I am hosting a give-away this Friday.
Please check back then to have a chance to win :)
Here is the third submission I received for the photo prompt I posted a while back. I am still taking submissions if anyone else would like to participate.
This one is from my mom. Maybe I love hers so much 'cause she wrote about Owen...
He looked at the last few leaves and remembered the day he had spent with his son raking the yard. It had been a glorious fall day, the air crisp, the wind tousling his young boy’s hair. He felt a sense of accomplishment, not that the leaves were cleared, but rather that he and Owen had enjoyed the afternoon without a conflict. It was just like old times-father and son-working on a task and turning it into a memory.
Ahh, memories. Was it that long ago that a little two year old had taken his plastic rake to the dry leaves in the driveway in imitation of his papa? When had the relationship turned from one of adoration to one of scorn?
Not many two year olds knew how to use an adjustable wrench. Not many two year olds knew what a keyhole saw was. Not many two year olds could find a startled blue moose in a Bill Peet book. However, Owen could. There wasn’t much Owen couldn’t do even at the age of two.
Owen had believed whole heartedly that he could do any thing, but then he was only two. He’d stand atop his fort and shout for all the neighborhood to hear that he was “King of the World”. Grandpa and Grandma believed it. Grams and Pap believed it. Even Momma believed. Papa just knew that someday he would have put a stop to this.
The day came when Papa sat Owen down and said he could no longer be yelling “I’m King of the World“. A fifteen year old shouldn’t be climbing rotting wooden forts, throwing his arms into the air and yelling at the top of his lungs after winning the city’s math and science competition. But then, who wouldn’t feel like shouting?
Soon phone calls began pouring in asking for the King of the World. Papa would hand the phone over to Owen. Papa would quietly retire to the back yard, stare at the fort, and do a little sanding. He’d wave as Owen left to receive yet another award.
Papa did some thinking and decided “Heck, if Owen wanted to be King of the World and shout it from the fort, he’d just have to get that fort back in shape”. The wind, rain, and snow had done some damage but that could be easily fixed with a saw and a few tools.
While Owen was away receiving accolades from his achievements, Papa turned the fort into the stunning piece it had first been.
Then, one cool, crisp November day, Papa picked up a rake, and began to rake the leaves from beneath the fort. As he bent to pick up a pile, he noticed his son carrying a green plastic rake, a little small for his size, beginning to rake leaves too.
All Owen said this time was, “Thanks, Papa, for keeping the dream alive. You’re my King of the World.”