hipy papy bthuthdth

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One of my favorite people has a birthday today, and received the standard message:

HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY

Well, [Pooh] washed the pot out, and dried it, while Owl licked the end of his pencil, and wondered how to spell "birthday."

"Can you read, Pooh?" he asked, a little anxiously. "There's a notice about knocking and ringing outside my door, which Christopher Robin wrote. Could you read it?"

"Christopher Robin told me what it said, and then I could."

"Well, I'll tell you what this says, and then you'll be able to."

So Owl wrote … and this is what he wrote:

HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY.

Pooh looked on admiringly.

"I'm just saying A Happy Birthday,'" said Owl carelessly.

"It's a nice long one," said Pooh, very much impressed by it.

"Well, actually, of course, I'm saying 'A Very Happy Birthday with love from Pooh.' Naturally it takes a good deal of pencil to say a long thing like that."

"Oh, I see," said Pooh.

"No," said Pooh. "That would not be a good plan. Now I'll just wash it first, and then you can write on it." // Well, he washed the pot out, and dried it, while Owl licked the end of his pencil, and wondered how to spell "birthday." // [Drawing: Owl seated on a chair, turning his head and licking a pencil] // "Can you read, Pooh?" he asked, a little anxiously. "There's a notice about knocking and ringing outside my door, which Christopher Robin wrote. Could you read it?" // "Christopher Robin told me what it said, and then I could." // "Well, I'll tell you what this says, and then you'll be able to." // So Owl wrote … and this is what he wrote: // HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY.
Pooh looked on admiringly. // "I'm just saying 'A Happy Birthday,'" said Owl carelessly. // "It's a nice long one," said Pooh, very much impressed by it. // "Well, actually, of course, I'm saying 'A Very Happy Birthday with love from Pooh.' Naturally it takes a good deal of pencil to say a long thing like that." // "Oh, I see," said Pooh. // While all this was happening, Piglet had gone back to his own house to get Eeyore's balloon. He held it very tightly against himself, so that it shouldn't blow away, and he ran as fast as he could so as to get to Eeyore before Pooh did; for he thought that he would like to be the first one to give a present, just as if he had thought of it without being told by anybody. // [Two drawings of Piglet, carrying and popping the balloon by tripping, respectively] // And running along, and thinking how pleased Eeyore would be, he didn't look where he was going … and suddenly he put his foot in a rabbit hole, and fell down flat on his face.

(Page images via Wikisource; from A.A.Milne's "Winnie-the-Pooh," 1961, if you don't happen to have this committed to memory.)

When I was a young adult, maybe when my children were born and I was thinking about children's books, my mother asked me if I remembered reading these books together when I was little. I didn't really, and perhaps remembered them a little less than fondly. "They were so funny," she said, "that I could hardly get the words out."

Reading them to my own children, I had pretty much the same experience. The kids through the books were kind of ho-hum, but I was absolutely delighted by them and couldn't wait to read more. Or to sputter more to myself with the book in my hand, to the annoyance of a child who is cranky at bedtime.

I think what's happened here is that Milne has so perfectly captured the experience of being five or six years old, living in a world of imagination and having invincible superpowers except for challenges like being able to spell, that for some kids the story is just kind of ho-hum. But adults, who have escaped from this stage of life and are seeing it presented as an absurd idyll, have a very different experience.

One of the joys of adulthood is rereading books from earlier stages in your life, and comparing your reaction today to the reaction you remember from the past. The experience is nearly always different. It's one of a few places where you can isolate the change to a difference in the reader, rather than a difference in the text.