My Son, Stephen King
OR That time my son scarred his teacher for life.
As many of you know, I am outspoken about Dyslexia education. This is because my eight year old is dyslexic. I am lucky enough to live within driving distance of a public school that is doing amazing things for kids with dyslexia.
Today, Baby Boy's class was supposed to write feel good Christmas stories to read aloud. It is a dyslexia focused program, so spelling and grammar don't count. This was simply an opportunity for the kids to be creative and have fun writing (something that intimidates many of them). Most of the kids left their stories at school. I am pretty sure the teacher took them up to hang in the hall way, however, Baby Boy proudly pulls his from his pocket and grins.
Baby Boy: Want to read my story? The teacher wouldn't take it up because it is a horror story. It is way too scary to hang up.
Me: Um heck yes I do! (I admit, this tickled me. I love the idea that he is being creative and that he wrote something that he is proud of. He even titled it with a play on the word Sleigh, lol.)
I unfolded the creased and crumpled notebook paper, and began deciphering my son's spelling (Which I am going to correct for your benefit. You can see a pic of the original at the top of the page.)
Without further ado, I give you: Slay
Once upon a time, it was Christmas Eve. It was raining, but Santa did come.
But he didn't bring presents. Instead, he brought DEATH! Every parent died! But four parents didn't. Their kids ran, so the parents ran, too. They found shelter. They stayed there for two months. The Dad hunted. They were scared, but they were safe.
THE END. I might add that my son has a friend who also wrote a scary story, only she read hers aloud before the teacher knew better. Apparently in her story, someone fed Santa cookies after midnight and he grew angry and ate all of the kids. Y'all...this is way funnier to me that it probably should be!