I’ve always loved children’s books. When I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, I immediately bought my child-to-be her own copies of “Where the Wild Things Are” and “Curious George.” I even read a few books from the “Little House” series to my belly. I guess I was a little obsessive, but I wanted my daughter to enjoy books as much as I did.
It worked. Nora is now 3, and she loves books. She won’t go to bed without at least a dozen of them in her bed. I’ve always loved reading to her, and I didn’t think I’d ever find a children’s book I didn’t like.
Then I met Spot.
Several weeks ago, Nora wanted to check out “Spot’s Giant Treasury” from the library. This book contains about a dozen stories about a dog named, of course, Spot. I thought Spot seemed cute enough, despite his lack of facial expressions, so I agreed to check out the book. I didn’t expect the weeks of torture that lay ahead.
The Spot books are quite popular among preschoolers, despite the fact that they are low on action and plot. Some examples of Spot plots: Spot goes on a picnic. It rains. Spot comes home. Or: Spot goes to a fair with his grandparents. It is fun. They come home. Or: Spot's room gets messy. His mom tells him to clean it. He cleans it.
Every night before bed, Nora would insist that I read one Spot story, and then she'd ask Daddy to read one Spot story. Nora could not get enough of the Spot stories. My husband, Jay, and I grew to hate them. Obsessively. Sometimes we'd lie in bed at night, complaining to each other about the Spot stories. Like, why is the mother dog bigger than the hippo? Why is Spot called Spot, but his friends get regular names, like Steve? Why are all of the animals “human” (they drive fire trucks, they play tubas, they go into the hospital for X-rays), except for Spot's grandparents' pet cat, who is just a regular cat?
"Why are Spot's parents always referred to by their first names instead of ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’?” Jay would always say. “I HATE THAT!”
I’m happy to say that the Spot book is back at the library. Jay and I were able to go back to our happy, pre-Spot lives, but I think the emotional scars will always be there.
I felt a little guilty about my Spot hatred. Shouldn’t I be encouraging my child to read anything that holds her attention? Shouldn’t I support her interests? Is it wrong of me to feel such loathing toward a fictional dog?
It turns out that most parents have a book series they cannot stand. I conducted an informal e-mail poll of friends and discovered that one book-loving mother of three had “accidentally” locked “Spot Goes to the Parade” in a baby-proofed cabinet.
“It needed to happen,” she said.
Another mother of a 2-year-old was relieved to find out she was not alone in letting a fictional character annoy her.
“Secretly, I really don't like reading my daughter her Dora books,” she wrote. “It isn't the Spanish that I can't pronounce, but rather the strange plots that seem to progress without conflict. It drives me nuts. She loves them though, and I bought them for her when she had her ear infections, so I can't get rid of them.”
One mother seemed extra bitter about the “Biscuit” book series. She simply wrote, “Spot, meet Biscuit. Now you two little dogs go play in the street.”
The worst offender, by far? Thomas the Tank Engine.
“Oh, Thomas is the WORST,” wrote a mother of two little boys. “(The books) were written by some nice English minister in the ’40s, but you'd think they were written by an emotionally stunted third-grader. UGH. On the other hand, my mastery of 1940s train lingo is second to none. I know what ‘shunting’ is and what a ‘siding’ is.”
There you go. It’s not unusual for parents to suffer so their children can be happy. If Nora ever wants to check out another Spot book, I’m sure I’ll agree, although I’ll be silently writing the next Spot sequel in my head: “Spot Falls Off a Cliff.”
Out, Spot, Out!
By Karen Barker Crowley
I’ve always loved children’s books. When I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, I immediately bought my child-to-be her own copies of “Where the Wild Things Are” and “Curious George.” I even read a few books from the “Little House” series to my belly. I guess I was a little obsessive, but I wanted my daughter to enjoy books as much as I did.
It worked. Nora is now 3, and she loves books. She won’t go to bed without at least a dozen of them in her bed. I’ve always loved reading to her, and I didn’t think I’d ever find a children’s book I didn’t like.
Then I met Spot.
Several weeks ago, Nora wanted to check out “Spot’s Giant Treasury” from the library. This book contains about a dozen stories about a dog named, of course, Spot. I thought Spot seemed cute enough, despite his lack of facial expressions, so I agreed to check out the book. I didn’t expect the weeks of torture that lay ahead.
The Spot books are quite popular among preschoolers, despite the fact that they are low on action and plot. Some examples of Spot plots: Spot goes on a picnic. It rains. Spot comes home. Or: Spot goes to a fair with his grandparents. It is fun. They come home. Or: Spot's room gets messy. His mom tells him to clean it. He cleans it.
Every night before bed, Nora would insist that I read one Spot story, and then she'd ask Daddy to read one Spot story. Nora could not get enough of the Spot stories. My husband, Jay, and I grew to hate them. Obsessively. Sometimes we'd lie in bed at night, complaining to each other about the Spot stories. Like, why is the mother dog bigger than the hippo? Why is Spot called Spot, but his friends get regular names, like Steve? Why are all of the animals “human” (they drive fire trucks, they play tubas, they go into the hospital for X-rays), except for Spot's grandparents' pet cat, who is just a regular cat?
"Why are Spot's parents always referred to by their first names instead of ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’?” Jay would always say. “I HATE THAT!”
I’m happy to say that the Spot book is back at the library. Jay and I were able to go back to our happy, pre-Spot lives, but I think the emotional scars will always be there.
I felt a little guilty about my Spot hatred. Shouldn’t I be encouraging my child to read anything that holds her attention? Shouldn’t I support her interests? Is it wrong of me to feel such loathing toward a fictional dog?
It turns out that most parents have a book series they cannot stand. I conducted an informal e-mail poll of friends and discovered that one book-loving mother of three had “accidentally” locked “Spot Goes to the Parade” in a baby-proofed cabinet.
“It needed to happen,” she said.
Another mother of a 2-year-old was relieved to find out she was not alone in letting a fictional character annoy her.
“Secretly, I really don't like reading my daughter her Dora books,” she wrote. “It isn't the Spanish that I can't pronounce, but rather the strange plots that seem to progress without conflict. It drives me nuts. She loves them though, and I bought them for her when she had her ear infections, so I can't get rid of them.”
One mother seemed extra bitter about the “Biscuit” book series. She simply wrote, “Spot, meet Biscuit. Now you two little dogs go play in the street.”
The worst offender, by far? Thomas the Tank Engine.
“Oh, Thomas is the WORST,” wrote a mother of two little boys. “(The books) were written by some nice English minister in the ’40s, but you'd think they were written by an emotionally stunted third-grader. UGH. On the other hand, my mastery of 1940s train lingo is second to none. I know what ‘shunting’ is and what a ‘siding’ is.”
There you go. It’s not unusual for parents to suffer so their children can be happy. If Nora ever wants to check out another Spot book, I’m sure I’ll agree, although I’ll be silently writing the next Spot sequel in my head: “Spot Falls Off a Cliff.”