The Runaway Bunny

Like most other kids, I grew up with my parents reading to me (I guess that's the way it should have been, if I'm the one who wants to be an author NOW).

Of course, we had Margaret Wise Brown's "Good Night, Moon," or Dr. Seuss's "The Cat in the Hat," or "The Berenstein Bears." (I was always partial to Mercer Mayer's "Little Critter" myself; to the point where, eventually, I knew how to read too [okay, my grasp of the written word was enough to read, for instance, the aforementioned "Little Critter"] and would read to my little sister).

But, by far, my favorite memories were of my mother reading from "The Runaway Bunny" by the aforementioned Margaret Wise Brown. Most of the memories of my mother from my youth involved me being in trouble for something or, otherwise, being treated like a pain in the neck. The BEST memories were the two of us curling up on the couch to watch "He-Man" during the day; or, you guessed it, in the evening when I would be presented with the night's recital of "The Runaway Bunny."

Like most childrens' books, "The Runaway Bunny" happened to be a picture book. MY copy of it was in Black and White. Pictures without colors in them were just ALIEN to me! (Remember, I was the tyke being raised on He-Man, She-Ra, G.I. Joe, Silverhawks, Galtar, Bravestarr, and the like. PICTURES were MEANT TO BE IN COLOR!)

(Due credit intended to Marvel and ABC; plus, I'm making a point as to what my brain WOULD HAVE BEEN saying, complete with sound effects, at the time if I were familiar with "Spider-Man '67." No infringement intended).

Anyway, I found where the book was and I was a toddler on a mission. My tools were crayons and my absolute favorite childhood book; my mission (choosing to accept it was no longer a question): "The book HAD very nice, intricate illustrations. The illustrator had simply forgotten to COLOR them! I owned coloring books; this part was MY job..."

...Remember when I said earlier that my mom's patience with me could be pretty thin for a mother and a young child? Wellll...she let me know in no uncertain terms that I had done wrong. (Thankfully, I learned this lesson before grandma introduced me to "Mr. Ed" on Nick-at-Nite. It would have been an awkward lesson to teach that "good little boys don't CHARGE AT the nice T.V. set with CRAYONS in their hands;" oh, and being grandma, she may or may not have TAUGHT me that lesson. My mother had spared her that one).

My copy of "The Runaway Bunny" was, henceforth, defaced; and my nightly reader made sure that I felt as bad as possible for the infraction (to this day, it doesn't take long for me to feel overly guilty for the minor infractions). It was to the point where we should apologize to one another for each of our offenses and I had my book-reading-companion back.

I knew the distinct difference between my mother being (frustrated/angry/sad/mad); and my mother reciting "Here, have a carrot..." to let me know that the mother bunny had found her little runaway, the two were reunited, the mother was simply glad to see him back, and that our tale for the evening had reached its end...

(Yes, before you ask, I already checked the Ipad for a digital copy of that book, only to find that A] "It IS popular enough to exist in digital!" and B]. "Apple wants...well...a lot of money for it; and it's not like I have a young family of my own to read it too. It's at times like these that I wish that my mother KNEW where my old [albeit newly colored] copy was).