Page 5 of Pete and His Precious

“Good morning children,” I say, in my sweetest voice. Usually I don’t have too much trouble charming children. By the time boys get into fifth or sixth grade though, I’m ready to kick them into the world of adulthood, because they stop acting sweet and cute and start acting like men. Just smaller versions of them.

Yeah. I might be a little bit bitter. I’m on okay terms with both of my parents, but they don’t live together. They haven’t been together since I was maybe four, or something like that. Those years were so tumultuous, that they’re are a little blurry. Both of them have had revolving doors of people coming in and out of their lives, even though both of them are professionals, and should know better.

To save my life was unstable is a major understatement. But, it was the men that my mom had that really turns me against adults, in general, and men in particular. Enough said.

Dad is in now married to a woman who sometimes actually feels like a mother, although she loves my older sister more than me.

“Good morning, Miss Zoe,”

I greet them, and say, “I have the best book for you guys today. You are going to love it. Who here likes cows?” Hands shoot up all over the place, as I knew they would.

We’re going on a farm tour next week instead of story hour, all the library programs that morning are canceled, and the kids are going to get to meet cows and horses and donkeys and chickens and ducks and geese and all kinds of farm animals. I think I’m more excited than the kids are to go on this field trip.

I pick up my book, and I do my normal introduction, read the title, state the author, point out the pictures on the front that are relative to the story, and then, I do the thing that I’m really good at, which is reading upside down.

I know classroom teachers all over the world have this down to a science, but considering the fact that I’ve never set foot in a classroom, other than to entertain for hour or so, I feel like it’s a pretty impressive skill.

The kids are not overly impressed with that, but they love my voices. I’ve always had voices, and I choose appropriate voices for each character, never forgetting the voice I’ve chosen, and the kids just love it. That makes me feel good, although I wish that I could actually make money on this.

Why did God give me a skill that’s pretty much unmarketable?

All I do is make kids laugh and smile while reading them stories.

I do try to pick out books that have good lessons for the children, since in today’s world, they’re getting hit younger and younger with things that pervert decency and goodness.

Still, characteristics of courage and honor and integrity and love and sacrifice are still okay to talk about, and there are plenty of children’s books that encourage and celebrate those things. I probably have read every single one of them a hundred or more times. Today I’m reading Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hatches the Egg. It’s one of my favorite books of all time. I love the loyalty that Horton shows, and I love how it works out for him in the end.

I know real life doesn’t always work out that way.

Regardless, I spend an hour with the kids, but by the time I’m done, they’re ready to get up and move. I suppose I should be thankful that they come to the library at all on a Saturday, considering that there are so many other things vying for their attention. Mostly these are kids whose parents care about them, and don’t just let them sit in front of their electronics, although there are a few who I know chose to be here and don’t have great home lives.

“It was a really great story hour. I don’t think a single kid even got up to go to the bathroom,” Verity says, as I packed my books up, stick them in my bag and put it crosswise over my chest.

“I have good books. That really helps.”

“I wish we had more books like the old ones. It just seems like the stuff that’s coming out now is mostly junk,” Verity says, wrinkling up her nose.

I suppose this is a case of all the old movies are the best, everything that happened when we were kids was better than anything that happened today. Although, I agree with her, so I know that I’m probably biased. After all, the stuff you grew up loving, is usually the stuff that you love all your life, right?

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in face painting at the festival,” Verity says, as she set aside a stack of books, and leans a hip against her desk.

“No thank you. Mrs. Higginbotham already asked me if I would be at the dunking booth, and I told her that my grandma was going to die and I needed to go to her funeral.”

“Oh I’m so sorry,” Verity says, putting her hand on my arm.

“I was lying, Verity,” I say, putting my hand over top of hers, patting it once and then lifting it off of my arm.

“You’d lie to Mrs. Higginbotham?” Verity says, shrinking back as though I had coodies.

Maybe I do.

“I was kidding with her, but I told her, in no uncertain terms, that I was not going on the dunking booth.”

“So your grandma isn’t dying?” Verity says, and, while I appreciate the fact that she really cares about me, I sometimes wish that she was a little bit quicker on the draw. But Varity’s a great friend. Very loyal, and a total line walker if you know what I mean.

I am a line walker too, or at least I used to be. Not so much anymore, but I’m not sure what changed.

Maybe it was all the hoopla with me getting booked because of that animal-rights thing. It just made me feel like a person makes one mistake and all of a sudden they are the bad guy.

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