The SockKids Meet Lincoln Discussion Questions

When you think about discussing a book, the first thing that comes to mind may not discussing a children’s book with your child. But little kids can and do find their own meaning and relevancy in what they read.

In The SockKids Meet Lincoln, Stretch, the oldest child in the Socker family, time travels through the spin cycle and onto the foot of Abraham Lincoln during the delivery of the Gettysburg Address. The 150th anniversary of the Gettysburg Address is November 19, 2013. We’ve come up with a list of discussion questions for The SockKids Meet Lincoln. Not all of the questions will be appropriate/helpful for all ages of children. The first questions are best for younger kids, the later questions for older kids.  Let these questions be a springboard to talking about other books or learning more about Lincoln, Gettysburg, and the Civil War.

1.) What was your favorite part of the book?

2) If Stretch lived next door to you, do you think you and he would be friends?

3) If you were Stretch, would you have done anything differently?

4) If Meade time traveled to our time, what do you think he and Stretch might do?

5) What do you think happens after the story? Do you think Stretch will ever try to go back and find Meade again?

6) Stretch, the tube sock, is white. He ends up on President Lincoln’s foot next to a black sock. The socks look different and come from different times, so you might think they wouldn’t like each other, but they quickly become friends. Has there ever been a time when you became friends with someone who was very different from  you?

 

Find Us On Facebook And Twitter

Find The SOCKKIDS on FACEBOOK

Find The SOCKKIDS on TWITTER

When The SockKids Were Born

That November night was an evening like so many others, cold and dreary. It would end up being extraordinary.
My two daughters, separated by four years and divided on so many subjects, were in perfect disharmony again over another silly issue. One daughter wanted the window down for some fresh air while the other demanded more heat.

I kept my cool for the initial spurt of acrimonious words, offering a compromise by lowering the window halfway. I was more determined to keep my eyes focused straight ahead as our little car navigated the tricky curves of the Southern State Parkway along the south shore of Long Island.

“I’m cold, Daddy,” one daughter said, mechanically pushing the window up, igniting a fierce retaliatory response from my other daughter in the front passenger seat.

“No!” was her reply.

The window slid up and down several times, distracting me as I drove in the left lane.

“Stop!” I finally shouted.

It momentarily quelled the battle. A few seconds later, I heard the window slide down. And up. And down. And up.
By now, rush hour traffic was all around me as I headed back east to go home. I had enough. I reached over to push a button to give me control of the window. I took my eye off the car in the middle lane next to me and in that split second he crossed in front of me.

I stopped short and my left tire hit the narrow barrier. The car bounced up and down like a rubber ball, then spun around 360 degrees. It felt like we were in slow motion. I felt a momentary sense of relief as I could feel two tires in the back settle down. Yet, we spun around again 360 degrees. I remember thinking, “Oh my God, I’m going to hit someone and hurt them. Oh my God.”

It’s safe to say now during this brief moment I was preparing myself to die so I let my body relax. But it was only for a second or two. I fought to regain control of the bouncing car and steered it away from traffic and into the median on the left. The car darted off the highway and into brush, speeding toward a group of trees as I pressed hard on the brake.

My oldest turned around and said to her sister, “I love you.”

She then said to me, “I love you, Daddy.”

I kept pressing on the brake as the brush and branches scraped and battered the frame of the car. We came skidding to a stop, banging into a tree. The car was smashed in but we were unharmed. I made sure everyone was fine and sat there for a few minutes. I got back on the highway and drove home – in silence. No one asked to put the window up or down.

I walked in silence and went upstairs, turned off the bedroom light, laid down, and cried. Some tears were from fear, fear that I could have been the reason why my daughters never got to live through their childhoods. There were tears of joy, thankful for this “miracle.” There were tears of gratitude, too. I was grateful that I would have more days and memories with my daughters.

Grateful. Grateful to still be here and able to hug and tell my daughters, “I love you.”

I reflected back on that night many times and wondered what have I done wrong that these two beautiful people in my life can’t see how terrific their relationship can be. Sisters and brothers should always have great friendships.

I spoke about that moment a couple of years later during supper on a hot summer day. We were sitting down at a dining room table after a barbecue when I began my thoughts, remembering the instant my oldest told my youngest, she loved her.

Perhaps embarrassed, both of them diverted my thoughts again, this time making fun of my socks, mismatched as they were on this August afternoon. We started to laugh. Then another miracle happened. I saw some sighs from my daughters that they were actually enjoying each other’s company – at my expense.

I was fine with this situation.

I let them tease me some more. I gave them a big grin. Then I started thinking. Wait. Where do my missing socks go? What happens to them? Are they runaway socks? Do they seek other humans’ feet to warm? Could they time travel?

The laughter continued while my mind raced. While ideas were percolating, I still never left this sweet moment, relishing the smiles on their faces.

They were inspiring me.

Both of my daughters.

Together.

I started to draw up the concept inside my head. The excitement was building that I had something special to share with adults and children.

I looked down at my socks for a brief moment and whispered, “Why, thank you, my friends.”

I waited for the laughter to die down before I gave them both my gratitude.

They looked at each other with puzzled looks.

“Why?” asked my youngest.

“For showing me that remembering a tough moment can lead to a special one.”

On August 6th of every year, I wear mismatched socks to celebrate our extraordinary day, the day where my daughters enjoyed each other’s company and the moment the SockKids were born.

I hope they notice my mismatched socks more often.