The inquisitive one went to the apartment and said goodbye to the parents.

The door clicked shut, whereupon the niece started bawling, upset about being left behind. The nephew started hurling multicolored toys up so high that they hit the popcorn ceiling, whereupon asbestos dust rained down on him.

“Hey kids, do you want to go to the playground?” asked the inquisitive one.

“NO!!” yelled the kids.

The niece ran toward the bedroom, tripped on some shoes, fell with a thud, and lay sprawled on the carpet, crying even louder than before. At the same time, the nephew screamed, “WHAT?!!” holding up two pieces of a broken toy. He threw them down and started stalking around the room, muttering about how unfair life is and kicking furniture.

“Hey kids, do you want to read a book?” asked the inquisitive one.

“NO!!” screamed the kids.

The niece stopped crying and wiped her bloody hand, which she must’ve cut on a multicolored toy when she fell, on her sporty yellow sundress. The nephew opened the sliding door, ran outside, and started climbing on top of the balcony railing. The niece noticed some Goldfish crackers scattered amidst the shoes, multicolored toys, and asbestos dust, and ate a couple.

“Hey kids,” exclaimed the inquisitive one, “do you want to play the toilet paper game?!!”

The niece and nephew stopped what they were doing and stared at the inquisitive one.

“What’s the toilet paper game?” said the nephew.

“What’s the toilet paper game?” said the niece.

“I’ll show you in a minute. But first, can you show me where your parents keep the band-aids and ointment for cuts?”

The nephew attentively ushered the inquisitive one into the bathroom. The niece obediently held her hand out to be cleaned up.

For a long time after that, they played the toilet paper game. Then they went to the playground. Then they read a book. They were just getting hungry for dinner when the parents burst through the door, flush with the excitement of having gotten so much done.

The parents did not see any lengths of toilet paper lying around the apartment because, fortunately for the adults in this tale, the toilet paper game does not involve unrolling any actual toilet paper. However, the parents did hear the kids repeatedly saying the word “teepee,” and so, that very evening, they all, as a family, built a fort out of couches and blankets that was somewhat teepee-esque.

The inquisitive one, who had returned home, was also, at that time, quite coincidentally, hiding under mounds of blankets.

I just finished a book that shall not be named.*

It’s a work of nonfiction, published relatively recently, and enjoying a certain amount of popularity. In it, the author expresses opinions on various subjects. While I agreed with many of these opinions, I disagreed with others.

Despite my disgruntlement with some of its content, I read the book cover to cover. It was a page-turner, so that helped. But even if it wasn’t, I may have finished it anyway. I believe it’s important to read and consider alternate viewpoints. Otherwise, how can we know where we stand? It is only in relation to others that we can establish an identity of our own. It can be refreshing to read skeptically—to forge out a path, through ideas, to who you are and what you believe.

And there are further reasons to get intimate with alternate viewpoints. Sometimes, you disagree because you don’t understand a perspective fully enough; reading about it can clear things up. Other times, the more you read, the more you disagree—and the more you arm yourself with arguments against the viewpoint, should you need them. It’s empowering to be able to talk about a subject lucidly and armed with facts. It’s also empowering to know, in your own mind, why you are living your life a certain way—which may differ from that of many, or even most, of your family, friends, and neighbors.

Do you read skeptically?

*When I feature a book on this blog—that is, when I write one or more book previews on it—this means that I believe the book is, while not necessarily perfect (what book is?), certainly excellent, interesting, and worthy of being added to one's nightstand stack. Sometimes I read books that do not meet this (admittedly biased) standard. To stay within the scope of this blog—which is to highlight nuggets of wisdom in great books and elsewhere, and to carve out a heartfelt and hospitable nook amidst the wilderness of the Internet, rather than to offer comprehensive critiques, first-rate examples of which are easy to find elsewhere—I will refrain from identifying these books by name, author, or other means.

I stepped to the checkout counter with six books. Five of them were hard-hitting: critically acclaimed fiction, nonfiction on scientific and philosophical themes, and a classic masterpiece. The sixth was a fun beach read: a cinematographic page-turner.

The young woman behind the counter snatched the sixth book and looked up at me, face aglow. “This is such a good book!”

“Really?” I said.

I didn’t tell her that I was equally—or more—excited about the other five books. Doesn’t anyone read learned books anymore? I peevishly thought.

But she was right. Book six was good. I devoured it with gusto.

So you see, I value others’ literary opinions. No one has time to read every book, just to decide what’s worth reading next . . . and that makes no logical sense, anyway!

So please tell me: What book did you read, and particularly enjoy, this year?

Then, please, without spoilers, describe it to me: Was it high and bright? Was it grounded and glowing? Was it red, yellow, purple, white, green? Did it surprise you by bursting and fading and then bursting again? Did it begin with a bang and then fizzle out? Did it have an inauspicious beginning, but then end with beautifully audacious sparks?

Do you have weekend plans?

I often dread going to a social event, but then I have a great time and feel energized afterward. Does this happen to you?

Geese are social creatures. We can’t go it alone. We need to be strolling in a group, cool and confident. And moving just as slowly . . . or lackadaisically . . . or glacially . . . as we want.

Honk! Honk!

Of course, sometimes a goose prefers to hide in a forest nook and read a book. That’s important, too.

I hope your weekend is full of gaggles of friends . . . or silent book reading. Or both at once.