My guest poster today is my fourteen year-old son. You may now be annoyed, but don't be. He wrote this personal essay for his eighth grade language arts class and it totally doesn't suck. Rowan is one of the wittiest people I know, in person and it gives me an enormous sense of pride to see that wit develop into the written word as well.
|Rowan at six in the very room where this event took place.|
I was a very resourceful six-year-old. I liked to try to solve my own problems using whatever was available to me. Unfortunately, my ideas did not always work, as I discovered on one occasion when I was playing with my brother’s stuffed cheetah toy. I was living in California at the time, in a house that had very high up beams spanning many of the rooms. I was throwing the cheetah in the air and, much to my dismay it became stuck upon one of the beams. Perched up out of my reach, it called to me for help. I knew what I had to do.
Using my highly developed power of logic, I formulated a plan and gathered the supplies I needed. Equipped with one of those ping-pong paddles with a ball on the end of an elastic string, I got ready to execute my plan. I tied the ball end of the elastic string to a nail protruding from the wall next to the living room window. I pulled the paddle back, stretching it to its limit and calculated the exact angle that would send the paddle flying to the cheetah’s rescue. It became very quiet. I took a deep breath and, without hesitation, released the paddle. It left my hand and sailed, promisingly, in the direction of…the window?
CRASH!!! I must have made a mistake in my calculations. The paddle went through the window, sending shattered glass everywhere. The paddle hung from the nail, bouncing up and down, taunting me. It seemed to be laughing. At that moment, alerted by the sound of breaking glass, my mom entered the room. I looked at her and said, “Well, that didn’t go how it was supposed to.”
And that’s why I always make sure to have tall friends.