Feel free to blame my sentimentality on the season.
Just the other day I opened a letter from a boy who told me how much he enjoyed my Crispin books, and begged me to write one more.
Lovely enough, but most unusual, there was this: “P.S. From —-‘s mom. Thank you so much for writing the Crispin books. We read them aloud as a family. (I had a hard time reading through my tears when Bear died and at the end of the third book.) They are beautifully written, exciting, and very moving. We all hope to hear more of Crispin’s story some day!”
I won’t pretend I didn’t appreciate the praise. That said, we often forget that it is the nature of books for young people, that the subject of families constitute its essential subtext. Thus this image, this notion, of a family gathered around and reading my books, touched me deeply. I can’t think of a higher honor or achievement.
Therefore, as another writer, in another time and in another book wrote for the same season: “As Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!”