Wednesday, September 21, 2011

The Storyteller

My boy.  I love him.  I love my girl, too, but this story is about my boy.  He's seven and a natural storyteller.  He always has been, and he was always the one out of the two of them to make words into other words.  Instead of mosquito, for years they were called sbgitoes.  Flowers were flowlers.  Tomorrow was famarto.  And if he were to tell a story, you'd be brought round 180 degrees until he got to the point.

At seven, he no longer calls flowers flowlers or tomorrow famarto, but he is still a natural with the storytelling.  Yesterday, when he came home from school, he had one for me.

Showing me a band-aid on his hand.
"Look at this."

"What happened?"  I asked.

Showing me a boo-boo on his knee.
"Look at this."

"What happened?"  I asked again.

"Well, um ok, you know Mark in my class?" (no, I don't, but I nodded anyway, because we all live in his head with him and see what he sees everyday) "We bumped into each other."

"You bumped into Mark?" I asked.

"No, no.  You know Mark in my class?   He has a brother named Matthew.  He's not in my class, he's in another class."

"Is he in your grade?"

"Yeah, but I don't know his teacher."

"That's ok.  So Mark has a brother named Matthew in another class.  I guess they are twins, right?"

"Yeah, they're twins.  But Mark is older.  Mark is seven and Matthew is six".

I blinked and decided to let that go. 
"Ok, so you bumped into Matthew.  Where?"

"Yeah, you know that there are two Matthews in that class.  Matthew W and Matthew C.  But Matthew W is with Mark.  Matthew C isn't.  I have a Matthew in my class.  He's Matthew R.  But we don't have to say Matthew R, because he's the only Matthew.  There's two Aidens, though, so we have to say Aiden P and Aiden D.  But not Matthew.  There's just one Matthew."

"Ok, so you bumped into Matthew."

"Yes, not Matthew C, because Matthew W is with Mark."

"So you bumped into Matthew W."



"At recess, on the blacktop."

"Oh, ok."

"But not the front blacktop, the little blacktop.  The front blacktop isn't open yet."

"Ok, I know which one."

"The little blacktop that's on the back of school.  We didn't go on the front blacktop."

"Got it.  The one on the back."

"Right.  You know, the one by the out door?  That one."

"Yes, I got it.  I know which one.  The one outside the Kindergarten hall."

"Yeah, that one."

"So you bumped into Matthew W on the small blacktop.  How did you bump into him?"

"I was running and I bumped into him."

"Ok.  Did you go to the nurse?"

"Yeah, and I got band-aids, but the one on my knee came off."

"I see that."

"And this one is coming off, too" (he says as he peels off the band-aid).   "Can I have another one?"

"Did the nurse clean it for you?"

"Yeah. Can I have a band-aid?"

"Ok.  Hold still."  (cleaning the wound)  "Better?"

"OW!!!  That stings!  The nurse didn't make it sting!"  (shaking his hand all over the place)

"Sorry, buddy, I've got to clean it.  Hold on, here's the band-aid."  (putting the band-aid on with some ointment.) "Better?"

"Yeah.  Can I have a snack?"

That's my boy, alright! 
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  1. two children and 4 granddaughter's later. Awesome. what a delight that some things never change!

  2. LOL, I have conversations with my boy like that daily--hourly---haha, got to love little boys!


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