Every so often I read something that I think needs to be shared. In these crazy times, I wanted to share this piece by Norman Leonard. He has a substack where he writes weekly about funny/ironic things.

This is a story he wrote for his kids a long time ago. It’s in the style of Shel Silverstein, and he got a little playful with it, sketching out some moments.  Besides being a great read, it reminds up that no matter what, we should be grateful. Like the prayer, “Thank you for letting the rooster know the difference between day and night” reminds us, we can be grateful for every day we have.

It’s the kind of story I would have read to my kids when they were young because it’s funny, a bit scary, and teaches a lesson. It’s kind of like the classic book, Go the F*** to Sleep, read by Samuel L. Jackson that had my wife and I laughing out loud (I don’t think we actually ever read it or played it for our kids until they were MUCH older). If you haven’t heard it and are not offended by the vulgarity, it’s a true classic.

Here is the piece by Norman Leonard.

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In my travels, I’ve been many places,

Done many things, seen many faces. 

There was one town I visited, not too long ago—

I thought it was normal. Turns out, it only seemed so. 

It looked like a lot of other towns I knew

With lots of boys and girls, many just like you. 

But this town had a secret and, no, not the fun clubhouse kind.

This secret was a whopper—scared one third-grader right out of his mind. 

The town had a monster who lived here and there,

A monster who could be lurking anytime, anywhere.

He hunted small children, specifically ones who would whine,

And he boiled them in his pot, often with garlic and brine.  

The whining, it had been hypothesized…

Well… it made the kids tasty, made them tenderized. 

One summer night, a first-grader began to whine and to pout,

When the monster heard, he prepped a stew with worms and sauerkraut.

As the first grader’s whining hit an all-time high,

The monster added to his stew some six-year-old thigh.

Later that week, another kid was devoured. 

It wasn’t too long after her attitude had soured.

And that wasn’t the last kid. Not a chance. Nope, nope, nope! 

The monster picked off more who would whine, gripe and mope. 

The town parents loved their children and didn’t want them eaten. 

Not by monster, not by ghost, not by fiend, freak, or cretin.

So they hired a wise woman, an old mother of the earth,

Smiling and warm, an ancient matriarch of mirth. 

And it didn’t take her long to identify the trend

That was bringing the children to a gastronomic end.

She observed the complaining and noted the whiny appeals

That turned kids into ingredients for the monster’s savory meals. 

And so the wise woman made a groundbreaking suggestion

To keep kids from being part of the monster’s digestion. 

She proposed that every whiny, belly-aching attitude

Be replaced by super-duper enthusiastic gratitude. 

Be thankful for parents, friends and siblings, too. 

Be thankful for a silly joke on days you feel blue.

 Be grateful for medicine and vegetables, all those things that make you say “yuck.”

Be grateful for every time you were stumped, bested, or stuck.  

Be grateful for what you have, grateful for what you don’t. 

If you are, you won’t get eaten. It’s true! You really won’t. 

Well, the kids took her advice and the whining stopped turkey-cold. 

The kids practiced gratitude, practiced just like they were told. 

They were thankful everyday, appreciative every night, 

And soon enough that hungry monster lost its appetite.

The monster in that town was never seen again.

And the kids cried, “Hallelujah, baby! Amen, amen, amen!” 

Now, you might be grateful, too, that this monster was run out,

But don’t think you’re safe to whine—it still might be about. 

No, not in that town—perhaps in yours—monsters are known to stray. 

So swap that whining for gratitude and keep that monster appetite away. 

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