Apparently, as a child, one of my most favorite books was the The Little Rabbit Who Wanted Red Wings (1931). As an adult, I realize that this book is a heartwarming ode to the value of conformity, which seems distinctly at odds with most of the other lessons of my childhood, and the person I've become. My mother despises this book to this day, but she read it to me again and again. I guess I need to remember that when LB wants me to read her crap books about princesses and fairies.
I loved playing records on my parents' hifi when I was little and I've been trying to build LB a little music mix based on my favorites. We've been listening to some '70s soul and light rock, and I added "Deportee," "City of New Orleans,""Do-Re-Mi,""If I Were a Carpenter," and "Oh Happy Day." I think it's a good mix, but the child will dance to anything.
|The little rabbit who realized just in a nick of time that only homos, communists, and other asocials want red wings|