"You Never Told Me"

Right now I'm taking a writing workshop in Sausalito on Monday nights.  We always begin with a 10 minute free-writing exercise, based on a prompt. 

Last night's prompt: You never told me."  Here's my effort, hope you enjoy it!

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"You never told me!" Henry screamed.

"I thought everyone knew how to tie their shoes!" Alison responded.

"Not me! You never told me!" Henry bellowed again, before dissolving into tears and banging his fists against the playground turf. You know, that soft plastic stuff meant to protect kids from injuries. No more pure concrete like we had growing up. No, no, no -- in this helicopter parent era, everything must be "safe."

 

Henry Lucas, age 4, sits down crying his eyes out. Big sister Alison, wise old 6, feels badly for him but annoyed too. All he'd had to do was ask for help tying his shoes. She would have double-knotted them, even. But no, no, no -- Henry thinks he's a big boy these days.

 

Henry pounds the plastic pavement. His face reddens, his eyes swell. Why had his sister - his own flesh and blood! - let him walk down the street with shoes on the very precipice of untying? Big kids should protect the little ones, yes? Guess not. No, no, no -- it's a heartless world out there.

 

Yes, the world will throw slings and arrows at little Henry and Alison. You know, it's a good thing that at least their playground is safe.