The Ginger Bread Man

I lost my mother shortly after my eighth birthday. It was a loss of such magnitude that I have never fully recovered from it, and not a day goes by without me thinking about her. I still miss my mother, and cherish the all-too-brief time we had together. Even at the age of eight I knew that nobody would ever again love me like that. Her passing ended my childhood.

The daughter of a physician, who became a broken man because he couldn't save her (he tried, with all themedical skills that he had), my mother was a cultured lady, who sang opera, and wrote and sketched beautifully. She introduced me to the wonderful world of libraries and museums, both of which we visited very frequently. Early on, I was fortunate to have the most wonderful collection of books.

One of them was a childhood classic...The Gingerbread Man. I vividly remember studying its colorful pictures, as the most delicious of fragrances filled our kitchen. To celebrate her gift to me, my mother had baked ginger bread men cookies. I remain much fond of them, because of that cherished memory. With the holiday season now here, I had hoped that the nearest bakery would have some. But I was disappointed. I'll look around more. Ginger bread men cookies are such a comfort.

So here's to The Ginger Bread Man...a great little picture book. And here's to my mother, who, unlike the pernicious American Library Association of today, wisely knew that books for children should be age appropriate. Let kids be kids as long as long as they can. The joy and innocence of childhood goes by soon enough!

Mom, I love you!