I loved reading Where the Wild Things Are as a child because I was Max.
Going on grand adventures with my vivid imagination, wandering into the wilds of the woods near my parents house. Running through fields, jumping across rivers and having to balance myself while crossing a fallen tree over a gorge, this was a typical day for me.
I wasn’t intentionally a problem child just too creative for my own good and constantly in trouble. One time I decided to make my own dye to color a shirt. Gathering up various berries, crushing them into a dye and coloring my shirt. This would not have been particularly vexing adventure for a parent except that in the process I colored my shirt, the nice bathroom curtains, walls, floor, tub and one child now a beautiful array of purple and red.
As you can guess I was in terrible trouble. Sent to my room with no supper. Angry and confused. Why didn’t my parents love me? I asked myself. Thoughts of running away went through my head but then I noticed the new book that I got for my birthday, Where the Wild Things Are.
Instantly, I identified with Max, his vivid imagination, sense of adventure and parental problems. The book helped me to realize that my parents do love me but they discipline me to help me become better. I didn’t run away. After that day when I got into trouble, including the dueling pit of doom, I understood they love me.
If you have not read this book, get it, read it. It is beneficial to both parents and children alike.