Why Is 'Everyone Poops' Considered A Classic Children'S Book?

As a parent who's read this book countless times, I can say 'Everyone Poops' hits the perfect note for toddlers. It normalizes a bodily function that kids are naturally curious about but often feel shy discussing. The simple, matter-of-fact text paired with playful illustrations makes it feel like a fun secret everyone shares. What makes it classic is how it transforms something potentially embarrassing into a universal experience—kids giggle while learning basic biology. The book’s genius lies in its lack of pretension; it doesn’t moralize or overexplain. Just colorful animals pooping in their habitats, showing that it’s as natural as eating or sleeping. I’ve seen kids who resisted potty training suddenly embrace the idea after realizing even lions and whales do it.

'Everyone Poops' isn’t just a book—it’s a cultural reset for early childhood education. Before its publication in 1977, most children’s literature avoided the subject entirely, leaving parents to awkwardly improvise. Taro Gomi’s masterpiece broke barriers by treating excretion with humor and scientific honesty.

The illustrations do heavy lifting here. A whale’s massive plume in the ocean contrasts with a tiny mouse’s droppings, visually teaching scale and diversity. Kids grasp that bodies function differently without a single complex word. The book’s pacing is brilliant too—it builds anticipation by showing animals eating first, then answers the obvious question with a satisfying ‘and then they poop!’

What cements its classic status is global adaptability. The content transcends language and culture because every human child eventually confronts this reality. Modern derivatives like 'The Poo That Grew' or 'Dinosaur Poop' owe their existence to Gomi’s pioneering approach. Librarians report it’s consistently among the most stolen books, proving its irreplaceable role in early development.

From an educator’s perspective, 'Everyone Poops' is revolutionary because it weaponizes toddler humor to teach emotional intelligence. The book’s power comes from timing—it targets the exact age when kids start noticing bodily autonomy but lack vocabulary to express it. By showing an elephant squatting next to a bird, it subtly introduces concepts of privacy and appropriateness without lectures.

Its staying power stems from subversive honesty. Unlike sanitized potty-training books that use euphemisms, Gomi’s bluntness disarms anxiety. I’ve used it in preschools where kids initially gasped at the word ‘poop,’ then dissolved into relieved laughter. That catharsis is therapeutic; children realize their secret fascination isn’t shameful.

The book also cleverly segues into science. Parents often extend readings by discussing why rabbits eat their poop (cecotropes!) or how fish waste fertilizes coral reefs. It becomes a stealthy biology primer wrapped in toilet humor—a combo that’s impossible to replicate.