JULIE MUNSCH, 45

David’s Father (1983), Makeup Mess (2001) and Finding Christmas (2017)

Robert and Ann Munsch adopted Julie Munsch when she was 5½ years old. David’s Father is about a girl named Julie who befriends a boy named David and discovers that his adoptive dad—a giant—is not nearly as scary as she expected.

GROWING UP, I didn’t pay much attention to my father’s work. It was just his job. When I was adopted, he only had two books published, so in a way, me and my dad grew up together. Now, I hear from tons of his fans who tell me he was their pen pal. He’s been open to so many people, not just the ones who became characters in his books. To me, he was just my dad, and writing to young readers was part of his job.

My dad told stories so often that sometimes we just wanted him to shut up. He would tell me and my siblings stories while we were sitting at the dinner table. We were just like, “Stop.” Sometimes he would try out stories before bed. That’s probably my favourite memory of my dad’s stories.

People tell me all the time how incredible my dad is and how much he’s impacted their lives. Nobody gets tired of hearing how great their parents are. But the thing I’m most proud of isn’t how great he is. It’s how open he’s been about his flaws. I’m proud of what he’s done for me, as his daughter—helping me deal with my past and teaching me not to be ashamed of anything.

My younger brother and younger sister were adopted when they were babies. It was different for me because I was older when I was adopted. I had a traumatic childhood. At the time, I felt that adoption was the worst thing that ever happened to me. My dad came up with the story in David’s Father to help me feel better. In the book, a boy named David—inspired by my Grade 2 boyfriend, also named David—is adopted by giants. It was a metaphor: the parents were depicted as big hairy giants because I didn’t want new parents.

When I got older, I realized how sweet it was for him to try to help me process what I was going through by writing that story. I’m aware now that not many 5½-yearold kids get adopted. My parents saved me, nurtured me, loved and guided me.

I hardly read my dad’s books to my own kids. I’ve just heard them all too many times. But I don’t want my children to miss out on the experience of hearing my father’s stories, so I occasionally pull them out. When I read them, I hear his cadence, his rhythm, his mannerisms—the loud noises and everything he does when he’s telling a story.

About three years ago, my daughter picked Love You Forever from the bookshelf. It wasn’t until the ending that I started crying. I finally understood the story.