Bedtime Stories

Growing up neither one of my parents would read me a bed time story. I was told it didn’t happen at all, but many of my classmates talked about how their parents read to them until they fell asleep. I was of course jealous of this, but smiled and said that was nice.

We had a cousin come and stay with us while she was attending college. Each night she would come up and read to me. She told me the story of Thomas the tank and all of his adventures. She would imitate his whistle as well. With our city being a major employer for the railroad, it was only natural that I would love trains and planes. Thomas was my favorite but she wouldn’t read about Thomas every night. She said he was for special occasions such as holidays, my birthday. I would protest and she’d break out another Thomas the Tank book and read his adventures to me. Sometimes she would tickle me or blow on my belly and you could hear me cackling throughout the whole house.

Whenever she wasn’t telling me about Thomas, she would read instead about Woody Woodpecker or Rocky and Bullwinkle perhaps even Yogi. I loved all of those stories. She would imitate the voices of each character and have me laughing very loud and I could be heard throughout the entire house. But there was also a sad ending to my cousin reading to me and that was the physical abuse I was suffering at the hands of my parents. She couldn’t turn a blind eye anymore.