by
Maureen Landress
Draining the lasts dregs of coffee from my favorite chipped pottery mug, I sighed. Time to start the chores. There were so many of them to get done today. Weeding the flower beds out front.Laundering the sheets. Scrubbing the tubs in the bathrooms.
Before I could decide which arduous task to begin first, my two daughters straggled into the room. Mumbling, as teens are wont to do, I discerned they were off to visit their friends for the day. Reminding them to be home before dark, I watched them roll their eyes in disgust. Of course they were too old to be chastised by their mother.
Their departure brought a rare moment of silence. Our home was usually filled with loud music, ringing phones, and moon-eyed young boys. Our daughters were quite the little social butterflies. As I rinsed my cup, then sat it on the drain board, that moment of silence was shattered. A loud thumping noise reverberated though the house. It was the sound of the front porch swing hitting against aluminum siding.
Stepping quickly out on the front porch I saw my youngest son Henry. His torso was laid on the seat of the swing. His sturdy legs pushing it harder and harder.
“What are you doing young man?” I sternly asked.
“I’m soooo bored” he sniffled “Katie and Deb left. I have nothing to do”.
Listing the usual litany of games and activities suitable for his age only brought deep sighs of frustration.
“Tell me a story” Henry said, dropping into a puddle at my feet.
“Oh honey Momma has all kinds of chores to do” I replied.
“Do them later Mom. I love hearing your stories they make me happy” he said grinning from ear to ear.
How could I resist his devilish charm? That sweet smile. “Just a short one then” I told him “I need to get at least some of those chores done today.”
“Make it one about knights in armor fighting fiery dragons” he instructed. “Leave out all that silly girl stuff though. No princess in a tower. No masquerade balls with dancing. Just talk about the cool stuff.”
Ah, but the silly girl stuff was my favorite part, I thought to myself. The elegant gowns and jeweled crowns. Decorating the walls of the castle with tapestries woven from silken threads. The King leaning over to kiss the hand of the scullery maid who had caught his eye. An ending that always went “and they lived happily ever after”.
“Can I put in a wart covered frog prince?” I pleaded.
He vehemently shook his head. “No, cause then you’d have some stupid girl there to kiss him. No icky stuff!”
Sighing in mock resignation I said “you win”. We high-fived to seal the deal. There would be no icky girl stuff allowed.
Settling into the pillow covered seat of the front porch swing, I closed my eyes. I could see the whole story already unfolding. It would be an epic tale. One that would capture the imagination of even the most discriminating five year old.
I let words spill forth describing the kingdom I was creating in my head. A Stone fortress of rough hewn gray stone. Rafters in the great hall made from giant oaks. Battlements bristling with archers. Huge black cauldrons of boiling oil ready to dump on the enemy below. Snorting stallions pawed the ground in their stable. The knights feasted, boasting of their victory in the battle ahead. The King’s men practiced their skills. The clang of sword against sword rang out across the courtyard.
“The Black Knight is plotting evil” I hissed. “He wants to take over the kingdom”.
Gasping in horror Henry yelled “don’t let him!” Jumping to his feet he grabbed up the old broom from the corner. He waved it above his head like a mighty scepter. “We must call in all the Lords from the far lands to help us”.
I too jumped to my feet. “We’ll send out our fastest horsemen with the message Sire” I yelled over the tree tops. “Pray they are successful in their quest”.
Young King Henry nodded his agreement. Reclaiming my seat among the plump yellow cushions, I continued the story. Now there was the added excitement of an historic quest. The brave horsemen rode through blistering heat. They forded raging rivers. They even had to stop and battle a band of evil trolls in the north woods.
Henry quickly halted the story though, when I tried to squeeze in a fair damsel. She was only standing forlornly in the narrow window of the east tower. Her brave knight had ridden out with the others. She was scanning the horizon for his return.
“Un uh, that’s icky girl stuff” he pouted. “You promised not to do that Mom.”
To appease his indignation I had a scaly green dragon swoop down and bite off her head. He rolled round the floor squealing in delight. Gleefully chortling “off with her head!”
My darling little boy, I thought. Such a blood thirsty tyke. Where did he inherit his love of battle? We never let him watch such things on TV. No gory video games were even allowed though the door. Just where…
“Mom” He impatiently whined “what’s happening to the King and his Knights?” Stomping his bare foot he demanded that the story continue.
Once again the brave King and his men battled onward. There was but one brief pause allowed in the telling of the tale. That was because Sir Henry’s tummy had growled louder than a dragon‘s roar.
“The warriors must have food. They grow weak and can not hold their swords” he sighed, collapsing to the floor. “Bring us food and drink” he hoarsely rasped.
“Yes my Lord “I solemnly replied. I left him there swinging his broom sword at the encroaching foes. Rushing about I threw together a Kingly feast. Peanut butter with grape jam on crust less white bread. A plate of oatmeal raisin cookies for dessert. Tall glasses of ice cold milk to wash it all down.
Once I returned with the tray of snacks, he begged for the story to go on. Between mouthfuls I described the fierce battle that raged on for three days. He munched in silence, entranced by the tale.
About an hour after lunch he moved to the cushion beside me. Rested his tousled head against my shoulder. The broom sword lay forgotten at his feet. His sleepy eyes struggled to stay open.
I realized that most of the day had slipped away. Shadows were beginning to stretch their inky fingers out across the lawn. The sun dipped low behind the line of oak trees that marked the edge of our yard. Our glasses were empty. The blue china plate held only a dusting of cookie crumbs. The heroic battle against the dreaded Black Knight was over. The valiant King Henry having vanquished him once more.
Sliding my arm around Henry’s small shoulders, I pulled him in to my lap. Gently kissing the top of his head.
“Hey, no icky girl stuff Mom” he sleepily mumbled. He snuggled in closer, a soft sigh quivering up from his frowning lips.
With an ache in my heart I suddenly pictured him grown. A young father with children of his own. I wondered if he would tell them stories too. Weave tales of magical kingdoms and far away places. Would he try to sneak in a golden haired damsel in distress? Or would he still think girly stuff too icky.
Humming a lullaby, I slowly rocked the swing back and forth. The last few hours of daylight passed as I sat watching my precious little one nap. When he laughed out loud in his sleep I knew -- he was dreaming of castles and kings. I murmured in his ear, “And they lived happily ever after”.