Jake and the Dinosaur

As I am sure anybody who knew her already knows, my mother was a Storyteller, with a capital "S." My wife seems to believe that I might have inherited that particular gene from my mother, and has been urging me to write some children's stories for my tot, Ali. With this in mind, it's not hard to see how one of my earliest memories of mom's storytelling talent was dredged up from the deeper recesses of my memory.

When I was four years old, my mother created a story box for me. I don't know if "storybox" is the proper name for the contraption, but it was a story that she wrote and illustrated on a roll of paper that she attached to two spools that were attached inside a shoebox with a window in it. Through the window, we could see the illustrated story. Each "page" of the story was a frame in the narrative. When we had finished reading a frame, we would roll the spool to get to the next.

The story was, as best as I can recall, as follows:

"One day, Jake was walking in the forest. In the forest he saw a dinosaur. Jake was very afraid. The dinosaur brought his head close to look at jake. Jake gave him a piece of candy. Jake and the dinosaur became best friends."

I still love that story.

So does the dinosaur.