There were eight children at the dinner table every night.
If you wanted to be heard – you had to say or do something remarkable. The “big kids” were scholars or athletes and had dazzling reports each night: peer and teacher recognition, awards, games won, science fair awards. Therefore, the “little kids” and to rely upon sheer determination and innovation to earn any air-time.
Timmy went straight to Boy’s Life magazine and culled jokes – every night he told a joke – often hilarious- mostly corny- earning a collective groan from the kids. The parents smiled.
The twins – in second grade – always sang a song – from school or Blue Birds – often the same silly song, every night, for a week.
Left up to her own devices, Cherie – in fourth grade – wrote limericks, funny poems, offbeat haikus, kooky free verse and generally stole the show. Her father was especially entertained and collected her scraps of paper each night.
In June that year, on the last day of school, Cherie’s dad presented her with a bound copy of her poetry, limericks, rhymes and entertaining free verse.
She was never the same.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Million-Dollar Question.”
Write on, sister!