Winnie the Pooh and I are friends and have been for as long as I can remember. We have a few things in common, one of which is we both have very good friends. He chooses not to wear pants, whereas I find the day goes much better for me when I wear pants; each to their own. It is a hundred years since the first Winnie the Pooh tales were published, and he and his friends are still beloved by children and adults alike, all these years later.
A.A. Milne (Alan Alexander Milne) created Pooh and his friends, writing of their adventures in the Hundred-Acre-Wood. I stumbled upon one of Milne’s poems the other day, featured in the collection entitled When We Were Very Young. And … it got me thinking.
Children have an innate wisdom, until we teach them shame and failure and fear, educating their wisdom out of them. I remember the granddaughter of a close friend who announced as a three-year-old that she could burp in Spanish. That’s quite a feat and certainly qualified her as bilingual. Her brother asked his grandmother, my friend, if there was a “really God”, while Jackson was busy jumping on the bed because those sorts of serious questions require a good jump to shake them loose. I remember coming across my nephew Travis when he was four years old as he sat in the middle of a lilac bush at the side of his house. “What are you doing?” I politely inquired. “Thinking,” said Travis, as if it should have been obvious to me. What better place to think than in a lilac bush on a sunny day. I would like to have known more about his thinking adventure and what answers he was seeking or what questions he was forming, but I didn’t want to interrupt his private moment of contemplation.
I think of my grandchildren at times like this and their wisdom. Linden who was going outside to “practice his brave”, and six-year-old Liam who recently was afraid to go to the basement on his own due to his fear of potential ghosts lurking in dark corners, the by-product of watching Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire. Liam was advised by his older brother Aiden to boldly shout out an announcement to any ghosts within hearing distance that he was not afraid of them, so that the ghosts might heed Liam’s brave words and scurry on their way. Liam took Aiden’s advice and carefully descended the stairs calling out the recommended chant only to call back up in a quiet voice, reminding Aiden of the truth. “But I am afraid of ghosts.”. Not long before that scary experience, Liam had a run-in with his father’s hair clippers, that removed most of his hair. His mother was trying to give him courage about going to school and not to be bothered if kids were unkind. “It’s just hair, Mom,” Liam calmly assured his mother, which is advice we could use for most situations, because … unfortunate events are often temporary.
AA Milne’s collection of poetry I mentioned earlier revealed one I was particularly fond of, especially this time of year. Daffodowndilly – She wore her yellow sun-bonnet / She wore her greenest gown / She turned to the south wind / And curtsied up and down / She turned to the sunlight / And shook her yellow head / And whispered to her neighbour / “Winter is dead”. Daffodils are clever like that; they know when winter is fading and don’t hesitate to send out a welcome greeting to Spring.
I admire the fact that AA Milne was able to remember how children think, how they notice the important things. Winnie-the-Pooh’s voice was the child’s voice that still dwelled in this man, crediting Winnie with reminding us that “I always get to where I’m going by walking away from where I have been.” Astute awareness. When we’re speaking or writing, we should always heed the wise bear’s advice: “It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn’t use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like, ‘What about lunch.” Honey sandwich anyone?
wendistewart@live.ca
