Reflections on a Bedtime Story

As I lay down in bed free of worries or cares,

I am hardly aware of big feet on the stairs.

The soft crunch of carpet beneath hard-soled shoes

Alerts me that Dad’s home from work in his ‘blues’;

His navy blue suit coat, his navy blue tie, his navy blue trousers -

They all catch my eye, as my knob turns

And slowly my door’s opened wide,

Revealing my Dad holding books at his side.

For the next quarter hour I listen intently

’Til Dad’s finished reading and kisses me gently.

His voice echoes on as he shuts off the light.

Soon he says, ‘pleasant dreams’, and I answer, ‘goodnight’.

~Jill Cotu

THE FUTURE OF CASEY BLOOM                middle grade fiction            sci fi / family genre

The story of an 11 year old boy's journey to find himself, Casey Bloom reads like Harry Potter meets Back to the Future.

Casey Bloom is an 11 year old misfit. He'd be the first to tell you that. Though others don't share his conviction, Casey sees himself as hopelessly average - especially in comparison to his older brother, Ryan, a genius athlete and future scientist. When Ryan is off at NASA space camp, Casey is sent to spend the summer with his eccentric Grandpa in California. What begins as a quiet, forgettable vacation turns into a life-changing adventure when Grandpa Bob accidentally activates a time machine hidden inside an old clock. Catapulted 90 years into the future, he witnesses a shocking event: his grandson is being honored for altering the course of human history, indirectly bringing about world peace! 

Chapters chronicle the journey of Casey, Grandpa, and an oddball cast of locals, as they unravel the mystery of time travel, deal with a stowaway from the future, and help Casey realize the hero he is destined to become.

The book explores themes of identity, self-worth, the power of small actions, and how greatness often hides in unexpected places. It is a heartfelt reminder to young readers that everyone has something unique to offer - and sometimes, the most extraordinary journey begins with believing in yourself.

My Aunt's Pants

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be just like my Aunt Wanda. She was crazy, in the best way. She gave my sister and I gag gifts at Christmas. One year she used puffy paint to decorate the new sneakers we’d left at her house.  My mother was furious, but my sister and I smiled at the silly present.

Aunt Wanda laughed all the time. Sometimes when she laughed I felt shy; I didn’t always understand the joke and I didn’t know how to make people laugh quite that hard or loud. I wished I wasn’t so self conscious. I wished I had Aunt Wanda’s sense of humor and confidence. I asked my mom to buy me a pair of leopard print pants; they would make a statement, like Aunt Wanda.

…and I grew and I grew. Christmas came around again and my family received a package in the mail. It had travelled all the way from Texas! My Aunt Donna had sent handmade presents. Yarn coasters, cross-stitched napkin rings & bookmarks, and jams & jellies. I adored every single thing we unwrapped; each gift looked to my eyes more crafty and creative than the last. Oh how I wished I had skills to make all those cool things. I vowed to get an after school job at Frank’s Nursery & Crafts so I could earn money and buy all the things necessary to be just like my Aunt Donna.  Perhaps Aunt Donna would sew me a pair of paisley bell bottom pants like she wore.

…and I grew and I grew. I started high school. When we visited my favorite uncle, his girlfriend Colleen was always around. She was cool. Very cool. She wore white pantsuits and rock music t shirts. She took my sister and I to concerts, and let us order extra cherry syrup on our ice cream. When she married my uncle, I gained a new aunt - someone that I could talk to and share my teenage secrets with. I asked my mom to buy me a tight fitting pair of blue jeans with white stitching around the pockets. I imagined a pair of concert tickets sticking out of the back pocket.

….and I grew and I grew. There was always a party at Aunt Eileen’s house. She was best cook in the family. In my opinion, she was the best cook in the world. She prepared food like she was expecting a hungry crowd of hundreds, even if the gathering was just a dozen people. In addition to being a lawyer, she had gone to beauty school and knew how to cut & color hair. She had a pilot’s license and a helicopter landing pad on her roof! She taught herself to speak Italian. She was a real renaissance woman. There was nothing she could not do. Whether she was busy in business or the kitchen, she always looked like a magazine ad. Her clothes and jewelry were perfect and put together.

I asked my mom to buy me a smart pair of trousers, pleated and pressed pants that I could wear with just the smallest high heel. Oh please?? I wanted to feel as accomplished as Aunt Eileen.

…and I grew and I grew. I went away to college, and I had a pen pal: my Aunt Pat. She lived in California. She drove a white classic car, and wore expensive perfume. She had her own office, and a wonderfully decorated home with fragile things and custom oil paintings and a smell of flowers wafting throughout. When I visited, she made me feel like a queen. She listened to me. She guided me with sage wisdom and common sense advice.

I spent many afternoons day dreaming about decorating my own house one day just like Aunt Pat’s, and of moving gracefully through life with charm and appreciation of all the things I hadn’t known in the home I grew up in. (Like avocados, and black & white movies.)

I saved up and bought myself a new pair of pants: black leggings with lace on the bottom, like I had seen in Aunt Pat’s closet. I felt beautiful.

…and I grew and I grew. I attended a family reunion with 200 other proud Italian Americans. My Aunt Gracie announced my arrival to her home by ringing a big brass bell for all to hear. In her kitchen zucchini bread was cooling on the stove next to pots of boiling pasta water; rigatoni and homemade sauce would be ready soon. Aunt Gracie taught me the importance of family and tradition. Any pants would do, so long as they were covered by a tomato-stained apron and I had loved ones to spoil.

When I was young I wanted to be just like my aunts. Then one day I found I had grown into a woman, with a head full of my own brilliant ideas, and a heart full of memories made, love shared, and lessons learned.

I had a closet full of my own clothes.

I realized the only pants I wanted to wear were my own.

Author: Jill Cotu