You see, the people of Commonville were all blindfolded since they were born. Oh, don’t feel sorry for these Commoners, for being blinded was Normal. They didn’t realize there was a whole world filled with color and fascination. They didn’t know that they were missing the whole story of living. They were content to stay in their colorless world of conformity.

Yet, Norm was not like the rest. He couldn’t be the same as them because no one put his blindfold on him when he was born. Since the Commoners were blinded themselves, they couldn’t see that his blindfold was missing. Therefore, he could see. His eyes gave him access to the vibrant world surrounding Commonville.

As you can imagine, this caused a problem for Norm. While he saw the whole story of living, the people of Commonville only knew a small part of it.

When his mom said, “What a juicy, delicious strawberry!” Norm replied, “and so shiny and red!” His mother would scream, “Don’t be ridiculous! There’s no such thing as red!”

When his dad said, “Ahh, listen to the birds sing!” Norm added, “Their wings are as yellow as the sun.” His dad would bark, “Stop talking nonsense! A bird’s wings can’t be like the sun- what’s yellow, anyway?”

When his friends sang, “Feel the raindrops on your face,” Norm sang back, “What beautiful colors arching through the sky!” His friends would laugh, “You’re so strange, Norm!” For they had never seen a rainbow.

Because the people of Commonville had never experienced the visual world, Norm was sorely misunderstood. His parents loved him still, but they tried their best to train him to be Normal. They taught him all the proper things to say and do, so as not to stir up any trouble. His teachers scolded him for telling them things they knew nothing about, but he couldn’t help it. His sight was a part of him, and he couldn’t ignore what he saw.

But after being told so many times to stop being so Abnormal, Norm finally gave in. He found a black scarf and tied it over his eyes, shutting the door to the beautiful world around him. He went through his days like everyone else, never thriving in the life-giving scenery that painted Commonville. He became very ordinary, much to the delight of his fellow Commoners.

However, Norm lost a little bit of himself each day he was blinded to the life around him. He was slowly dying. And he would have died if it hadn’t been for the itchy feeling in his eyes.

The itch started as a tiny tingle when he heard birds singing. Then, little by little, the tingle grew into stinging when he felt the warm sun on his face or smelled the sweet aroma of the honeysuckle. The stinging grew into an itch so strong, Norm found himself constantly scratching at his black scarf. He knew his eyes were longing to get the whole story of the bird’s song, or the sun’s warmth, or the honeysuckle’s sweetness.

So now, not only was Norm gloomy because he knew he was missing out on a glorious world of vision, but he was becoming angry that he couldn’t stop the itch unless he took the risk of being Abnormal and untied his blindfold.

Eventually, his anger drove him out of Commonville, down a lonely road he’d never traveled before. As he furiously scratched at his eyes under the scarf, he suddenly realized the difficulty of going somewhere new without being able to see! Everything he felt, heard, or smelled was not so ordinary and so very strange. While he got a small idea of whatever he encountered, he could not get the whole story. There was so much more he wanted to know. At last, he could resist no longer. He ripped the blinding cloth away from his eyes and entered into that wondrous world of pictures!

Norm was once again not the norm. But what did it matter? He was no longer in Commonville where being blind was Normal. Here, he was free to be different- free to be himself- free to see.

He once again saw the whole story of living. At last, he could see what the yellow-winged bird was singing about. She was chirping the praises of the beautiful, golden sun setting on the horizon and painting hues of purple and pink across the sky. He could finally see the intricate design of the sweet-smelling honeysuckle. Tiny drops of nectar sat upon the tips of each delicate white blossom, sending out messages of life.

Exuberantly feeling complete, Norm greatly desired to share his re-found knowledge with the people of Commonville. He wanted to lift their blindfolds to help them gain sight. He hoped to show them that being Normal caused them to miss what life had to offer. From then on, he dedicated his life to telling the whole story and helping others see it for themselves. He helped them find the sight they had all along but that no one told them about. He lived the whole story of living.

