My favorite book at story time was Alice in Wonderland. My mother would read to me every night.

My mom would show up in my room at 8:00 to tuck me in. I got to choose the book.

My mom would often be fighting sleep and nursing my little brother.

Every time she nodded off I would prompt: Read! Mommy read!

I never got enough of story time. Of course there was a bit of deception in the process. I often fell asleep after a few pages.

I started fighting sleep just so I could hear more about Alice’s adventures.

Soon I was dreaming of white rabbits, strange concoctions to either eat of drink and how to avoid the Queen of Hearts.

Some nights however, my dreams were scary. The baby that turned into a pig and the flying stack of cards that attacked and buried Alice.

One night, I made an amazing discovery. I could plan my dreams from my favorite chapters.

Next I discovered that I could make up my own stories in which I was Alice. I could expand on the chapters with my own imagination.

As an adult I was dismayed to learn that Lewis Carroll was not such a nice man. He wrote some amazing stories but was rumored to have sexual fantasies about the real little girl, Alice.

With that information I avoided the book as well as the movies about young Alice.

My image of Alice was ruined for me and hence I never introduced the Lewis Carroll book to my own children.