By Nancy Linnon
Her son is eight years old. She and his dad have driven two hours to retrieve him from his first sleepover camp. He lasted one night. She sits in the back seat with him, holding his hand, certain she has scarred him for life.
“I ate some grass,” he says.
“You did?” she says. “When? Why?”
“It didn’t matter to them that I was homesick but if I was really sick, they would definitely call you.”
She squeezes his hand. Silently, she praises his creative problem solving, always on the lookout herself for ways to convince others her sadness is real.
Interesting story. I am not sure what is creative problem solving in last para.
Nam, the creative problem solving is the little boy’s astute way of getting himself home – eating grass to make himself physically sick, because homesick isn’t enough to be sent home! Clever lad. Nancy, is this mother really so sad because her boy is homesick?
Somehow doesn’t sound realistic – kids have fun and it takes some time before they get homesick – unless he didn’t particularly like his friend or he was obliged to go.
Still nice imagery
Nice writing but frankly, I’m a bit confused about the sadness part. Perhaps the mother is confusing guilt with sadness? One other point, although minor: it’s not entirely clear that eating grass is sufficient to make someone sick. In many emergency situations, humans have in fact eaten plenty of grass in order to stay alive with out dire negative consequences.
Reminds me of ‘Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh‘ by Allan Sherman.
Hi
I liked your story.
I felt for the Mum… she is suffering some form of depression? And she doesn’t have any assistance/help or understanding from those around her?
Bravo. This is a well crafted, moving story. On finishing, I simply sat still and felt the story.
A good story makes you feel. I did. Do.