Our 8-year-old daughter recently brought home her free-writing journals from her Grade 2 class. I was reading through her ever-creative prose and found myself chuckling to myself at some of her imaginative creativity.
Today’s fictional story was written — and illustrated — by her with some edits from me and has absolutely nothing to do with being married to an artist. It is, however, directly connected to being the daughter of a storyteller, for better or worse.
It’s short, sweet, and there is no exaggeration. Simply, it’s her personal writing style at eight years old. Enjoy.
It was an early spring morning. The sun had risen two hours earlier. The birds were chirping in the 10-foot conifer outside our bedroom window. And the sky was crystal clear over our lazy crescent in our western Canadian Prairie suburb.
I was peacefully lying awake in bed, enjoying its body-hugging comfort early that morning. Our son was playing video games in the basement family room while our daughter was at the kitchen table creating yet another pencil drawing to add to my growing collection of “daughter art.”
“You should write a story about me, daddy,” our confident and creative daughter told me shortly after I launched this series.
She’s a regular reader of Saturday Morning Stories and gets a kick out of reading about her parents. Her favourite story so far is The Kandinsky Curriculum. I’ll let you guess why.
She’s eight years old and enjoying the glory that comes with being in Grade 2 — still young enough that she’s not jaded about having to go to school every day but old enough to give her parents enough daily sass and eye rolls to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
She’s also a chip off the ol’ block.