Book Love: Leo the Late Bloomer

"Are you sure Leo’s a bloomer?”

asked Leo’s father.

“Patience,” said Leo’s mother.

“A watched bloomer doesn’t bloom.”

One of my favorite things to do is spend time at the children’s section of Fully Booked, looking for new stories to develop for our storytelling sessions with Make Believe. We are always on the lookout for stories that bring us vibrant and dynamic worlds, with incredible spirit and heart, and with memorable lessons to teach both children and adults alike. (We are so all-out in our storytelling sessions that even adults companions become a very invested audience, oftentimes watching us in sheer amusement, as if asking, what are these grown, crazy people doing?) We consider the books we adapt as our partners and our jump off points in the creative process – they define and paint their worlds so richly that it becomes a joy for us to explore these, and then bring these to life to our audiences.

Imagine my sheer delight then, when I saw a copy of Leo the Late Bloomer sitting on the shelves, waiting for me to notice it! Written by Robert Klaus and beautifully illustrated by Jose Aruego, Leo the Late Bloomer was the story I had adapted into a play for the very first children’s workshop I had ever handled, some twelve (yes, twelve!) years ago when I was still a preschool teacher in the wonderful school Create. This was pre-Make Believe days, and I had loved this story even then, for its lovely, delicate telling of the story of a late bloomer set in a colorful, vivid jungle. I saw in it so many possibilities for staging, and loved the lesson at the heart of it. 

A Little Princess

“If you love a flower that lives on a star, it is sweet to look at the star at night. All the stars are a-bloom with flowers.” – The Little Prince

Me with my beautiful, blooming rose :-)

She entered our room on the first day of classes, a shy and sweet little thing, with bright eyes and a lovely smile. She seemed quite proud of her purple Elsa dress - she held the edges of her skirt and swayed slightly. Her name was Princess, her yaya shared. I stepped forward to greet her, and to invite her to create a costume with the pieces of fabric we had laid out for the children’s use. She promptly burst into tears. We soon began the class. Her tears escalated into sobs, the sobs morphed into loud wails thus causing my co-teacher, Neil, to take her out for a breather. She no longer wished to return after that. And so ended our first day.

Princess arrived the next workshop day in a blue Elsa dress. She took a few, tentative steps from the door, looked around the room and the classmates that were calling her, and was quiet. I held my breath, waiting for her reaction. And yes, she burst into tears again. This time, however, and after much persuasion, she agrees to stay inside the room. And so ended day number two.