For as long as I can remember, I have loved Winnie-the-Pooh. Perhaps it's because when I was two, we were snowed in for a few days and the only movies we had were four, 30 minute episodes of that bear of very little brain. Whatever the reason, it is a love that I have never outgrown. I do have friends that laugh at the fact that this no-longer a teenager still has a room with Pooh curtains, a Pooh blanket and a bed covered in Pooh stuffed animals. But I am not ashamed. There is something so sweet and simple, yet so deep and moving in these humble stories of a stuffed bear and his friends living in the Hundred Acre Wood. And, what is more, I know that I am not alone. I think that too many times, we forget about the simple truths hidden in a children's book. Here is a great essay on the subject of Winnie-the-Pooh and children's literature. Maybe we should all take a moment and lay down our Shakespeare, our Dante and our Milton and instead trade it for the cleansing power of a simple children's story. All of us could use a day at Pooh Corner.
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