Deep-fried eyeballs of crocodile

Sauteed worms in a great big pile

What’s for dinner?

Six chocolate hot dogs dunked in coffee

Baked chicken lips all covered with toffee

What’s for dinner?

Cinnamon oysters sliding down your throat

Toes a la Monkey, Hooves a la Goat

What’s for dinner?

Shark bait sandwich, fries on the side

Jellyfish pudding, mmm- open wide!

What’s for dinner?

A big bowl of bunny tails, buttered and salted

Polar bear nostrils, filled with chocolate malted

What’s for dinner?

Panda panini with anemone sauce

Corn cob and rattlesnake, and don’t forget to floss!

What’s for dinner?

Syrup-covered giraffe spots stacked up high

Fried eggs and salamander skin- oh, my!

What’s for dinner?

Barbecued buzzard with spicy baked bugs

Toadfish chowder served in concrete mugs

What’s for dinner?

Stir-fried beatles on a bed of lice

Armadillo steak with brains baked twice

What’s for dinner?

Tiger-stripe casserole, zebra-stripe stew

Stink bug cookies, but only a few!

What’s for dinner?

Gorilla pot pie and bananas, mashed

Rhinoceros tacos with hot sauce, dashed

What’s for dinner?

Hamburgers grilled on the barbecue

Spaghetti and meatballs, salad, too

No, really…

What’s for dinner?

I was at my nana’s house, cleaning the garage.  Just five more dollars, I thought.  I was saving up my allowance for a beautiful kitty-condo for the cats, that cost twenty-seven dollars.

Just then, I hit an old wooden trunk by accident in the back corner.  There was a key in the keyhole.  I opened it and a huge cloud of dust sprang out of the trunk.  I searched through the trunk and found a picture of a small blue Persian in a brown boot.  The picture made me laugh.  I thought I may have seen a resemblance between her and Pasha.  I ran to the living room where Pasha and Zena were having a dog-and-cat fight.  There was definitely a resemblance.

Pasha must have seen the look on my face and stopped fighting.  Zena took one bark and trotted away.  Pasha and I went back to the trunk.  Pasha saw the trunk and leaped inside.  At first I tried to get her out as she dug through it with her muzzle.  But then, I saw what she was looking for; she dragged out a green book.  Inside was a piece of rumpled-up paper.  It was a map; a treasure map.

Pasha and I went looking for the treasure, step by step.  First, we followed the map to the garden.  The map said to look by the picnic table made of stone.  There, we found another scrap of paper, nicely hidden far underneath a leg of the table.  It was not a map this time.  It was a note.  The note led us to the swing set.  It told us to look high up in the oak tree.  I couldn’t climb that high, so I decided to get Pasha up there.  She climbed pretty high, but still made it.  She jumped down branch by branch with the note in her jaws.  Carefully, she sprang to the ground.  I opened the note.  It said to go to the middle of the garden.  This was where we found the treasure.

I opened the chest when we got there, but I didn’t find what I expected.  Instead, I found something else.  Pictures of my nana and papaw’s wedding, old stuffed cat and dog toys, flowers.  I didn’t care.  All that mattered was that we had had an adventure.  We started back to the garage when Pasha stepped on something crumpley.  I picked it up.  It was the five dollars I needed to buy the kitty-condo!  I guess we found a treasure after all! 

Floating out in space

Turning ninety somersaults

With a funny face

You can be a beekeeper

Collecting gobs of honey

Wouldn’t it be less painful

To get it from a bunny?

You can be a circus clown

Throwing a cream pie

To make the keeper of the bees

Laugh, instead of cry

You can be a daredevel

Jumping from a plane

You’re smarter than the other guy

Who tried it from a train!

