DorkySon has always loved us to read stories to him. As long as there’s a cuddly grown-up and a book nearby, he’s the happiest boy in the world.
A couple of nights ago, DorkyDad and I were a little surprised to suddenly find that the storytelling roles had reversed.
“Sit on the floor Mummy.” said DorkySon. “Sit down Daddy. I’m going to tell you a story.”
We did as we were told, and sat down on the carpet. DorkySon sat down in front of us and took a deep breath.
“Once upon a time,” he said, “there were four baby ducks.”
DorkyDad and I smiled at each other. The cuteness of this was almost unbearable.
DorkySon continued. “The four baby ducks lived in a pond, and they all liked to eat poo.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said DorkyDad frowning. “Ducks don’t eat poo. Yuck!”
“Yes they do,” said DorkySon. “They poo in the pond, and then they have to eat it.”
“Hmmm,” said DorkyDad. “Maybe the ducks in your story could eat something else?”
DorkySon paused, and looked thoughtful for a minute.
“Okay,” he said. “Once upon a time, there were four baby ducks. They all liked to eat bread, and they lived on Mummy’s head. The End. Thank you, and goodnight.”
DorkyDad and I looked at each other, and then at DorkySon.
“That’s it?” I ask?
“I’ve got one more,” said DorkySon.
“Go for it,” I say, smiling.
“This is a funny one,” says DorkySon, giggling.
We look at him expectantly, and wait…
“Once upon a time, there was a turtle. The End.”