Addendum to today’s earlier post:
Tonight at dinner my daughter asked “Where did Gollum get the ring?” I tried to water down the answer but she was having none of “He found it in a river.” With absolutely no prompting from me (besides my Dork-tastic storytelling skills) she made me take it all the way back to Sauron and Isildur, and all the way forward to when The Fellowship set out to destroy the ring (told in appropriate detail for a 5-year-old)
Of course I was thrilled she was showing so much interest, and no doubt that showed through in my storytelling. But this was totally self-motivated on her part. “Why didn’t the ring turn Bilbo evil? Who got the ring after Bilbo? What did Frodo do with the ring? Did Smeagul know Bilbo when he was a Hobbit?”
I finally had to put my foot down and stop telling the story for fear of ruining it for the day we read it for real. “PLEASE tell me the rest of the story Daddy!” she begged. I promised her I would when she was in 4th grade and I read “The Lord Of The Rings” to her.
I’m struck by how powerful those stories are, even to a little mind. But snuggling here after we just finished watching Bilbo come to grips with entering Smaug’s lair despite his fears, I’m also struck by how powerful these moments are lying next to my daughter as she drifts off into dreams.