What children's books did you relate to most as a child? I wondered this very thing recently as I drawn into an uber-Barnes & Noble to look at 2007 desk calendars. As is often the case when I wander into a store that offers multiple varieties of items, I end up looking at everything but the item I went in for in the first place. So instead of looking at desk calendars which where conveniently placed at the very entrance of the store and 30% off, I staggered past them into the wonderland of the store. On that day, I was drawn first to the music CDs, then the boxed film DVDs and then the latest non-fiction offerings, ending up in the colorful miniature world that is the children's book department.

Since I was there, I started searching for those books that were my particular favorites of earliest childhood. Of course, Maurice Sendak's splendid "Where the Wild Things Are" was featured prominently and there was Max, magnificent in his woolen wolf suit. That book always fascinated me because of the suggestion that with a little conjecturing, one's bedroom could transform into a jungle. And I was jealous that Max got to wear a wolf suit. I always wanted my own wolf suit, but my mother said only wild things wore wolf suits and that it was really better to be good. It was hardly consolation, but I accepted this argument at the time. As compensation, she did make me a leopard suit with stuffed tail and ears for Halloween that same year and on occasion, I was allowed to wear it on outings to the grocery store.

Another classic that was a family favorite were the Babar the Elephant series. The Babar books we had were discards from a local library, but they were still perfectly beautiful, with their cursive scripted storyline and detailed illustrations. I had an affinity for this affectionate family, the monkey Zephir and the Old Lady who took care of them (and who reminded me a bit of my grandma, Hilda, who lived with us and whom I adored). It didn't matter to me, as a child, that Babar was probably an autocrat and that the evil rhinoceros and their armies represented some darker metaphor. They were such an intimate pleasure to read. In adult speak, the only comparison I can offer is this: Reading those books was like a holiday on the Rivera.

At this young age, however, my hands down favorite book had to be Munro Leaf's "Ferdinand the Bull." We had an old discarded edition from the late 1940s, with the original pen and ink drawings by the wonderful illustrator Robert Lawson. While I can now appreciate it's larger meaning calling for pacifism in an era of war (Leaf wrote it during the Spanish Civil War), at the time I simply adored the character of Ferdinand (above). I understood his desire to lie under the cork trees and sniff the buttercups while the other bulls wanted to charge and snort in the bullring. I often worried if that meant I was prone to passivity, but that's well since been ruled out. I think I appreciated his tendency to luxuriate in the simple things. What's not to love? Please check this book out if you can and don't rely on the Disney animated film which doesn't do justice to the simplicity and beauty of the original book.

So I ambled out of the Barnes & Noble Superstore with a stash of new CDs, a DVD and a copy of these books for friends. I never did pick up the calendar, but it's an excuse to go back to the store again, I guess, and check out the Beverly Cleary books.

So what books influenced you the most at the time you discovered the pleasure of reading?