I remember this book with all of the fun and the wonder of a punch in the face (no, not really, but I felt like saying that at the opening to this commentary). Once again we have Papa Bear attempting to show off to his kid how wonderful he is and then pretty much making a complete mess of the situation which results in his kid, once again, bailing him out, but also under the strange belief that he has actually learnt something.
This book was obviously written in the northern hemisphere, or at least in the regions where it actually snows for Christmas (because down here – or should I say up here – in the Antipodes we never see snow at Christmas, so we are forever dreaming of a white Christmas – actually, come to think of it, I don't think I have ever dreamt of a white Christmas because to me Christmas is about hot days and swims at the beach and barbecues in the back yard, as well as going to church and midnight mass).
In a way the book's only connection with Christmas is the gifts that little bear gets and it then goes into the familiar parts of where Papa Bear tries to teach little baby bear something and fails abysmally. The fact that some people hate this aspect of the book (and one person has thrown his Berenstain Bears books out in disgust, though I wonder if the accident prone buffoon of a father is a little too close to home for him) makes me feel comfortable when people criticise my commentary of Mister Dog. ( )