My youngest turned two the other day and amongst his haul of
presents (most of which revolve around tractor-themes) was a Mr Potatohead.
This elicited screams of delight from the older two, who then ‘helped’ him make
his Potatohead by taking it off him and doing it. They were unusually
cooperative—they compromised on the choice of eyes, teeth, hat, arms and nose.
The resultant Potatohead was anatomically correct (well for a potato-human
hybrid) and they presented it back to Henry who chuckle and pulled all the bits
out. Then Henry poked them all back into the various holes and created the sort
of Potatohead you’d get from bathing in gamma rays and getting angry. Three
arms, tongue jutting out of his arse, no eyes, that sort of thing. He finalised
the whole thing by shoving the toy glasses on my face (better than shoving the
tongue up my bottom, I suppose).
What made me chuckle was the fact Henry, being two, had very
few conventions to follow. He put the limbs and eyes and hats where he fancied,
and liked the general look of the creation. It’s like when he draws—he just
gets crayons and scribbles like a Brass-Rubber on speed. It looks good to him
so f%$£ it!
Creativity without boundaries is something many adult
artists aspire to in their work. They try to emulate that period of your life
where you can just splurge out something that looks/feels good to you and be
damned with what others tell you. It doesn’t last long though. As soon as you
hit school the restrictions start. Some are understandable—you have to write
letters so others can read them... it’s called communication. Others try to
channel you down conventional lines: stories have a start, middle and end. The
kids are marked down if their short stories don’t follow that line. This was
troublesome for my eldest son, Charlie, who has sensory processing disorder and
dyspraxia, and tends to throw his ideas down like Jackson Pollock painted. Its
taken years to adapt him into a conventional writing structure (and we only did
it because he has an exam in two months where he has to write like that!).
But creativity isn’t just about form, it’s about content.
One of the best things about being a Geek-dad is that my interests—reading,
writing, comics, DnD, drawing, Dr Who, fantasy—have permeated into my kids in a
positive way. Whether you’re a fantasy fan or not, or whether you think comics
are a childish media or not, you can’t argue that they don’t fire the
imagination. My two eldest have seen this geek-heritage, and seen my writing
and publishing books, and been inspired. Charlie (10) is an avid reader, years
ahead of his age, and is munching through fantasy and sci-fi series like
there’s no tomorrow. He loves creating in his games, is mad-keen on DnD and
creating stories around his characters, adores his Lego still, and scribbles
comics all the time. Whereas his written work at school is constrained, the
stuff at home is wonderfully imaginative.
Evelyn (8 ½) naturally enjoys all the things her elder
brother does, with a slight chick-bent. When she plays DnD she likes the
role-playing parts, and making the backstory, rather than the slaughter of
kobolds. Her reading is definitely girly, although she is reading Harry Potter
again (she read the first three at 7) and she’s discovered some wonderful
series (Holly Webb’s Rose series, RJ Anderson’s Knife series). She read
Jacqueline Wilson for a good while, but stopped recently as she felt they were
a bit miserable in places. Although she does well at most things, Evelyn’s
strength is writing. She’s written a whole bunch of stories, some only
half-complete, others done and dusted. Some she illustrates, others not. She’s
planning to be an author (as well as dancer, singer, actress—Charlie is
planning to be in MI5...) and if the following story is anything to go by she
may well manage it!
She wrote this after a shitty period of bullying at school,
which I’ll tell you about another time. It was a way of trying to express her
feelings and write a story about being believed by people. As convention goes,
it has a start, middle and end, and you can see the influence that Disney
Channel programmes and Jacqueline Wilson has had on her. But (proud dad that I
am) this is her own work, with the help of Microsoft Word doing that red and
green squiggles, Daddy. No-one else has touched it!
Here goes:
Something Different by Evelyn M Kitson
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” I was in the playground on a
Thursday; chatting with my friends Lol, C and Abi, when guess who wandered up?
Robin, the school bully, even though she’s a girl. She always picks me as her
first victim. It all started in kindergarten. She asked me if she could sit in
the empty seat beside me, so I said yes because I was new. She peered at my
writing and suddenly burst out laughing and I didn’t even know what was so
funny.
So since then we’ve been deadly enemies.
“What’s new Fesilly?” She said,
waving her arms about. “Look! Look! I’m Fesilly.”
“The name’s Felicity, Robin. Why don’t you go flap your wings and
let us talk in peace?” My friends snigger uncertainly looking at Robin with
weary eyes.
“Flick! I know a place were we can talk in peace! Lets go!”
So we did.
When we got inside the school, Robin was waiting. When I sat down she
fired a spitball at me and by the lockers she grabbed my overshirt and threw it
in the bin!
***
“Hey sweetie! How
was school?” asked my Mom as I walked in
the door.
“If you want to know how many good things happened today, zero is your
answer.” I answered.
“Robin?”
“You got it.”
“I don’t believe you, Felicity. I
think you’re as bad as each other.”
Ignoring her retort I went to the kitchen cupboard and got some oreo
biscuits and started dipping them in my milk.
***
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I
woke up and hit my alarm clock. I got out of bed and pulled back my curtains. Aaahh!!
