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We Have Forgotten How to Tell Children Stories
I have two daughters, and over the years, we have accumulated an impressive number of children’s books. We bought some ourselves, many were gifts. On our shelves, modern picture books sit next to old fairy tales, fables, and primers that have already survived more childhoods than I can count.
At some point, I noticed something. Many of the newer books are interesting for a while. They get read for a few days or weeks and then disappear somewhere on the shelf. But there are certain old stories my daughters keep coming back to.
One of my younger daughter’s favorite stories is The Boy Who Cried Wolf. The story is almost brutally simple. A shepherd boy repeatedly claims that a wolf has appeared. The villagers rush to help him, discover that he has lied, and eventually stop believing him. Then one day, a wolf actually comes. The boy cries for help — and nobody comes.
That’s basically it.
Nobody has to explain afterward what the child is supposed to learn. There is no final page where the shepherd announces that today he learned how important honesty and mutual trust are. The consequence simply happens. The rest is left to the child.
And that is exactly what I increasingly miss in children’s books.
