Thank You Mr. Sendak

If I had to pick one aesthetic experience from childhood that has stuck with me into adulthood, it would have to be reading "Where the Wild Things Are" by Maurice Sendak. I remember the old copy we would check out from the library time and again. I remember the way the scuffed cellophane around the dust jacket would crinkle. The way the spine would crackle as the book was pushed open. The lovely, musty smell of library, ink and paper inside. Most of all, I remember the illustrations. The soft, sure coloring of the brush. The wild, yet contained cross hatching of the ink pen. The strangely intelligent faces of the Wild Things. The scruffy thatch of Max's hair when his wolf suit was pulled back. In fact, the series of drawings that depicted Max's room growing into a forest, after he was sent to bed without supper, set my 5 year old imagination off on a course that I am, to this day, attempting to navigate with my own art.

Beyond the aesthetic, however, were the feelings the book stirred up in my young psyche. Max's naughtiness and "mischief of one kind...and another" stirred feelings of anxiety and anticipation for the consequences that would surely follow. The rough sea on which Max sailed "in and out of weeks and almost over a year" stirred up a sense of wonder and amazement that a boy could be brave enough pilot his own boat across an ocean to another land. And the soft, pink sunset after the Wild Rumpus while the Wild Things dozed and Max sat awake in his tent stirred in me a feeling of longing and loneliness. Finally, when Max returned home to find that not only was his supper waiting for him, but that it was "still hot", a feeling of comfort and maternal security salved the sting and burn of all those other emotions. Emotions that a child, before reading a book like "Where the Wild Things Are" most likely would not have been called on to feel in the context of a children's story.

Now that I am writing and illustrating stories of my own, I would never dream of producing a work that reached the perfection of words and art that Maurice Sendak achieved with "Where the Wild Things Are". He used his singular talent for pictures and language to tell children a story that picture books until that time had not dared to tell. One that was honest about the feelings, both good and bad, associated with being a child. After all, these are the same feelings associated with being an adult – we've just learned to cope with them in one way..."and another".

As an artist, I thank Mr. Sendak for his incredible contribution to the picture book genre. He has offered me and other picture book artists a paragon to aspire to. As a person, I thank him for teaching me as a young child, and reminding me as an adult, that children, after all, are people. They are people who think and feel, dream and despair. The difference is that a child has less life experience with which to place those thoughts, feelings, dreams and despairs into context. Mr. Sendak was kind, wise and talented enough, with his wonderful book, to provide children and adults a little context. Thank you Mr. Sendak.

Josh

Mr. Robbins: Guerrilla Educator

This week is not only Children's Book Week, but also Teacher Appreciation Week. Don't you find it fitting that these two recognitions should coincide in the same week? Both children's literature and teachers have an undeniable impact on us on our road to becoming human beings. I know I am not alone when I say that I am fortunate enough to look back on my formative years and count the wonderful teachers I've had, and think about the positive influence they've had on my life. Although some may have been more influential than others, I am grateful for all of them. However, if I had to choose one special teacher that continues to shine in my memories, it would be my sixth grade teacher, Mr. Robbins.

What it is about sixth grade? It seems that a lot of people I talk to have amazing stories about their sixth grade teacher. Maybe it is that age of transition children of eleven or twelve occupy during that time. It is surely a time of awakening. We are dealing with new feelings, new ideas and new challenges. It seems, for me, that sixth grade was the exact time when the world of imagination was introduced to the world of intellect, and I could have had no better guide through that convergence than Mr. Robbins.

Mr. Robbins was one of those teachers that came of age in the sixties. He had a beard and played guitar. He led us in folky songs about Sugar Mountain, Kingston Town and leaving on Jet Planes. He would read aloud to us after lunch and used wonderful voices for the different characters. (He did a great Gurgi from the Lloyd Alexander fantasy Taran Wanderer series!) He was passionate about turning on young minds. He taught us about the world and opened our eyes to other cultures and political systems. He was as passionate about science and math as he was about language and the arts. He encouraged critical thinking as much as he cultivated creativity. He had a clear passion for ideas and a curiosity that was infectious.

Mr. Robbins was also a guerrilla educator who tricked us into learning. Not out of necessity, but out of sheer joy for teaching. Once he divided the classroom up into small seating groups and invented a currency called "Fatons" with which he rewarded individuals and groups for good behavior and class participation. He then allowed each group to use it's wealth to purchase up valued items in the classroom such as the sink, the Apple 2E, the pencil sharpener and charge tolls as we saw fit. The baldfaced capitalism-run-amok that ensued was enough to make any government regulator snap his pencil and go home. On another occasion, Mr. Robbins conspired with a particular student who had shown a history of butting heads with authority and staged a shouting match with him in front of the class which ended with the student running from the classroom in tears. The student quietly returned to his seat only seconds later for a writing assignment about the incident we all just witnessed. In the assignment we explored the power that perception has over memory. The list goes on. He was a mad scientist and his antics as an educator live on in my memories to this day.

In a world like ours where in some corners of it, a new thought, let alone books or schools, is as scarce as any other resource, we should be profoundly grateful for the education that has been offered to us. So, if you had a teacher like Mr. Robbins, or even if you have spent enough time in a school to know basic reading and arithmetic (don't ask me about my arithmetic!), say thank you!

Josh

(Mr. Robbins is the grown man on the far right.)