Harold’s Hat

Our hero.
Our hero.

The charming Susanna Leonard Hill is holding a blog contest, and I’m giving it a go.

The rules, in Susanna’s own words: “Write a children’s story, in poetry or prose, maximum 400 words about the Fourth of July in which a secret is revealed or a mystery is solved!”

Fourth of July? Mystery? My first idea was The Mystery of the Missing Fingers.

But better judgment prevailed.

Enjoy!

UPDATE: I am delighted to report that Harold’s Hat was the winner of the 2014 Highlights for Children Fiction Contest!

Please be aware, however, that the winning story is quite different from the one posted below.  If you want to read the winning story, you’re gonna have to get a copy of Highlights. (You should do this, by the way. That mag is awesome.)

AN UPDATE TO THE UPDATE: It’s official: Harold’s Hat will appear in the July 2015 issue of Highlights for Children. Feel free to camp out next to your newsstand now!

***

HAROLD’S HAT

By Mike Allegra

The day was here! Finally!

Parades!

Hot dogs!

Swimming!

Fireworks!

Oh, and there was also The Hat.

Harold could hardly think of The Hat without saying, “Mwah-ha-ha!”

He’ll show that Betsy Lominzer, that’s for sure.

Last year Betsy wore a special Fourth of July hat to the town parade – a nice one that had flashing lights and a cup holder for her lemonade.

Harold asked if he could try it on and she said no. Not even for one teeny, tiny little milisecond.

“Fine,” thought Harold. “I’ll show you next year.”

And, well…Mwah-ha-ha!

The Hat took Harold six months to build. He kept it out of harm’s way in his closet.

At least he thought he did.

It must be out of harm’s way in his toy box.

Hm.

Out of harm’s way in his dresser?

Um…

Under the bed? Behind the hamper? In the closet again, just to make sure?

“MOOOOOOOM!”

“Whaaaat?” Mom was trying to light the barbecue.

“Have you seen My Hat? The one with the red, white and blue glitter, and the flashing lights, and the siren, and the cup holder?”

“No,” she replied. “Where on earth did you get…? ”

“DAAAAAAAD!”

“Too loud!” Dad was pouring chlorine in the pool.

“Have you seen My Hat? The one with the battery powered waving flag action and the cannons that shoot sparks?”

“You have a hat that shoots sparks?” Dad asked. “That could be a fire haz­–”

“BIIIIIIILLY!”

“Ba!” Billy was sucking on his foot.

“Have you seen My Hat? The one with the megaphone and the solar powered jukebox that plays a medley of Sinatra songs when you push a red button on the brim?”

“Do-be-do-be-do,” Billy said.

Wait. That wasn’t Billy.

Harold followed the do-bes to Sparky’s doghouse and found him swooning to Sinatra’s crooning.

The hat was safe and sound.

“Good boy.”

Off to the parade! Off to find Betsy Lominzer! Mwah-ha-ha!

But…well…Betsy’s hat had improved a bit since last year.

It had improved quite a lot, actually.

“Wow! Can I try on your hat for just one teeny, tiny, little millisecond?” Harold asked.

“No,” Betsy Lominzer replied.

“Fine!” thought Harold. “I’ll show you next year.”

In an instant, Harold’s mind filled with new and exciting ideas. A bigger hat. A better hat. The Best Hat Ever.

His lips curled into a smile.

“Mwah-ha-ha!” he said.

Another Repost? Now That’s Just Lazy: Jurassic Pick

Slightly moldy and warped, but otherwise perfect.
Slightly moldy and warped, but otherwise perfect.

It might be a tad lazy, but this oldie is one of my favorites.

And don’t worry; you’ve probably never read it before. Nobody was reading my blog when I first posted this. 

Enjoy! 

***

Bookshelf space was always at a premium in my childhood home. So when I outgrew my picture books, my mom wasted little time in packing them up into a giant cardboard box and depositing them in a dark, forgotten corner of the basement. Her plan was to parcel them out after I had children of my own. The unveiling of each book would be accompanied by the grandma bon mot: “Your daddy read this when he was your age!”

A vicious rainstorm during my middle school years almost put an end to that plan. Most of the collection remained above the waterline, but others were in sad and sorry shape.

But Mom and I ran hairdryers, Lysol-ed any pages that showed traces of mold and pressed the sorry specimens between dictionaries. Fortunately, most of the books that were beyond the pale were ones that could be easily replaced after my son was born. (The Diggingest Dog, for example.) Other books were no great loss. (Sure, I could buy a new copy of the unsettling Are You My Mother?, but will I? No, sir.)

I was thinking about this 20-odd-year-old event recently because it brought something into sharp focus: a basement flood is an excellent way to determine a book’s value. Most of the books in that wet box entertained me in one way or another, but only a couple of them really mattered.

I would guess that about three or four dozen books were waterlogged in that flood. Some were beyond saving. But even among the salvageable books, decisions needed to be made. There was only so much Lysol and so many heavy dictionaries to go around. Where should I devote the bulk of my rescue efforts? To put it another way, which book would just be too painful to throw away? Amazon.com was still decades away, so a lost book was really lost. Maybe forever.

I found my decisions to be surprisingly swift and easy. Are You My Mother? never got a backward glance. Danger in Dinosaur Valley by Joan Lowery Nixon, however, was a different story entirely.

Danger in Dinosaur Valley was the quintessential children’s book for boys – beautifully bringing together dinosaurs, baseball and time travel in a fast-paced, funny tale of prehistoric survival. The entire story is seen through the eyes of a curious young Diplodocus and ends with a stirring and violent confrontation with a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Ah. Remember the days when it was okay to have violence in a picture book?

So… Get me some Lysol and a Merriam Webster, STAT! This book ain’t gonna die on my watch!

The dust jacket never made it, the spine is shot and dots of mold speckle the end pages but my efforts were not in vain. Grandma delivered her line to Alex on cue: “Your daddy read this when he was your age!” True enough, but I also read it at this age, even when my little guy isn’t around. That is a true test of a great picture book.

Danger in Dinosaur Valley has been out of print since the 1970s, but thank heavens we now live in the age of Amazon. Get it. I’ll bet you’ll keep it.

Just promise me you’ll store it on a high shelf.

Which books from your childhood would you rescue from floodwaters?