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Three Questions for Roald Dahl
What would it be like to meet your favorite writer?
When I imagine meeting Roald Dahl, I think of the countryside. I picture the fjords of Norway or a quiet cobblestone road that leads to an English prep school. I think of summer breezes and the smell of chocolate and the eagerness and the tirelessness of youth.
The wind-up
Dahl would approach at a stroll, probably smoking, with a stern face but twinkling eyes. It goes without saying he’s an eye smiler because an eye smile is impossible to fake. Or maybe instead of strolling he’d pull up in a magnificent car. A great, shiny, roaring car that filled the horizon with the promise of magic and adventure.
“Hop in!” he’d say. “How far are you going? I’m stopping because I’ve been where you are and I always like to help a fellow out. If you’re not going anywhere, hop in anyway and I’ll give you a tour. There’s so much to see and so little time to see it.”
So I would hop in overwhelmed and silent, because in addition to being Roald Dahl, his physical appearance, tall, lean, fair, reminds me of my grandfather. My grandfather, the doctor who also cared for children, and whose hugs I still remember. Grandpa had the same mischievous nature as Dahl, and though he maintained a stern face, his eyes, too, tended to…