great advantage in telling stories with deeper themes of friendship, togetherness and the parent/child bond.

In Following Papa’s Song, it’s not exactly following the Papa Whale to work, but then again maybe it is. It’s certainly reproducing those great Q and A’s reminiscent of many asked by the very young. And they are: “Are we going very FAR?”, asks Little Blue of his dad.

Papa Whale informs Little Whale they are going to greater depths than they ever have before in the briny deep. It’s a sort of metaphor for the untried and new experiences in a child’s life. I like that. New experiences are exciting for a child and, at the same time may be a bit frightening in that they are a subliminal prelude to the question all children secretly feel, “Will you always be there for me?” Little Blue’s persistent questions are those of every child – “How will we know which way to go?” and as Papa relates the age old call of the whales’ song, Little Blue queries, “When I am big, Papa, will I still hear your song?”

Ms. Marino’s Little Blue keeps Papa in sight as they plumb these new and greater depths of the ocean of life where it is VERY QUIET and sound is harder to decipher – sounds like the cry of Little Blue calling for Papa!!

Can Papa hear the call of his young one? Will Little Blue gain the confidence needed for a lifetime of greater depths of new experiences? The answer is an emphatic YES to both. Ms. Marino has managed to perfectly capture the essence of the parent/child relationship and the great paradox at the heart of that relationship. And that is, in order to be a really effective parent, the job is to prepare the young one for a day when you are superfluous. Little Blue will always need Papa Whale’s love and guidance, but at a young age, the small mammal is slowly being given the tools needed to navigate LIFE in the deep on his own! She has a beautiful reassuring message for both parent and child as they navigate life together, “If you listen closely, you will always hear my song.”

Ms. Marino’s use of color is magic. Her greens mimic the clarity of life in the upper reaches of the ocean and as the depth increases for Little Blue and Papa, the blue green morphs to an inky blue that is barely transparent – except for SOUND! And her picture of the whales’ rise to the surface and “sounding” into a pinkish yellow light is beautifully done. It is a great match of art and narrative!

Ah, life lessons! Ms. Marino has written a book with a beautiful message for man AND mammal! Take the plunge and dive in with your young reader along with Papa Whale and Little Blue. It’s a great ride that this picture book starts, and you will continue with your child for a lifetime of deep depth diving – together! And Mom, I still can hear your song!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Nelly Gnu and Daddy Too

By Anna Dewdney

 

Father’s Day isn’t until June 15^th of this year, but Anna Dewdney has come up with a dandy picture book for the father/daughter bonding moments that become ever more special and anticipated, in today’s “hurry up” world. The picture book read aloud opportunity here is a moment waiting to happen for daughter and dad. Ms. Dewdney, author of the celebrated “Llama Llama” series is very perceptive in recognizing that relationships in a family usually come from shared time and activities. And over time, it is these shared experiences that form bonds and memories that, at the time, a parent may not even realize they are creating with their child for a lifetime. Childhood today is a faster closing window of opportunity to share, teach, model and love those children that even as we see them toddling along are growing up and away. What to do?

Consult Mr. Gnu. He and his daughter, Nelly best friend of Llama Llama, enjoy a day that unfolds FULL of shared activities such as drawing, reading, painting and building. Courtesy of a huge cardboard box, Nelly and her Daddy Gnu and your young reader can read and rhyme your way along with the Gnu twosome as they fashion a homemade playhouse. A trip to the store provides the needed paints (Nelly chooses a gnu BLUE of course), and other materials for decorating the cozy bungalow for gnus.

What’s this? Will a small crisis ensue when a gnu named Nelly loses sight of Papa Gnu mid shopping? A dizzying display of shoppers with carts camouflage Daddy Gnu for scant seconds, but never fear, Nelly. Ms. Dewdney paints the perfect picture in pastels (from a child’s viewpoint), of being found and lifted confidently into waiting arms that resolves a scary episode that most parents can relate to of losing young ones in a store.

Indulge me for a moment while I relate my own. Small daughter and mom go clothes shopping in a local shop. Mom turns her head for a moment. Daughter is not there when her head swivels back. Panic ensues. Sales staff closes off entries to the two-floored store. Scores of people call child’s name. Night is closing in. Heart is in throat time. Where can she be? Sales woman peers into revolving clothes rack. Small daughter is sitting quietly there. “Are you Jessica?” says the salesperson. Nod of head from the child. Simultaneously laughing and weeping mom presses daughter to her and asks, “WHY didn’t you answer when we were calling YOU?” Reply: “I didn’t want to try on clothes anymore.” I rest my head and case, folks.

