He Writes Stories

I never told Eddie that I have a blog.  He has no idea what a blog is or what I do with mine.

He doesn’t even know that I teach writing.  Eddie only knows that his mommy is a teacher and has a classroom and big kids that she teaches.  He also knows that I spend lots of time doing “work” on my ‘puter.

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A few months ago, Cort took one of our defunct laptops (yes, I know this is a “you know you’re married to a computer geek when” joke), put Windows 8 on it (don’t even get me started on how dumb that is), and made Eddie a “Game ‘Puter”.

It has internet, but the only sites that are not currently blocked are PBS Kids, Disney Jr, and Nick Jr.

Eddie also has access to Word.

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A few weeks ago, I asked Eddie what game he was playing.

“I’m not playing a game.”

“What are you doing then?”

“I’m writing my stories.”

“Your stories?  What kind of stories?”

“Well, this one is about daddy and his best friend, Mat, and how they never get to see each other because Mat lives so far away and they are sad because friends love each other and want to see each other.”

“Wow, Eddie. That is good.”

“Yeah, but now I think I will write the story about when God died.”

“You mean when Jesus died?”

“Yup. Same thing.”

And away his little fingers went all bunched up over the keyboard simulating what he has seen Cortney and I do when we are on our computers.

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Sometimes his stories are based on something we read from one of his books or from his Bible.  Sometimes they are based on what he knows about family (he has also “written” about how Papa and the cat are both in heaven and he misses them).  Sometimes he makes up funny stuff right from his imagination, like the time he told me he was Bad and he had a Bad Cat and a Bad Baby and the Bad Baby knew karate.

Each time he “writes” a new story or song (oh yeah, he also writes songs apparently), he calls me over to see what he has written.  The last story looked something like this:

lkdjldflkaa;l;dxosal d  ldsakjalfsjlka;l kdljnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn afjasl;xada;lkljf;alskaljsf;lkdjs ldfjsalf jls;kfdj;sa df ald als asl    l sflkjasdl;aeuiiuogj 123456789011121314151617181910101010101010l’iaekl’;        lksfasfsl;f ko



alkfasll i[aajaf’as

I believe that one was about the Bad Baby who knew karate.  Clearly.

All joking aside, my heart melted when he told me he likes to write stories.  He has asked me what the letters he puts together say, and I told him that letters have to be put together in a special order to make words.

“Like in my books?”

“Yup. Like that.”

“Will you teach me to do that?  Will you teach me to reads those words too?”

Oh my heart. At that moment I wanted to pull him close to me and tell him how special words are.  I wanted to whisper in his ear that words can set your soul free of so many burdens, either by writing out your own or reading the words of others.  Words are freeing.

But instead I smiled and told him, “yes.”


So much yes, Eddie.