Friday, July 5, 2013

"Your small minds are musclebound with suspicion. That's because the only exercise you ever get is jumping to conclusions."

Oh my, it's already Fri.  I had this foolish notion yesterday that I should, as part of my preparation for the Army 10 miler, do a long run.  I carefully crafted an up and down route that covered 7.5 miles of scenic deer fly and woodchuck infested countryside.  I'm still limping around.  I wouldn't mind the limping around so much except I'm

out of sympathy and have to get my own coffee now.

Today's original work of fiction is a children's story without pictures - I'm a terrible artist, use your imagination.  Please.
by Jonathan Stark
July, 2013 (359 words)

When I was little I thought my dad was a weatherman because he always told me when I needed to wear a raincoat or mittens.  He could tell me if it was a good day to go swimming with my friends or if I would be able to go sledding on the hill out back.  He taught me about barometric pressure, the types of clouds, and the changing seasons.  But he wasn't a weatherman.

When I was little I thought my dad was a policeman because he always knew right from wrong and made sure I did too.  He helped people who were lost or needed help across the street.  He taught me (and everyone else on the road) about who had the right of way.  But he wasn't a policeman.

When I was little I thought my dad was a lumberjack because he would spend weeks in the woods with the Stihl chainsaw that was as big as me and cut down trees that were taller than our house.  He'd pull the hangers with the tractor and chain, chop the logs with the axe and maul, and stack the wood in huge piles near the house.  He taught me the difference between oak, maple, hemlock, and pine; the perfect way to notch a tree so it falls just so; and even how to back up with a trailer.  But I was wrong, he wasn't a lumberjack.

When I was little I thought my dad was a farmer because he planted gardens and raised animals.  There were tomatoes and chickens, cherries and rabbits, peppers and even sheep.  Our neighbors had a cow that would come to visit but they weren't farmers.  Turns out I was wrong about my dad too, he wasn't a farmer either.

When I was little I thought my dad was a carpenter because he built our house and all of the buildings around it.  Walls, shelves, sheds, tables, decks, even our swimming pool.  He taught me to use circular saws, coping saws, hack saws, saber saws, back saws, and a see-saw.  Of course, I was wrong.  He wasn't a carpenter.

My dad was a teacher.


  1. Oh, yes! I like this a lot. This has real possibilities. I can imagine wonderful illustrations, maybe even real photos.

  2. And he still is. And so much more. Like his son. C

  3. I've been thinking about this story and how it would look in the children's literature format. I wish I had written it! :)