And now back to the two Gnus. Anna Dewdney has written a gnu-filled picture book that has an underlying message that is simple and VERY important for families today. It doesn’t much matter WHAT activities a day presents. If it involves planning, sharing and doing, plus child hands on participation, then it will most probably be a hit – for both of you. And if it includes a trip to the store for “stuff” to make, create and decorate, then that is all to the good.

Whether it’s a cardboard box playhouse adorned with painted climbing vines and flowers like Nelly and her Daddy Gnu do or a bunch of chairs put together with blankets over the top for a fort, the end result is the same. Who “Gnu” making a playhouse with Daddy could be so much fun? Anna Dewdney Gnu er knew!

 

 

 

 

 

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Enter to win an autographed copy of Mighty Dads, story by award-winning author Joan Holub and illustrations by James Dean, creator of the bestselling "Pete the Cat" books. Giveaway begins April 15, 2014, at 12:01 A.M. PST and ends May 14, 2014, at 11:59 P.M. PST.

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I decided to repost this from two years ago because it involves the love of a father for a son. This experience from the toy store reminds me that gifts do not always come wrapped in pretty paper with spiral ribbon. They sometimes come in the shape of stories. This story was a gift I received, and one I will treasure as long as I live. Happy Father’s Day!

A WHALE FOR STEVEN

                                                    by Betsy Devany

 Closing time has come and gone at Olde Mistick Village, the sidewalks are filled with more ducks than people shopping. The neighboring stores are dark, their doors locked, and their employees on their way home. It is time for me to call it a night.

       The marionettes swing in the breeze; the pink flamingo seems to wink at me. I gather the puppets outside to carry them into the store. Behind me there is quacking. The three ducks who rule our front yard are on alert. The white leader honks at a lone male that slipped under the fence and entered their territory. The leader’s two sidekicks join in the chase, nipping at the uninvited younger mallard. The white duck pecks at the intruder’s neck; his wings flap with agitation.  I move towards the gang of birds, clapping my hands until they separate.

       “Do you break up fights every day?”An older man walks in my direction, followed by a younger man. With the same chiseled chins, the two are clearly father and son.

       “This is the first fight I’ve seen today.”

       “You still open? We won’t be long, I promise.”

       “Uh . . . sure, yes, come on in.” I smile.

       “We need to hurry, Steven. This woman wants to close.”

       Steven, who looks to be in his late thirties, dashes into the store. “Whales, where are your whales?” His attention shifts rapidly from shelf to shelf. “I need a whale.” He looks up. He looks down. Lions are pulled from their shelves. Tigers. Bears. Cats. Dogs. None of the stuffed animals are right. Hoping to locate the whale he remembered having as a child, Steven continues to push toys aside. He mutters, “Big. Brown. Brown with beans . . . Big. Brown. Brown with beans . . .”

       “He’ll never find it, not the way his was, with the fabric worn around the tips of the eyes and the end of the tail from his constantly caressing it.” His father adds. “And the head was flat from Steven leaning into it, night after night, when he was a child.”

       Steven, who has traveled over an hour to get here, is missing more than just a stuffed whale from his childhood.

       We do not sell brown whales in the toy store, nor do we sell giant whales. The largest we have is a 24-inch white beluga whale. I hand Steven the beluga.  He brings it close to his nose, leans his cheek against it, and slides his face back and forth brushing the fabric. “Do you have a bigger whale . . . brown whale . . . filled with beans?”

       “No, we don’t, I’m sorry.” While I search for anything close to what he describes, Steven paces . . . and paces . . . and then he notices the three-foot lobster displayed on a high shelf above his head. He stands on his tiptoes and reaches for the stuffed sea creature. “This will do,” he says.

       “No, Steven, we’ve done this before.  You’re not thinking clearly.” The father takes the lobster away and leaves the beluga whale in his son’s arms. He sighs—a long sigh. His hair is grey and thin. He removes his glasses and wipes them clean. He sighs again, and then says to his son, “We’ve made these trips over and over again, from New York to Massachusetts, and to anywhere else that might hold the promise of a brown whale. Steven . . .  Steven, look at me, son.”

       Steven’s hold on the beluga whale loosens. I catch it before it hits the ground. “We have catalogs. Perhaps I can find a large enough whale for you,” I say and hand him back the beluga.

       The ends of the father’s mouth turn up, forced out of kind appreciation.  “That’s nice of you, but we’ve been looking for a very long time. I never know what he wants.”

       I head to the back stock room, grab six catalogs, and carry them to the front desk. Steven follows me, his arms clutching the beluga.

