In the car yesterday, my son, my youngest son, my just-turned-six year old son, told me a story. Actually, he crafted a story as we drove. By the time we made it home, he’d worked it through three times, each varying details, but with the same characters, and the same basic content.
He started to write it down, but was rather encumbered by his kindergarten penmanship and soon became frustrated. He asked me to scribe for him (my word, not his). Of course I complied. But he spoke faster than my dull pencil could keep up. Eventually we got it all down and then typed.
I printed the story out for him with each page room for a picture and writing practice below the typed text. This is my teacher-mom way of validating his story, and encouraging him to work on his letter formation. He’s kind of tired of copying out ‘apple’, a a a a a , ‘banana’ b b b b . I highly recommend it. For a child who would rather kick around a soccer ball, jump on the tramp, or flip through anything on the tv (thank goodness for parental lock-out on the channels) it warms my heart to see him want to work on his story.
I have been thinking about how parenting has influenced my writing and creativity in general. Here is a prime example. Creativity is thankfully contagious.
Once upon a time there was a great white shark that at everything in its path.
Then a day later, the great white shark met a fish. When he was about to snap it down, the fist said, “Stop! Don’t eat me. I am magic.”
there is more and it is rather funny in an unexpected way. Will share more later…