Erika wrote a 2-page paper last night for English. The assignment was to write a fictional account about someone being helpful. The first paragraph mentioned two sisters and their clothes sharing struggles. Erika noticed me reading and asked me not to. OK, I understand writer’s privacy.
This morning Amanda was reading the tale that Erika had left on the kitchen counter. (Erika’s desire for privacy is not matched by precaution.) Amanda wasn’t happy about the story and said, “Dad, Erika wrote a mean story about me!” I told her that the characters were fictional, and that any similarities to real people were only coincidental. She didn’t buy it. She continued, “It says that the older sister could star in a horror film.” I reassured her it wasn’t about her. She said, “The older sister is named Amanda.” Common name. Just coincidental. (C’mon Erika, you are not making this easy.) Maybe I’d better try the privacy angle. I took the story and hid it deep within Erika’s backpack.
Later that morning when I saw Erika and told her that I had to confiscate her story because Amanda was reading it. She asked, “How far did she get? Did she read about how scary she is in the morning?”
The defense rests.
(Later she told me that the story was about older sister helping younger sister pick out an outfit, so I guess I should have let Amanda finish reading.)
No comments:
Post a Comment