“The night Max wore his wolf suit…” – a line we spoke aloud
Though the book was still unopened, my wild things would expound
Our was full of wild things – both human and stuffed toys
His authorship delighted me and tickled my young boys
We traveled over weeks and days and in and out of years
We gnarled and thrashed and showed our claws while conquering our fears
We marched “In The Night Kitchen” or pretended that we did
Carrying empty paper towel rolls instead of rolling pins
We memorized his stories, we kissed lots of little bears
A night without a Sendak story was altogether rare
I loved Maurice Sendak and delight in him today
And though he’s gone, in many ways he’ll never go away
Waiting for the Karma Truck 
The joy of our favorite childhood books stays with us always, doesn’t it? What a wonderful paean to a truly gifted author…..
We delighted in him so much..When my eldest and his wife got their first house, the first thing they bought was a poster of “In The Night Kitchen”…and of course they had to have the entire wild things collection. He was magic..
Btw, can you please send me the link to your children’s books again?
Sure! http://www.bookpx.com
We actually have an autographed copy from Ben’s childhood. I did the same marching and conquering with many of my special needs students over the years. I was always so appreciative to this man for his writing was the catalyst for some of the most dynamic interactive lessons that crossed over disciplines, incorporated therapies and provided “my kids” with such rich language experiences. His legacy is the wonderful memories simply saying his name evokes. While he will be missed and his passing is certainly a loss, his words will be with us forever. What a gift that is!
He truly was a part of so many childhood memories for so many … 🙂
Oh please don’t go..we’ll be so sad…we Sendak him so.
whoops…we LOVE Sendak so…
I don’t think he would have minded being a verb in this context (crotchety though he was)…:-)
Isn’t it amazing how you can feel the loss of someone you’ve never met, but KNOW through his work? I mourned when I read the last work of fiction by my favorite author, and she is alive and lives in my town. Her work is too thoughtful and measured for her to be prolific, thus I fear I may never read another piece of her fiction.
Art is so important.
I think it touches some fundamental truth in all of us – in a way that nothing else can. It lets you be carried away and returns you safely and changed somehow. You are right of course – art is critical and perhaps the best part of who we are (whether as a recipient of someone else’s talent or the giver of the gift)