Day 7 - Shaping the Literary Lineage of the Next Generation - Writing Children Stories

Writing for the next generation is a hallmark of literary leadership - A.W. Tatum

We will write children stories for those who come after us. Think about the young brother and sister sitting in the classroom, bedroom, or library bored because they are struggling to find a book that resonates with them. Let's write for them using colorful words and rich language. Help them smile, laugh, feel warm, get excited, or get lost in their imaginations. We can also write to empathize with them and show them that we care about their young pains.

I wrote the following to capture kids' growing pains and pleasures.

Could Barely
By
Alfred Tatum
July 13, 2010
11:20 am

I sat in the car.
I could barely see out of the window.

I went to the park.
I could barely shoot in the basket.

I went to the carnival.
I could barely reach the line.

I got a new bike.
I could barely turn the pedals.

I went shopping with my mom.
I could barely carry the bag.

I took a long trip.
I could barely stay awake.

I was racing my big sister.
I could barely keep pace.

I was playing baseball with my father.
I could barely throw the ball.

I watched a scary movie.
I could barely sleep.

I started doing things made for five-year-olds.
I could barely believe how much fun I was having.

My little sister came to my room.
She could barely do the things I do.

I could barely stop laughing.


I wrote the following to capture the feeling of a seven-year-old who lost his cat, Gizmo.


Gizmo’s Spot
Alfred W. Tatum
January 11, 2010
5:57pm on the Metra

This was his third trip to the doctor in as many weeks. The hope we once had was gone. Last night was the hardest for us as he lay in the dark basement in a spot that comforted him. He starved himself the entire weekend, refusing to eat, refusing to move. Nothing worked. I was not only concerned for him; I worried about his best friend, Andrew. The death of a friend is hard to swallow when you are really young.

“He’s going to make it dad.”

These were Andrew’s words earlier in the week when he heard about his friend’s disease. I tried to explain that some things are just God’s will. He covered his ears and refused to listen to me. This was the first time Andrew acted stubborn. He was usually an easy-going kid. The idea of losing Gizmo changed him.

“Look what I got!”

These were mom’s words when she surprised Andrew with a kitten. Frankly, we were all surprised. This was Andrew’s first pet. He had his very own kitten. Small. Cute. Playful. The kitten started reaching for the string on mom’s white coat.

“Mom look, he likes your string. I got a string.”

Andrew ran up the stairs and removed a string from an old shoe. He rushed down the stairs almost tripping before sliding on the floor to be close to Gizmo. He pulled the string and Gizmo chased it. He held the string over Gizmo’s head and Gizmo reached for it. They were in string heaven.

“This is the one,” I said.

“Mom, can he sleep in my room?”

“We have to help him get used to his litter box first.”

“How long will that take? I will take him to the litter box when he has to use the bathroom.”

“Cats are not like dogs, Andrew. They train themselves.”


Gizmo was going to his litter box before bedtime. Andrew left his bedroom door cracked and a nightlight on hoping that Gizmo would find him. The next morning, to his delight, Gizmo found a spot near Andrew’s feet.

“Mom, Gizmo slept in my bed. He likes me.”

For the next three months, Andrew found Gizmo at his feet when he woke up in the morning. Then one morning, Gizmo was not there. Instead, he slept in the corner of Andrew’s closet. He did not follow Andrew down the stairs to breakfast as usual. He did not chase after the string. Gizmo stared at Andrew with his adoring eyes, but he did not move.

“Do you think Gizmo is overweight,” my wife asked.

“I notice some bloating in his stomach, but the rest of his body looks normal.”

“We should take him to the doctor just to make sure everything is okay.”

Three days later, my wife took Gizmo to the vet. By this time, he had stopped eating. His water bowl was full at the end of the day. The bloating was not going away. Gizmo stopped running, stopped chasing the string; he stopped being, Gizmo.

The doctor shaved Gizmo’s belly to draw blood. It was a gray Friday afternoon, but Gizmo seemed happy in the doctor’s arms. His eyes turned toward Andrew as he was lying on the examination table.

“It’ll be okay, Gizzy. The doctor just needs a little blood. You’ll be better before you know it.”

The doctor decided to keep Gizmo overnight to run some more tests. This was Gizmo’s first night away.

“Is he coming home tomorrow, mom?”

“Yes, Andrew. The doctor just wants to make sure he’s okay.”

Gizmo came home Friday afternoon, but he was not better. We would have to wait five-to-seven days for the test results. Andrew was happy to have his kitten home.

“Mom, Gizmo made a mess on the floor.”

This was the first time Gizmo failed to use his litter box. He did not have the energy to go to the basement. My wife called the doctor and explained what happened. The doctor said he would rush with the test results. Gizmo was placed in the basement over the weekend because he did not have the energy to climb the stairs. We were really anxious to get the test results. It was a long weekend. Gizmo was starving himself to death. The smell of home cooked potpies did not entice him to eat. We blasted the music and danced around him with dangling strings. He followed us with his eyes, but he did not move. We were all sad.

I was at work on Monday evening when my wife called.

“Well, I just received the news that Gizmo has to be put to sleep. The doctor gave me the choice of a funeral or cremation.”

Immediately, I thought about Andrew. As suddenly as Gizmo came into our lives, he was leaving us. I asked to speak to Andrew before my wife shared the sad news.

“Hey, Drew.”

“Hey, dad.”

“How was school?”

“Not so good. I was asked to write about a problem and explain how I dealt with it.”

“What did you write?”

“Nothing. I just live my life. I don’t have any problems. I am just a happy kid.”

“We’ll talk about it when I get home tonight.”

“Here’s mom, bye dad.”

Gizmo had twenty-four hours left. We decided to let Andrew stay up as late as he wanted to be with him. He decided to sleep in the basement on the couch near Gizmo’s bed. I went down to check on them just after midnight. They were both sound asleep. Andrew and Gizmo were enjoying their last night together.

“How was it,” I asked my wife.

“It was pretty sad. It seemed like he knew what was going to happen.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Unlike the other times at the doctor’s office, he refused to come out of his carrying case. He just meowed and meowed and meowed. I never heard him sound like that.”

We shared the news with Andrew tonight. He did not say much at the dinner table. This was unusual.

“I think I am going to bed early tonight.”

“Okay, I’ll be up to tuck you in.”

I went upstairs twenty minutes later and found Andrew’s door shut for the first night in three months. There was no need to keep it open. I heard him crying softly. When I cracked his door, I saw him lying at the other end of his bed. Andrew was lying in Gizmo’s spot. I felt sad and shed my first tear in more than twenty years. My son’s best friend was gone and he knew it.