You can be an Eskimo

Traveling by sled

Through the frozen tundra

With a husky dog named Fred

You can be a fireman

Dashing through the flames

Of your neighbor’s backyard barbeque

(We won’t mention their names)

You can be a garbage man

Picking up the trash

That sits outside the neighbor’s yard

With smoking coals and ash

You can be a hair stylist

Trimming heads of hair

Be careful not to try it on

A lion or a bear!

You can be an ice cream man

Playing silly tunes

The kids come running to your truck

They even bring their spoons!

You can be a juggler

Throwing balls and bats

As long as you don’t sling around

A goldfish or a cat

You can be a kite maker

Making things that fly

With all the colors of the world

Except, of course, the sky

You can be a lifeguard

Saving many lives

When the hippos and the rhinos

Are practicing their dives

You can be a movie star

Signing autographs

Even animals love you

From monkeys to giraffes

You can be a newscaster

Telling us the news

About the dancing bandit

In the ballerina shoes

You can be an officer

Protecting one and all

From that crazy dancing bandit

As you trip him in the hall

You can be a pizza guy

Spinning out the dough

Watch out for that little girl!

Keep practicing your throw

You can be a quilt maker

Stitching cloth with care

To place upon an old sheep’s bed

Who may have lost his hair

You can be a rancher

Sheering herds of sheep

But hopefully they’ll have a quilt

To warm them while they sleep

You can be a scuba diver

Looking for a ship

That sank to the bottom

Of a tub of onion dip

You can be a tuba player

Puffing out your cheeks

To blast a great big note

Every time your sister speaks

You can be an umpire

Calling all the strikes

Keep your eye on the ball

Or you might be calling, “Yikes!”

You can be a veterinarian

Healing people’s pets

Except for Joe’s piranha

Who keeps chewing through his nets

You can be weaver

Spinning thread so strong

To make a special order net

For Joe’s fish gone wrong

You can be an explorer

Discovering new places

See the beauty of the world

Made of wonderfully strange faces

You can be a zookeeper

Working at the zoo

Make sure you clean your shoes

Or we’ll all be saying, “Pew!”

ou can be a- hey!

We skipped the best one yet!

 You should always be YOU

Born for greatness- you bet!

Blue and yellow sticks of chalk

Pink and green, along with white

Make my world awfully bright

I can draw the things I see

Every day, all around me

The grass and flowers, hand in hand

The ocean blue, washing on sand

My kitten who has made a friend

With a leaf in the wind

A giant game of tic-tac-toe

Where you are X and I am O

A happy message of the season

Like “Happy Easter”, or any reason

I draw my world as I see fit

But, raincloud, you stay off of it!

Even Pickle’s girl knew he was born for greatness; after all, it’s not every day you see a cat with thumbs. She worked to perfect his hunting skills by creating new ways to play with him, giving him all sorts of things to chase and pounce upon. She kept him on his toes (even the extra ones) as he stalked his prey, waiting for just the right time to surprise the tattered ribbon or the crumpled up tin foil with his expert attack techniques.

Each evening Pickle would venture out into the garden under the inviting moonlight, sneaking under the palmetto, snaking his way around the edge of the azaleas, sniffing the sweet aroma of the roses. Sometimes a poor, unfortunate sleeping mouse, lost frog, or, yes, even a baby bird, would meet its demise as Pickle would time his attack just right. Waiting for just the right moment as he wiggled his behind up in the air, the great savage would suddenly seize his prey, pinning it down with his powerful paws.

Yes! This was what Pickle lived for! The exhilaration, the danger, the challenge! And, of course, the fun! Pickle knew deep in his heart he was meant to be a master hunter. “This is the life for me!” he would proudly proclaim.

But even so, somehow, the sweetness that has been said to flow from his toes would pour over his latest catch, causing Pickle to gently shove it away, allowing it to scurry to its sanctuary. Thankfully, no other creature was around to witness this moment of weakness; or so he thought…

It was on an evening such as one of these that Pickle’s destiny to be a master hunter was erased from his hopes and dreams. He had just spotted a yummy morsel of a giant yellow grasshopper. But instead of hearing the frantic chirping of the insect, he heard a soft snicker coming from under the garden shed. As the grasshopper jumped off to the succulent leaves of a giant spider lily, the snicker grew louder.

