A boy notices everything around him that can be shy—a seedling slow to sprout, a marker timid to let its color out. But no one accuses objects of being too shy. On a seaside stroll home from school with his older brother, the boy doesn't feel shy at all. Because, like the ocean tides, sometimes we're shy, and sometimes we're like big, booming waves with a lot to say at the end of the day.
A lyrical exploration of situational shyness, and how sometimes inanimate objects can be shy too.
March 15, 2023
A thoughtful, reserved child makes trenchant observations. At daybreak, the small narrator notices that the sun is slow to peek through bedroom curtains, that some pieces of cereal hide beneath the milky surface of the bowl, that waves can be quiet, that seedlings can be "slow to sprout," and that a marker can be "hesitant to release its color." Sun, sea, cereal, seedlings, and marker are not called "shy," but the narrator is--and "too shy" at that. After school, the protagonist's older brother is waiting to meet up, and as they walk home along the shore, the tide has turned and the quiet sea is now booming. The siblings play in the water, and the narrator now talks up a storm, telling their brother about their school day and explaining how caterpillars metamorphose, prompting the brother's lighthearted rejoinder--"Do you ever stop talking?"--and making them both laugh at this disconnect. Over the course of the story, the narrator acknowledges that other children might be bolder but perceptively realizes that labels like shy are limiting. After all, as the day has shown, time brings changes, and transformations happen. The colorful, sun-washed illustrations set diverse cartoon figures against the bright background of a seaside village and the narrator's cozy house. The narrator and their family are tan-skinned. (This book was reviewed digitally.) An encouraging, subtle reminder not to be so quick to make snap judgments. (Picture book. 4-8)
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