"Awww!"
We were touring Kiernan's classroom for back-to-school night, and up on the front wall, next to the main white board, we noticed a display of stories the students had written. Our eyes were immediately drawn to the one created by Kiernan (pictured). "My Dad." I guess that's me with the mustache and the stylish beret. So sweet!
Not so fast.
Below I present the complete text of the story dedicated to me entitled "My Dad" for your reading enjoyment.
I was having an awesome playdate with my cool, great, friends Gustavo and Milo. They came over to my house and said they wanted to draw.
I did too, but they changed their minds and I had to draw alone. Then, my dad came into the house and told me I had to play with them.
I walked to my room miserably and angrily, and I lay on my bed for the rest of the playdate (I was very frustrated).
When we got to last page we both burst out laughing. Not the heart-warming story we were expecting. It immediately struck a chord with me, however, because of how I value writing. Kiernan hasn't taken to writing yet, at least not in any meaningful way. It doesn't call to him. He can put together a good sentence and a good story, and has a great vocabulary, but given his druthers he would rather do math. Or just about anything else. Still, he took an annoyance to school and worked it out by writing about it. I can hardly bring myself to object to working out frustration in this way, seeing as this is one of the main ways I myself do it. Even if I turned out to be the antagonist in his story, I still love it.
And like any good antagonist, I see myself as the hero. I didn't tell him that though.
