Creative Writing

          “Come children and gather around”, I said as my grandchildren came and sat upon the round carpet in front of my rocking chair.  “Tell us another story of your childhood!” said Jack, age 11, the oldest of all the grandkids.  They loved to hear stories from my childhood.  “Ya!” the other four yelled in unison.  My wife brought the children milk and cookies on a plastic tray.  They each grabbed a glass, spilling droplets on the bamboo carpet in our African living room.  I carefully picked up a picture lying on the coffee table across the room.  Walking across the room, my cane made loud noises as it hit the bamboo.  My rocking chair squeaked as I sat down in it.  It had been my father’s and his father’s and his father before him.  It was engraved with memories from the past, and Jack would soon share those memories with his children and his children’s children. 

          “Do you know who that little boy in this picture is?” I asked them.  “That’s me.” I said, having a flashback to that exact moment.  I described the event just as I saw it in my mind.  “It was a beautiful day in Swaziland; the grass was green, and the sky was as blue as the ocean.  The clouds danced around in the sky, playing monkey-in-the-middle with the sun.”  The memories of that day played like a movie in my head.  The film kept going, “My father was taking me hunting.  It was my first time, and I was 11 years old, just like you Jack.  He spotted a lion stalking a zebra in the distance.  We huddled behind a bush and watched with binoculars at the amazing sight. 

“My mother came along with us, her beehive hairstyle stuck out atop the bush.  Many Nguni huts lay around in suburb-like areas behind us.  The ground was muddy and my hiking boots made imprints on the slushy savannah terrain.  My dad said, ‘Sture! Look! The lion is being defeated by the zebra!  The zebra must possess some type of witchcraft.  We must get a picture of this site.’ 

“We walked through the savannah grass to where the lion lay on the ground, dead.  I sat down next to it, and my mother took out her camera.  I smiled like there was no tomorrow.  With my adult teeth growing in, there were many holes in my mouth.  This was the day I knew my father believed in me.  He said, ‘Son, you are like the zebra; a scrawny, little thing, with much bigger predators.  But, inside of you, you possess some type of magic that will keep you strong.  Even though I may seem like a lion to you now, when I was your age, I was a zebra also.’  Jack, you are a zebra, but when you grow up, you will be a mighty lion like me.  You just have to wait to grow into your roar.