Pickle’s feline curiosity led him closer to the shed to peak into a tunnel that opened up along the edge. Deep inside the darkness of the tunnel, two shiny lights blinked at the perplexed cat. This would have been a frightening sight to him had it not been for the joyous laughter escaping from the blackness.

The twinkling eyes grew larger as the laughter grew closer to Pickle. Then the laughter had a face from which it flowed- a leathery, pebbly grey face led by a muddy muzzle. Its head was crowned with two pointy ears jutting out from a giant suit of armor.

“Hey!” said the armadillo. “Thanks for giving me a good dose of laughter! I’ve been down under this here shed, poking around all night, looking for just the right spot to take a nap. It can be quite a grueling task! I was really needing a break when I happened to see something I’ve never seen before.”

The creature’s eyes glared merrily at Pickle’s soft grey paws. “What do you call those?” she asked, pointing a sharp dirty claw at Pickle’s extra toes. “Why, I’ve never in my life seen anything like those silly looking things on your paws! What are they? Thumbs?”

Pickle could feel a rush of warmth spread over his face and into his eyes as he realized that she was referring to his extra toes. He had never known that they were anything less than his source of greatness. His cautious curiosity about the armadillo had now turned into painful shame about himself. “You mean… my toes don’t seem special to you? Don’t they make me look regal and fierce? Don’t I look like I’m destined for greatness?”

“Gaw-haw-haw-haaawww!” blasted the beast. “Gaw-ha-ha-ha-ha! Woo-hoo-hoooo!” She laughed so hard she rolled over and tumbled back down into the deep tunnel.

Pickle could feel the ground rumbling with laughter as he hung his head down and sauntered slowly back to the front door step. There he laid his chin over his feet as he waited for his girl to open the door for him at daybreak. He wished he had never been bound for greatness…

Pickle’s girl always looked forward to welcoming him inside in the mornings, for he would always rush in, meowing loudly, rubbing against her legs. The cat, too, always looked forward to this because he couldn’t wait to “tell” her all about his adventures and to be rewarded for his brave work when she caressed and kissed his head. But this morning was different. Indeed, he did rush in and welcome his girl’s tender strokes against his cheeks… but his former excitement was hushed.

He was ashamed to tell her about his latest adventure. He wanted to ask her why she always told him his toes were so special. How can they be so remarkable when they were actually just funny looking? How can he be a great hunter if his prey could easily escape from the sweetness of his thumbs? How can he be feared if he was the object of so much laughter?

These things weighed heavily upon his tired shoulders as he found a secluded place to sleep the day away in the security and comfort of his girl’s soft bed covers.

Each night after that, Pickle’s girl would call him to the door. He would cautiously taste the air outside, decide it was still too bitter to enjoy, then turn away and hide himself in shame.

He would spend his evenings at the foot of his girl’s bed. Nothing moved except an occasional shift of human feet, nudging him to change positions. No sound was heard other than the soft, childish snores. Every now and then, Pickle’s legs felt restless,itching with a need to run or creep or pounce. Yet there was no one to open the door and let his legs escape the stillness. He remained on the bed, waiting for a different life to begin.

But life never changed with a new day. Pickle grew impatient with being in the house. While it was indeed a pleasure to be pampered by his girl all day, he wished for nighttime adventure. He wished to find his greatness. “I’ve got to find the life I was made for,” he determined as he drifted off to sleep.

“PICKLE!” he was rudely awakened from his dreams by the loud sing-song voice of his girl. “PICKLE!” Or was it her voice? The girl was sitting at her desk next to him, but she was entranced by a good book and did not even look up when he heard the voice yet again. “PICKLE!”

