The Giving Tree has always been one of my son’s favorite books. It’s a story about a boy and a great big tree who share a special bond. But as the boy grows older and wants different things out of life, he leaves the tree in search of happiness – only to return when he needs something. Finally, the tree has nothing left to give and the boy has become an old man who simply wants a place to rest his weary bones. He sits on the tree stump and they both die.
(Ok, fine. They don’t die but come on. There’s an incredibly old man dragging himself over to a tree stump and, as far as I can tell, he’s not wearing pants. It’s not looking good.)
Anyway, Grady loves this book. And it makes sense because he’s an emotional, sensitive, giving-tree sorta guy.
My daughter, on the other hand, is not having it.
Annie Bea took one look at the back cover and screamed, “No! Please not that book!”
Meet Shel Silverstein, the Kimbo Slice of children’s book authors.
Shel, baby, buddy, dollface. What were you thinking? You wrote an incredibly sweet story and slapped your giant, tough-guy mugshot on the back cover? Where was your editor? Who took this photo? Would it have hurt to smile? Wear a hat? Hold a kitten? Maybe relax your brow and unlock your jaw?
Well anyway, we put The Giving Tree back on the shelf and I read A Fairy Ballet for the zillionth time.
Way to go, Shel. You ruined everything.