Only two more weeks till the summer hols. 3 months of no school! It was a sunny day, which was what I needed,
maybe, just maybe, it would lighten Robin’s rainy mood. I pulled on a white
frill top and some denim shorts. Did I ever tell you I’m ten? Did I ever tell
you I have 3 brothers and they tell on me at home? They also tell my
head teacher that I’ve been naughty in the day so my head teacher sends a
letter home to say I’ve had a ‘behaviour malfunction’.
I went and poured some granola and then my Mom walked in. My sly older
brother Ben came in behind Mom and then Chazz, my 5 year old brother, and last but
least my 8 year old brother, Harry.
" YOUNG LADY! Why on earth would you go skating outside late?” boomed
Mom, “No skating for a week!”
I can’t believe it! Normally Mom would just give me a PS3 ban. Or maybe
an XBOX ban or a PSP ban. Or sometimes a computer ban! No skating for a week?!
.
***
“Just stay away from Robin!”
“OK, Abi.” I responded, hoping Abi would come to my rescue if anything
happened.
I went to tenth grade class and sat down. Robin sat down next to me and I
ignored her just like Abi had told me to.
“Right! We are learning about when you wait longer for things to happen,
they’re always better, ” said my teacher.
“Felicity couldn’t do that,” said Robin, “…and she can’t spell
supercallafradjalisticexpialadousios, either.” A row of giggles shot through
the class. I think my teacher had had enough already.
“PLAYTIME!” he bellowed. Normally, I would have jumped up and run out of
the room without second thoughts and would be grabbed by Mr.Enliten (the
teacher) and would be sent to the head. Today, however, I sat there, with my
arms folded and just, well, waiting.
My teacher was surprised and said, “Felicity, you can go first.”
So I did. I did that day after day, as well as sitting quietly and
instead of talking, paying attention. It had been 4 days since Robin had called
me Fesilly, but she hadn’t stopped picking on me. She had been spreading
rumours about me doing naughty things, but no one believed her. Because of
that, Robin got narked and got her gooners and herself to push me into an
alleyway near where I lived and beat me up. I was coming home with black eyes,
bruises, scratches and sometimes even bloody noses and still Mom didn’t believe
me.
It had been a week since Robin had ambushed me when I was talking in the
playground. For some reason Mr. Enliten called me into the classroom to talk.
“Felicity, myself and some other teachers have been thinking, we have
done a little look at your work, done a little bit of research, and we have,
well, found out, that…you’ve…well…got… Dyslexia.” said Mr.Enliten, his eyes
were full of kindness and warmth. I didn’t believe him at first, but then I saw
he wanted to help me.
“OK.” I said, rather quietly.
“Felicity, you mustn’t worry. We will help you. You’re a bright girl. A
lovely girl.”
I slipped out of the room. I’d heard of Dyslexia. It means that sometimes
you might get your letters or your numbers the wrong way round. Mr.Enliten had
already told my Mom. Still, I went outside and joined my friends. I could feel
like someone, or somebody was watching me. I turned.
“Felicity, we like you now ‘cos your not getting told off anymore,” said
all of girls at the equipment area.
Robin’s followers and Robin were still worrying me. That night I hurried
home and literally ran past the usual beating up alleyway. Then the next week
all the boys said they liked me and thought I was a very nice girl! Then that
was the best week ever. Still of course trying to run away from Robin would so
not work. Robin grabbed me by the arm just as I was walking up the
driveway.
“Hey, strangely different girl.” she said. I don’t now why, but my eyes
suddenly welled with tears. “…and look! She’s crying!”
Suddenly all Robin’s followers came out from behind trees and cars. Robin
threw me to the ground and kicked me hard.
“LEAVE ME ALONE!” I yelled desperately. My chest (where Robin had kicked
me) was throbbing. It hurt so much. The pain was like losing friends. Friends
that weren’t worth losing. I suddenly realised that everyone from school was
there watching. Them? Why on earth would they do that! I looked further into
the crowd of people… and… there… I could see… three sad faces. Lol… C…and…Abi.
After a while people started to speak, not droop.
“Robin why… don’t… you, well… like… leave her alone?”
“Yeah, can’t you see she doesn’t like it?”
Suddenly three familiar voices started talking. “Yeah, Robin. All these
years you’ve made us scared. From… well…you.”
“Abi’s right Robin. Leave her alone,” said C.
“Uh-huh. Leave her alone. Leave us all alone.”
“B-u-u-t…” Robin started but trailed of. “I mean, like… look, she’s crying!”
“Well of course she is, Robin! You made her!”
“Robin, you’re… well we’ve never brought ourselves to say this… Robin…
well… you’re……mean.”
“Oi! You there!” Came a familiar voice… Mom! “Leave my daughter alone!”
Mom ran out and pulled me from Robin’s grip. Robin stammered and ran away,
faster and faster until she was nothing but a dot miles and miles away. Her
gooners did likewise.
***
“Thanks,” I said, baffled.
Now every body trusts me and likes me because I did the right thing. And
when you wait longer for things, they’re always better.
THE END
