When my first child was a few months old, I introduced her to a world with untamable energy and limitless imagination. It was an exciting world. It was a magical world. It was a wild world.
She met Max, that precocious child who was sent to his room without supper. After all, what was his mother to do when her “Wild Thing” threatened to eat her up? As his room began to transform, the three of us took an odyssey together, sailing on a private boat to an exotic place. Though it may have been days and days, in and out of weeks, and almost over a year, we made it…to where the wild things were. We roared our terrible roars (or at least Max and I did at first), gnashed our terrible teeth, rolled our terrible eyes, and showed our terrible claws. And we sure had a wild rumpus. It was inevitable, however. Max was lonely. He wanted to be where someone loved him best. The wild things pleaded for him to not go, crying, “We’ll eat you up, we love you so!” Max said no and had to go where his supper waited for him, still warm.
Farewell Maurice. Thank you for the wild things and for tender moments. We could've eaten you up, you know. We really did love you so.
