We were a Dr Seuss household. The man was a philosophical genius of course. We taught our kids about equality (Nope! You can't teach a Sneech...), about facing fear of the unknown (I saw a pair of pale green pants... with nobody inside them), even about trying new and exotic things (would you, could you in a box?). Kirk was the master Seussian. With Milne and Potter (Beatrix) he couldn't touch me, but no one read Seuss like Kirk.
We had a squashy marshmallow couch that fit the whole family together but smooshed us into a jumbled mass of arms and legs by the end of a page and a half; a great couch for reading together if you like eachother, but not recommended for people with firm opinions on sacred personal space. It also wasn't the easiest thing to extricate ourselves from, but luckily our Seuss book came with four volumes in one, so we were set for a good hour of reading before we had to explore how much circulation we still had in the more remote body parts.
But Kirk discovered that Seuss had other vital uses, beyond those of life lessons. He provided our count-down to The Day - The Day we would leave Texas. One night Kirk realized we had, starting the next day, 23 days to go until we actually drove away. Any fool could cross off Mondays and Tuesdays until arriving at the fated Day Itself. Not us. We were going to work through days like Bodkin van Horn, and Biffalo Buff. The kids were thrilled to have an entire day go by 'Marvin O Gravel Balloon Face,' and of course, what could be better than to drive away on Zanzibar Buck Buck McFate?
Amazing man, Dr. Seuss.
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