The Lost Diaries of Christopher Robin

by Dan Gurewitch on February 15, 2007

You probably remember Christopher Robin as the happy-go-lucky lad who frolicked with Winnie the Pooh and friends in the Hundred Acre Wood. But behind the smile-filled adventures lurks a boy’s hidden pain - a pain described with intricate detail in his Lost Diaries.

May 12, 1922: What a beautiful day it was in the forest! It was as if the sun was giving the whole world a great big Pooh-sized hug. Tigger was so happy that when he won Poohsticks, he bounced right into the stream. I haven’t laughed so hard since Piglet very nearly caught a Woozle! Eeyore, however, was his usual gloomy self. What a droopy old donkey!

Aug. 8, 1922: Well, all the honey in my cupboard is gone. It used to be cute, but at a certain point, it’s just a bear in a cut-off T-shirt stealing your stuff. Honestly, I’m starting to get a little fed up with all of them. Owl won’t shut up with the constant nagging. I already have a mom, thanks! And Eeyore, what a downer. I made the baseball team today, and all he could say was “Looks like rain.” “Looks like” I’m going to start grounding up Prozac in his breakfast.

Nov. 21, 1922: How was your day, Diary? Because I got the sh*t kicked out of me at school for believing that my stuffed animals are real. I was too embarrassed to go to the doctor. If I’m crazy, explain the f*cking pig and tiger sitting by my bedside nursing my broken ribs. As Eeyore was carrying me back to the house, I thought I saw some scars right above his hooves. He said he got caught in some bramble. Fine. I’ve got my own problems.

Jan. 4th, 1923: Late last night, Kanga came into my room. She climbed into bed next to me and whispered that Roo was asleep. I don’t know why I didn’t object. Maybe it was the stress of the past few weeks. Maybe it was the loneliness. But we made love, Diary. And it was good. This morning, as I was deep inside Kanga’s pouch, Piglet came in squealing that he saw a Heffalump. I hope he was too scared to discover our passion.

Jan 8th, 1923: I knew my parents wouldn’t understand when I told them about Kanga. They said I should “grow up and play with other children.” They wanted to send me to the asylum for electroshock therapy. Well, I ran away with Kanga. As we took off through the woods, we saw Eeyore hanging lifeless from a tree. Just keep your head down, Christopher – you’ll soon be free of this hellhole. Ninety-two acres to go.