This was a favorite book of both my boys, they loved the idea of going into the wild and taming all the creatures there. Monsters were no longer scarey…big didn’t necessarily mean…mean. That idea of throwing oneself into the wild doesn’t have to end with childhood, nor does the lesson that comes with it…that we attribute too much fear and loathing to things that may seem big and scarey at the time, and never get any less so by avoiding them and cowering in a corner. Adults avoid their version of the island of monsters all the time, but because we supposedly are so much more mature, we are smart enough to know what to be afraid of. Pretty much bullshit, if I say so myself. This week I’ve looked into the eyes of many afraid people…including myself, and I was suddenly reminded of this book. I did begin to wonder how fruitless it is to be so afraid of a thing, especially given when experience has taught me that it is never as scarey or hopeless as it may seem at any given moment. So, I decided to learn from Max, and rule my monsters rather than run away from them. For now, let the wild rumpus begin.