Gentle reader, I have a confession to make. You see, this is awkward, but the children’s book character with whom I feel the greatest kinship, affinity, connection is… Harold, the eponymous hero of Harold and the Purple Crayon.
In this children’s classic, first published in 1955, a little boy, Harold, leaves his bed and home to travel, all with the aid of his purple crayon. Anything Harold draws with his purple crayon comes to life in this wondrous dreamscape. And so, Harold walks along a road, following the moon. He visits an apple orchard of his own creation, he sails the sea in a boat of his own making, and after all this labor, weary and hungry, he has a picnic alone on the shore. This picnic too he must sketch into existence. So what does Harold lovingly draw for this humble repast? His nine favorite kinds of pie.
How could anyone even name nine kinds of pie, much less have that many favorites, my beloved grumpily wondered when we had first discussed this book. Perhaps such negativity is to be expected from the man who would choose broccoli over pie any day of the year, including Thanksgiving. Naturally, I rose to the occasion and named in response many more than nine kinds of pie, all of them my dear favorites. It was during this conversation that, with a start, I came to see the surprising truth: I am Harold.
As everyone else prepares today to enjoy a certain roasted bird, the mysterious chopped bread concoction known as stuffing, various other strange sides that did not exist in my birth country (seriously, what is this green bean casserole thing? And, most importantly, WHY?), and anywhere from three to seven varieties of bread and rolls, I can only think of pumpkin pie, pecan pie, apple pie, cherry pie, strawberry cream pie, peanut butter pie, chocolate cream pie, buttermilk pie, and cheesecake. Sure, the last one of these doesn’t have “pie” in the name but baked as it generally is in a pie crust, it really is a pie, believe you me. I could probably keep going with my list of pies that I love, but banana cream pie and lemon meringue pie, for instance, generally have a summery reputation and therefore must, regrettably, be set aside during this season.
But more than simply encouraging the love of pie, Harold reminds us, ultimately, that much wonder and joy can yet be found in this fragile and unstable world of ours, in imagining our favorite things and dreaming of them with wild and reckless abandon. And so, even if I do not get to bake and eat all nine or more of my favorite varieties of pie this week, it will be okay. Really. Because left unmentioned in Harold’s story but certainly present when I or Harold will wake up the next morning, are the humans—these beloved family members who are infinitely more lovable than (even!) pies.