He left his girl in her make-believe world and went in search of the source of the sound.

“Pickle! It’s time to play!” The cheerful voice, which was actually several voices, was coming from the garden outside. He jumped up onto the window ledge and peered out to find the faces to the voices. But no one was there.

“Pickle, come on!” Oh, he just had to see who was calling him!

So he took a great big breath and… “MEEEOOOOWWWWW!!!!” His girl came racing to the door, thinking Pickle had just gotten hurt!

Then, seeing that the crazy cat was perfectly fine, she said, “Well. Are you finally ready to go out?” She opened the door to let in the cheerful voices that only Pickle heard. Without thinking, he stepped outside to follow the mysterious sound.

As he got closer to the voices calling him, he began to realize that these voices were very tiny, but extremely persistent.

“Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you!” This voice, Pickle realized, came from a poor little bird he had once captured.

“You’ve been waiting for me? Why? All I do is torment you. I once thought I was a great hunter… but now…”

“Now, you’re STILL a great hunter!” a noisy frog croaked.

“How can you say that? How can I be so great with these silly thumbs? Instead of razor sharp claws, I have these soft extra toes. My girl says they’re full of sugar. That’s why I always let you go when I catch you. That’s not a very good hunter!”

Two gentle baby bunnies peeped out from under a shrub and sang together, “That’s what makes you so GREAT!”

“Yeah! You’re an awesome playmate because you hunt so well!” a squeaky brown mouse added. “I love to play ‘cat and mouse’ with you. What a great game!”

The frog chimed back in, “No, ‘leap cat’ is a great game!”

Pickle stirred these new revelations around in his heart. “You mean… I don’t have to kill to be a great hunter? I don’t need to look fierce with perfect cat claws?”

“Of course not,” came a familiar, gleeful voice from under the garden shed. The armadillo trotted out from her tunnel and joined the garden creatures.

“But, you laughed at me! You said I could never be a great hunter!” Pickle was a bit confused.

“No, I believe you told yourself that.”

“But, you laughed!” The armadillo replied kindly, “That’s what I do when I’m happy. Yes, your toes did look funny to me; and they gave me joy when I needed it the most. You are a great friend for that!”

Pickle now saw what the garden animals saw. He was destined for greatness… but not because of his powerful might… but because of his overflowing kindness coming from his silly looking toes!

As Pickle rolled around the garden with the bunnies, the bird, the frog, the mouse, and even the armadillo, he shouted in his heart, “This is the life for me!”

I’ve helped my mom set the table.

I’ve shared with my sister.

I’ve let my dad win at Go-Fish.

So it’s just not fair that I’m sitting here in time-out!

My mom says I can’t play until I find all my dirty socks. It’s not fair, I tell ya! I’ve kept my room extra-super clean for a whole week. The only thing I leave on the floor is my socks, so you’d think I could find them extra-super easy! It’s not my fault that the dog hair monster comes out at night and takes them.

Yeah, that’s right. A dog hair monster.

I saw it last night under my bed. I couldn’t fall asleep at bedtime, no matter how hard I tried. (Maybe it was the hot chocolate and swamp creature movie.) But I was staring at my clean floor, wondering what happened to my red socks yesterday, when I thought I saw something yellow blow across the floor and under my bed.

My eyes couldn’t help but take a peek under there. Nothing but black spookiness, which made me quick-hide under my covers.

Well, after I couldn’t breathe anymore, I poked my head out and looked around my room. I started to think that maybe I wouldn’t watch anymore scary movies before bed, when there it was again! A yellow puff of something made its way toward me. As it darted under my bed, another glob of fuzzy gold swept around the door from the hallway. Then more and more blew into my room and disappeared beneath me. A few of them jumped up and tickled my nose before falling back down to the floor. It was then that I noticed these little tufts were made of many yellow hairs- hair from my dog Sunny!

