Bests & Worsts Reviews from Amazon

Yesterday, I dropped off my oldest son at his dorm room. Yep, my first of three sons, Trey, left the "fort" (what we call our house). Some of my favorite memories are of our bedtime ritual where I would read to he and his brothers. Then I would strum guitar and we would sing songs. Back then, he was so innocent that he and his brothers thought that I could carry a tune, which I cannot; but I sang anyway. Then I'd strum a lullaby or two before going back to my work (they seldom stayed awake for a third). There was no mother there. I'd read my medical journals, wash their school uniforms to be ready for the next day, and (here's a secret) sometimes I would read, alone, while my sons slept, more of the adventures of Christopher Robin before putting the book back on the shelf, taking a last peek at my sons, and then going to bed. Remembering those nights brings me more joy than remembering anything that I ever did at work (and as a former ER physician I have literally saved the lives of hundreds). One of the most magical of the books we read back then, and my favorite for a younger child, is this version of Pooh. If you only know the "Disneyfied" version, then you don't really know Pooh. Here you hear the beauty, and the rhythm, and the vocabulary of slightly antiquated British English; and you learn a sweeter and deeper understanding of the world of Pooh. Such precious times are childhood--but not perfect times--not without pain. Children (mine own included) know the pain of divorce, death, and turmoil. But, what better can a parent do than to fight to protect the magic of childhood? This volume will go far towards both protecting and nurturing that magic. In the last story of the series, Christopher Robin and Pooh sit and talk about how Christopher will be leaving the Hundred Acre Wood--and not coming back. I'm not sure that I ever made it through that one with a dry eye. So, yesterday, as I drove away from my son's college dorm, leaving him there to find his place on the globe; as I made my own way home, alone with only my memories and the highway in front of me, I gave thanks for the time he and I spent together in our Fort, there in the middle of his Hundred-Acre-Wood. I remembered the round faces of he and his brothers, which (no matter what the bully did that day) lit with laughter when we read this book and made up melodies to carry the little rhymes the animals would sing. I drove and I remembered how 10 years ago I would look at the haunting last illustration of the book, Christopher Robin and Pooh saying goodbye, and then would look at my sons (ages 8, 6, and 4). I knew then that one day I would be left behind, like Pooh, and with joy and with pain would say goodbye as each son left to enter the future outside the Wood--a place where the father can never go. Yesterday, that day came. Here's a tip: Turn off your stupid iPhone and read this book to your child.