When my kids start doing something new, I immediately think that it’s their “calling.” When my daughter started building intricate buildings with Legos, I thought, ” She will be an architect!” When my son started to really enjoy drawing I thought, ” He will be the next Picasso! ” All four of them like to argue, they will be lawyers! The list goes on and on. In reality, they probably won’t be anything I have imagined. It’s just my obsessive need to control everything, even the future, taking over.
My 3 year old son has recently developed a love of telling stories. Granted, his stories are quite often nonsensical and sound like the ramblings of a mad man, but they are stories nonetheless. He honestly has pretty decent timing when it comes to comical stories and he also likes to use new words. Of course in my eyes, this all points to the inevitable fact that he will be a Pulitzer Prize winning author one day…….of course.
Today, he and I were eating lunch and when he was finished he jumped up from table, pronounced he had a story to tell me and that he had to go upstairs to get something for the story. I waited patiently and he came running back to the table with his stuffed toy monkey.
“Mommy, I will tell you a fory (he will have to finish speech therapy before he does the press for any of his books…….of course) and it might be a yittle (little) fary (scary) for you.” I assured him that I would be able to handle it and told him to go on.
“There was a monkey named Jumper and he went into a bery, dart (dark) forrest. It was raining and he fepped (stepped) in mud……and it hurt him. He fought (thought) he heared (yes, he said heared) a giant! Jumper hided in a cave wif bears and then he was bery, bery fiet (quiet).” His voice dropped to a whisper and he was leaning very close to me. I was literally on the edge of my seat, holding my breath, waiting to hear what would happen to Jumper the monkey. My son took a deep breath and said ” Pee on your face! Poop in the toilet! Hahahahahaha!” He then dropped to the floor, unable to control his own laughter.
Say what you want, but every Pulitzer prize winning author had to start somewhere.