All content copyright © 2004-2010 by steve hardyOne evening, back when daughter Ursula was nearly three years old, I was reading my book in bed while she ran around noisily. Then she crashed into something and started crying. Loudly. She didn't look to have sustained any significant damage, but she couldn't be dissuaded from her misery. I tried the usual distractions: toys, books, jokes. No dice - the wailing continued. In desperation, I began, "once upon a time, there was a little girl named Ursula, and she..."
The effect was pretty remarkable. The instant Ursula realized this was to be a story about her, she hushed up and listened intently. I don't remember the story I made up, but when it finished, she was pleased and said "read me another one". Before that, all her stories had been read from books and none had ever starred Ursula.
For years thereafter, whenever Ursula said 'read me', our shared understanding was that she'd prefer to hear one of those stories about Ursula, but she'd usually settle for a book story if that was the best we could do.
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All content copyright © 2004-2010 by steve hardy