My second children’s book reading—honestly, not as scary!

I’ve realized I have a new motivation in life, one that I’m certain will continue to trump all others—if our son needs something, I will commit to doing it, no matter the cost or effort involved. Naturally when he asked me to come to his class at his new elementary school to be a Mystery Reader this year, I couldn’t refuse. Despite still not quite being over the nerves from visiting his preschool the year before, I told him sure, I would do it.

“Can you read a dada book?”

(He meant a story I’d written.)

“Well, buddy I’m not sure. Books take a long time to write. Maybe by the end of the year…”

“Great. So next week?”

I grimaced. It was now in his head that dada was coming to his class in a week to read a new story I’d written. The problem was, I hadn’t actually written a new story.

“Sure,” I smiled. “We can try.”

I went to bed, wondering how on earth I was going to come up with an excuse to skip the reading, without disappointing my son. Turned out, I didn’t have to disappoint him.

That night I woke up at three in the morning with a plot line for a holiday story we’d been talking about writing for a year, but hadn’t been able to complete it. The following morning (a bit groggy), we hashed out the details on the car ride to school. By the time I dropped him off he was satisfied enough with the story that he planned to tell all his friends about it. That afternoon we created the book and he colored in the sketches.

“I’m still not sure if this will be printed in time to read it to your class, it could take a few weeks.”

He gave me a look that said don’t be a fool, dada.

The book arrived on our doorstep the following Thursday. With only one day left in the school year, I emailed his teacher and asked if she might have an opening for a Mystery Reader tomorrow.

She was delighted.

Less than a week after creating our story out of thin air, I was heading to school with our finished book in hand. Once again the thought of facing a class full of little faces staring up at me made for a nervous night’s sleep. But this time, the children were slightly older, and their focus was longer. They didn’t fidget, or pick their noses, or stare at the wall. They followed the story as I flipped the pages, and I was impressed at how our plot was holding up. The nerves slowly dissipated. After we were done, I was awarded with lots of clapping and the smiles of seventeen children, along with the one beaming smile from my son as he sat proudly next to me showing off the book we’d written together—the best Christmas present I could’ve asked for.

I can’t say all my writing projects can be completed as rapidly as my son’s demanding timeline to write, illustrate, and publish a book in a week, but there is something to be learned from adopting a five-year-old view of the world.

It’s all relevant, I suppose.

Kids are still scary, but they are amazing… especially ours.