       “How big of a whale do you want?”  I ask.

       “Very big.” Steven focuses on his shoes while clinging to the toy. We go back and forth.  I flip through pages. He peers at pictures. “No, not right,” he tells me over, and over, and over again.

       His father stands next to him. “Steven, look at me.  Look at me, please.”  Finally, Steven lifts his eyes. “We aren’t going to find a whale. Not like your whale.”

       “I want a whale,” says Steven. “I want a big, brown whale with beans.”

       “Steven, we need to leave. This kind lady wants to go home.”

       “My whale, we came to get my whale,” Steven reminds his father.

       The father turns away from the counter and gently tugs at his son’s arm. Steven digs his heels in. Thirty minutes have passed since they first walked into the store.

       “Tell me about your whale,” I say.

       “He doesn’t know what he wants. I’ve been looking and looking—they just don’t make toys like they used to.” His father tugs again.

       “Steven, what did you love most about your whale?”

       Steven turns, looks at me, and walks back to the oak counter. He runs his hands along the wood.  “I liked the way the beans inside felt.”

       “They don’t make animals with those beans anymore. Too many safety concerns,” I say.

       Steven swirls his fingers around the shape of a large knot in the oak.

       His father sighs. “Thank you for trying, but he’ll never understand.”

       I arrange the pens next to the register; straighten the shopping bags. I glance in Steven’s direction. “Besides the beans, what else did you love about your whale?”

       “Soft, it was soft . . . I could sleep on it.”

       We have a two-foot penguin, but it is not soft.  We have large stuffed dogs, but they are not whales. We have a three-foot lion, but the color is tan, like a pale honey.

      Then I remember Gus. “I have a bear, a large bear,” I tell him. “And it’s brown.”

       Steven studies the floor. “I want a whale. I need to bring a whale home tonight.”

       The three of us stand in silence. I check the time. The owners must be wondering why I haven’t called with the day’s sales.

       “Let me show you the bear,” I say.

       “It’s hopeless. We’ve kept you long enough,” the father says.

       “I’ll be right back.” From the stuffed animal room, I carry the three-foot floppy bear to the front desk. Gus has lived in the store for quite some time now. Before I close up at night, he gets an extra pat.

       “He’s very soft,” I tell Steven. 

       “It’s not a whale.”

       Now, I am the one studying my shoes. “I won’t be able to find you a large whale tonight.  Just hold the bear, see what you think.  He’s brown and soft. You can lean into him.”  I hand Steven the bear.  

       He pushes his nose against Gus.  He plops Gus against the counter and leans into him. “He is soft. I like him.”

       “Yes, I like this bear myself—very much.”

       The father pulls at the price tag. “The bear is $130. You didn’t bring enough money.”

       Silence returns.  I shift the catalogs together and form a single stack, place them on the floor.

       The father stares at the door.  Steven’s face is buried into Gus’s fur. 

       I want to buy him the bear, show him he can love Gus as much as the whale.  I want to watch him walk down the sidewalk with the bear in his arms, even though it’s always hard when I let go of a stuffed animal I’ve grown attached to, but Steven did not bring enough money.

      Then, holding the bear tightly in one arm, Steven reaches into his pants pocket.  He removes a black leather wallet, worn with holes visible at every corner. It is a wonder the wallet doesn’t explode all over our wooden floor. A penny pokes through one end, but does not fall out. His wallet is thick with papers, some yellowed, some coated in a worn plastic. There is almost five inches thick of paper memories.

       His father settles into a stance; feet spread apart, firmly planted on the wooden floor—a familiar routine, I imagine. His hands out of his pockets, he turns his palms upward, as if waiting at a communion rail.

       Steven pops the wallet open and forms the shape into what appears to be a triangular leather cup. “I want the bear,” he says. 

       “Let’s count,” says his father.

       Steven places two twenties on our wooden counter, then another crumpled twenty.

       “How much is that,” asks his father.

       “Sixty,” says Steven with confidence.

       I separate the bills. “Eighty, you have eighty dollars here.”

       Steven pulls out a five and a ten—ninety-five. When he stretches the leather further, the penny falls to the floor, where it remains. Next, come the one-dollar bills, all carefully folded into triangles, the points as worn as the wallet.

       “One. Two.  Three,” he counts.

       There is something magical about the wallet, which is not diminishing in size.  Instead of pulling rabbits from a magician’s hat, he conjures up one-dollar bills out of faded leather. How does the wallet hold all of the tightly folded shapes?  I expect him to run out of money, yet Steven continues to hand another and another dollar bill to his father, never looking up or breaking his rhythm. Not once.

