Mr. Bunny meets Peter Penguin

My wife tweeted this tonight:

There’s a story here. When I was about 4, my family moved from Louisville to Marietta, Georgia. I remember being freaked out about the move, and I remember the first night in the new house. My dad came in and read me a bedtime story. The next night, I asked for the same story, but I guess maybe the book was in another part of the house. Instead, he made something up on the spot about me and my favorite bunny stuffed animal, going on some adventure. I don’t even remember. I just remember feeling upset, and then Dad started the story, and then I was sleeping peacefully.

My dad died less than a year later. Tonight, I took Julian on a small adventure, in which his buddy Peter Penguin went out into the woods looking for him. Peter encountered Mickey, another of Julian’s friends, and then another and another before they found Julian playing trains with his friend Thomas. I don’t know, dudes, I just made the shit up as I went along. But that’s what dads do.

 Like the pine trees lining the winding road
I got a name, I got a name
Like the singing bird and the croaking toad
I got a name, I got a name
And I carry it with me like my daddy did
But I’m living the dream that he kept hid

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