Friday, May 31, 2013

My Son, the Writer

This past year, my oldest son has shown a growing desire and ability to write. He was involved in a writing club at school in which he made it past a district competition. It is one area that we are encouraging him to work hard at because we believe he is gifted at writing. 

A few months ago, we encouraged him (that is a gentle way of saying we made him) to enter a local Geauga County Park District writing competition. He entered the adolescent prose category (12-17 year olds). The only rules of the fictional writing contest was that it had to be something to do with nature. He ended up winning second place in his category. We are still not sure what that means, but tonight is the ceremony for winners where he will read his prose.

I have posted his article below. If you know him, encourage him to keep writing.


"Walks with Dad"

"Son follow me," father had said. "Let's go on a walk." We always went on walks together, I love them. As we went out in the frisky weather, I loved the feel of the breeze blowing over my body, though my ears get a little chilly. I could see my own breath. Winter was coming and this would probably be my last walk with dad before it started snowing. We walked across the fields and the forests and through the plains, the leaves rustling as we stomp through them. Then, we stopped at our favorite spot, a little stream that is so clear and refreshing, it was very quiet. No birds even chirped. That day the stream wasn't so clear or refreshing. That day it was murky and dirty.

"Dad, what's wrong with the water?" I asked. "I don't know son." He had said. Right then I heard a popping sound shatter the silence as all the birds fly up in fright. I looked around but didn't see anything. Then I heard a rustle in the bushes. I looked down and dad was on the forest floor, bleeding. "Go get your mother," he rasps. "But I want to stay with you" I cried. "Go!" He yelled.

I ran as fast as I could to our house and told mother what happened. She ran faster than I did back to father but when we get there is only a puddle of blood. "Where did he go mom?" I had asked. "I don't know but we need to run, now." She had said. I obeyed her because I could see the fear in her eyes even though her voice is trying to be strong. We ran as fast as we could. To where? I don't know. As we ran all I could hear was the sound of my heart pounding in my chest and the clomping of our eight hooves. In my mind I am reminded of a warning dad often gave me, deer season had begun.

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