I was sure that Sunny had to be under my bed. Or was he? Sunny is a gigantic yellow dog. (That’s why he’s so “sunny”) There’s no way he could fit down there. But then I imagined him getting stuck and all of his loose hair coming together to help pull him out. It could happen!

No such luck, though. I saw Sunny sleepily wandering down the hall toward my parents’ bedroom.

Then, can you believe it? I felt a thump-thump-thump and a bump-bump-bump through my mattress. I was too scared to jump up and run. But I knew just the thing to protect myself from the dog-hair lurking under my bed. I quick-grabbed all my pillows (I collect them), and I built a fortress all around me.

Then I yelled, “Go ahead, Dog Hair! I dare ya to come get me!” (That’s what the guy in the swamp creature movie did.)

As soon as I said that, I remembered that the guy from the swamp creature movie also had a whole army of soldiers behind him. So I reached up to my shelf and pulled down my bucket of lego men. I picked out all the men that had guns in their hands and helmets on their heads and placed them on the back of my bed, pointing their guns down to the floor. It took me a little while to do this because I was shaking so bad, I knocked over a few.

Then I waited.

Then I waited some more.

Then I waited even more. I think.

When my eyes opened up, I realized I had fallen asleep. But something had tickled my nose and woken me up. As I reached up to scratch the tickle, I knew something was not right. I glanced behind me and found twelve empty spaces on the headboard, where there should have been twelve tough lego men, ready to fight the dog hair monster.

When I turned around to look for them, I couldn’t believe my eyes! There before me was a giant blob of golden, wiry hair with my missing Mr. Potatohead eyes glaring out at me! He was as tall as the ceiling, and he seemed to have two hulky arms with my snow mittens on his hands. (I’ve been looking for those mittens since last year!)

As he moved with a wooshy sound I looked down at his feet (I think), and guess what I saw! My red socks! They moved in circles like the janitor’s floor polisher at school. I was so shocked at this sight that I didn’t notice the little lego men being sucked up under my red socks until the last one scratched the floor as it vanished. I could hear those poor guys rattling against each other from inside the beast.

Next thing I know, the monster made of dog-hair began to squeeze through the air vent on the ceiling. One by one, Sunny’s hair seeped through the tiny slats like spaghetti noodles being sucked through my sister’s gapped teeth. One by one, my lego men slipped through into the ceiling. One by one, my mittens and red socks somehow managed to escape into the vent.

And, I’m not kidding you, just before they followed the socks, the Mr. Potatohead eyes looked right at me and winked!

I listened as the legos traveled through the vent along the ceiling, tap-tap-tapping on the metal. I followed the sound through my door, down the hall, around the corner into the kitchen and through the dining room. Then, before I could reach the family room, I heard a rustling around the corner, by the door. Quietly, I peaked from behind the TV cabinet, and there it was.

Under the air vent was my dog Sunny’s toy chest; and draped over the side was one of my red socks. As I tiptoed over to the toy chest, I tried to grab the sock. But, too late, it jumped down into the chest! I quick-looked down into the bottom and saw a bottomless pit of stuff- missing stuff!

Not only did I find the lego men, but there was my favorite toothbrush with my name on it. There was the long-lost remote control. There was Sunny’s missing collar. There were nine pens and pencils. There was one of Mom’s earrings and two of Dad’s hats. And guess what? Under all that stuff, was a pile of all my dirty socks!

At last! I could show my mom that it wasn’t my fault that my socks got lost! I could show her that there was a reason things disappeared in the house. And I didn’t do it!

After I dragged my mom and dad out of bed and through the house, I ran over to Sunny’s toy chest and stood there proudly, pointing down into the pit of stuff. As they yawned and stretched, they looked inside the chest. Then they looked at me. With angry eyes!

I quick-looked down- down into an empty box with a blue bottom. Empty, except for one lonely bone.

So here I sit in time-out. Thinking of how I’m going to wrestle the dog hair monster down and get my dirty socks back.