       His father unfolds and flattens each bill, using a quarter to work out the creases.

       The stack of money on the counter grows higher.

       I wait and watch.  “Why do you fold the dollar bills into triangles?” 

       Holding one bill in his hand, Steven lifts it to the corner of his right eye. “When I’m sad . . . this makes me feel better.”  He taps the edge of the triangular shape against his skin. Three times. He passes the bill to his father.

       “May I ask what Steven has?”

       The father talks and talks and talks, like a dam overflowing. Like a man who hasn’t been noticed in years.

       I cannot tell you what the father was wearing that day, but I can tell you his words—his story. I can describe the medicine bottle he has carried in his pocket from the seventies, day after day, year after year. The label so worn that it barely reveals the name of the pharmacy. Except for the lingering chalky stink of medicine, the bottle remains empty. The father rolls the medicine bottle between his palms as he tells me that the colored dye in the medicine, administered when Steven was a baby, caused a cerebral allergic reaction. Steven has two markers of autism, and some mental retardation. Years later, they learned that the damage was irreparable—long after Steven’s mother left, taking his brother and sister with him. Steven was six years old at the time. The mother changed her last name, never contacting Steven and his father.

       The father talks and talks while Steven continues to pull one-dollar bills from his wallet. He earns $100 per month, emptying trash containers at a pharmaceutical company.

       “You really love that wallet,” I say.

       Steven nods, eyes still downcast, his larger lip protruding over his top lip—almost swollen looking.

       “When did Steven lose his whale?  Do you have a picture?”  I ask the two men, one talking and talking, the other pulling triangles of money from a worn leather wallet.

       His father quickly shakes his head.  “No, not with us; it upsets him.”

       “It makes me sad,” adds Steven.  He taps the corner of his right eye with another folded dollar bill.

       “How long ago did he lose this whale,” I ask.

       “Six, he was six years old,” his father says.

       I lose count of the money on the counter; imagine Steven as a six-year-old boy snuggled against his mother, the whale by his side until the two of them banished at the same time. Is his search for a whale or a mother who abandoned him?

       “You only have $128. Are you sure this is what you want?” the father asks.

       Steven hugs the bear to his chest. Gus’s feet dangle at his knees. “I want the bear. It’s a soft bear.”

       “You don’t have enough money,” his father tells him.

       Steven opens his wallet. He peers into it, pulls out the yellowed papers. 

       The magic is gone.

       “I . . . I can—give you 10% off.”

       “You don’t have to do that,” the father says.

       “Yes, I do.” I smile and ring up the sale, recount the money and hand him $4 change. I make a mental note to pay the difference after they leave. Steven immediately folds the dollar bills into triangles before tucking them into his wallet.

       “I hope the bear makes him happy.” The father strokes Gus’s arms. “I never see any emotion from him anymore, he’s on so much medicine; it numbs his emotions, his personality. At least he doesn’t scream and cry like he used to. But he never laughs or smiles, either.”

       “I’m hungry,” Steven says.

       “What do you feel like eating?” I ask.

       “Steak!” 

       I give the father directions to a nearby restaurant and recommend they walk through the village so they can stop at the pond to admire the newly hatched baby ducks. 

       “I have to put my bear in the car first, so he’s safe,” says Steven. 

       The two men step outside the store. I bend over to unlatch the door in preparation for closing, and as I do, Steven turns to me and smiles, revealing slightly yellowed teeth.

       “You have a beautiful smile,” I say.

       The ends of Steven’s mouth turn up even more. Now his father grins. “I haven’t seen him smile is such a long time. It is worth more than the cost of the bear, more than the time in the car and the price of gas.”

       “I hope your search is over. How long has he been hunting for the whale?” I ask.

       “Thirty years, just Steven and me, we’ve been looking for thirty years.”

       Steven’s smile is broad. He is thirty-six years old and no longer fixated on his shoes.

       “Thank you for listening,” the father says. “Thank you for allowing me to go on and on.”

       “That’s what I am here for. Have a nice night.”

       If  I could, I would have found them a large brown whale filled with beans. But all I found was a bear named Gus, and for once, it seemed to be enough.

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In a very round about way, I discovered the Flickr pages of a man who draws on his children's lunch sandwich bags and has done so since 2008.   His name is David LaFerriere.  His drawings are all whimsical and super creative.  Wish I thought of that.

Here's a video of his explanation for what he does.

Thanks to Betsy at Fuse#8 and Crooked House for sharing this.

Happy Dad's Day to all the Dads out there.  You don't need to do artwork on your kids' food to be a super Dad.

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