Charlie Pumpkin was a good pumpkin. Round and smiley, he sat alone on page three in The Little Halloween book. He faithfully entertained my oldest daughter for the past three years, enduring flips and flaps, endless page turns and violations from a pink crayon. Never did his disposition take a turn for the worse. He sat in his spooky scene cackling gleefully despite his frozen circumstances. He waited patiently during his 5 month little banishment under the couch. He had no grievances over the rip through his middle. Nor did he complain over the apple juice fiasco. He lovingly grinned as sticky fingers smudged his ink. He lived a lonely existence between the crumpled pages, always surrendering to a toddler’s love.
Today, Charlie gets a facelift. We glued and taped and, in the end, we stapled. Between the orange Crayola and iridescent glitter, we managed to somewhat regain Charlie’s original complexion. And when we were done, my three year old stuck a sparkly ghost sticker, hovering just overhead in the starry sky, a ghostly disco of a scene.
“A friend,” she sighed.
A good deed done!
11 years ago
