On The Way Home by Jill Murphy.
Contrary to what my family believes, I did NOT memorise this book when I read it out loud. I read it. I just read it so often, they thought I did. But at age 5 I really wasn’t smart enough to learn an entire book.
This picture book is the earliest favourite I can remember. It follows the adventures of a little girl (whose name I can’t remember) as she walks home, passing all her friends who ask her why her leg has a plaster on it. So she tells them each a different story, each one more fantastic and adventurous than the last (like getting kidnapped by a gorilla? And being chased by a giant?).
My dad recorded me reading this book once, and on the title page, he told me to say, “Read by Alissa.” But I was under the impression that I was reading what was written in the book, so I spent about ten minutes trying to explain to him that when the book was printed, it couldn’t have known I was going to read it, so it didn’t actually say “Read by Alissa” anywhere on the title page…
I may have been a smart kid, but I was also pretty dumb.