It is strange to me that, long before I associated myself with environmentalism – indeed, long before I even knew what “environmentalism” meant, I loved the story of the Lorax. This is even more strange considering that at six or seven years old, I had no inkling whatsoever of the allegorical brilliance of the story. But I remember vividly the brightly-coloured book cover on my childhood bedroom bookshelf as though it had always been there.
Selfishly however, when my two-year old son reached for the book at bedtime recently, my heart sank. I knew how wordy the Lorax was, compared to say, “The Dancing Tiger” or “Farmer Jim’s Truck” (the latter a remarkable 35 words!), and as it was the third story for the night, I was quite keen to slip away and have a little bit of “down-time” myself. I was also worried that my son might be a little too young to appreciate the story. Continue reading