(no subject)
Here’s a rambling little story.
Many moons ago, when I was a wee sprig of a girl in the 2nd grade, there was some kind of state-wide writing contest. I don’t remember what I wrote, but it won for my grade level. I got to go with the other winners to the state capitol for some kind of writer’s panel that was going on.
The only thing I cared about was that Maurice Sendak was there. He read one of his stories and talked during the panel. As a seven-year old, I didn’t care beans about the adults’ questions and all the debate with the other authors about writing things. I only cared about the story. So, while they all talked about the technical parts, I drew a picture of Mr. Sendak sitting there, holding the paper in front of him, with one of his own Wild Things creeping up behind him.
My teacher insisted I show it to him, and led bashful little me up to the table after the speakers were finished. I gave him the drawing and Mr. Sendak was very gracious. He drew a Wild Thing of my own for me and gave me a signed copy of Where the Wild Things Are. I was over the moon for the rest of the day and the only other thing I remember was that an older lady came up at a different panel and read a poem. All I remember from that was that I liked it, and the repeated line “I flapped and I flewed.”
Now, decades later, I have come across this. It’s a little different, but I think it must be the same poem. I don’t know if the improper grammar I remember is something I misheard, or just an affectation of the reader, but I think it’s the poem from all those years ago! I can't help but be ridiculously happy over that.
Many moons ago, when I was a wee sprig of a girl in the 2nd grade, there was some kind of state-wide writing contest. I don’t remember what I wrote, but it won for my grade level. I got to go with the other winners to the state capitol for some kind of writer’s panel that was going on.
The only thing I cared about was that Maurice Sendak was there. He read one of his stories and talked during the panel. As a seven-year old, I didn’t care beans about the adults’ questions and all the debate with the other authors about writing things. I only cared about the story. So, while they all talked about the technical parts, I drew a picture of Mr. Sendak sitting there, holding the paper in front of him, with one of his own Wild Things creeping up behind him.
My teacher insisted I show it to him, and led bashful little me up to the table after the speakers were finished. I gave him the drawing and Mr. Sendak was very gracious. He drew a Wild Thing of my own for me and gave me a signed copy of Where the Wild Things Are. I was over the moon for the rest of the day and the only other thing I remember was that an older lady came up at a different panel and read a poem. All I remember from that was that I liked it, and the repeated line “I flapped and I flewed.”
Now, decades later, I have come across this. It’s a little different, but I think it must be the same poem. I don’t know if the improper grammar I remember is something I misheard, or just an affectation of the reader, but I think it’s the poem from all those years ago! I can't help but be ridiculously happy over that.