The woodsman who needed a name

Editor's note: Allie penned this story for the Weaver Middle School Fairy Tale Writing Contest -- and she won! Enjoy.

 

                 CHAPTER ONE

 

The woodsman was a gentle man, strong, and sturdy. His overly large body could barely fit his rickety old bed. His eyes slowly opened, as he awoke from a long slumber. He gently lifted his head to peek at his toes. Yep. They still stuck out of the covers. Each day, his legs grew more long, and his feet felt colder from being exposed to the air, unlike the rest of his over sized body, tucked into the warm blankets. They must feel jealous. The woodsmen thought. He smiled at the thought of toes actually having feelings.Who knows? Maybe they do! No one has proved that fact wrong. He thought once more. Nah. I’m hungry. But before he sat up, one more thought popped into his head. His name. Everyone he knows calls him the woodsman, but no one really knows his real name. Including himself. He wanted to ponder this thought longer, but his hunger got the best of him. Then, he sat up to go get breakfast.

 

 

 

                 CHAPTER TWO

 

The woodsman rubbed his eyes as he walked downstairs. When he reached the kitchen, he pulled out the deer that he shot on Tuesday. The woodsman walked over to where his knife was sitting, picked it up, and walked back over to the dead animal. “Sorry.” He whispered softly, as he carefully glided the knife through the deer’s stomach. He walked out the front door with the piece of the deer that he cut off, and set it in the sun. “Now I must find something else to do.” The woodsman mumbled. “Perhaps I can go fetch dinner. A bear would be delicious with theherbs I picked on Sunday.” The woodsmen picked up his rifle and walked into the woods. The birds flew away from the loud sound of his feet stomping on the dirt. Woodsman! The woodsman instinctively looked up when he heard his nickname. Woodsman! His name was called once more. He heard a rustling of leaves. And there, standing behind him, was an old person. A lady, obviously. She was holding some sort of wand. “I can grant you three wishes.” She stated. He told her the only thing that popped into his mind right then. “What’s my real name?”

 

 

 

              CHAPTER THREE

 

“Oh, great woodsman,” spoke the little old lady. “I do wish I could grant you that wish, for that was a great question. But, it’s too great.” The woodsman thought about what she meant. “Um, pardon me, what did you say, madam?” He asked. “That question takes too much of my magic. Say I do tell you, which I would never be able to know, so I wouldn’t, but if I did, I would be dead at your very feet. You wouldn’t want me to die over some silly name, would you?” she asked, walking around in a circle. “Oh, certainlynot, madam. But, what shall I do to find out what my name is?” He asked. “Hmm…” she thought while tapping her wand on her chin. “Tell me, you so called woodsman,” she mumbled. “Are you afraid of heights, lava, or perhaps…dragons?”

 

 

 

                CHAPTER FOUR

 

​“Oh my, madam! I am just a woodsman! I’m scared of many things, including heights, lava and especially dragons!” he yelled. “Woodsman.” She said. “Woodsman?” “Yes, madam?” “Have you ever been to the tallest point in the world, sunk deep, deep, down into hot, steaming lava? Or perhaps fight a dragon one on one with no weapon but your fists?” she asked him. “No, no, and no, madam.” The woodsman said. “Well, than how do you know that you’re scared of them?” “True.” He stated. “Well, here is your assignment. You will travel to the highest mountain in this part of earth. Then, at the top, you will see a pit of lava. You then must somehow travel over the lava, to the other side, and there should be a dragon, ready to fight.” “But madam, I-” he got cut off. “Do you want to know your name, woodsman?” she asked abruptly. “Yes.”  “Then go on, now!” The woodsman started to run towards the highest point as the old lady yelled,” Run! Let this be a lesson for you, woodsman! Never be afraid of what you haven’t accomplished! Let your name be yelled across the mountains!”

 

 

                CHAPTER FIVE

 

​Today, not many people know the story of the woodsman. He soon completed his first quest, and returned to the old lady for a new one each day. The woodsman did find out what his name was in one of his quests. It wasDevlin, which means brave or fierce in Ireland. The woodsman learned not to hate the name his was given, and to love the name he has, for some people don’t even have one. Devlin has two.

Blind inspiration

Someone inspired me recently. And the inspirer (if that’s a word) had no idea it was happening. To me, this is the best kind of inspiration because you know it’s pure, notsomething done with intentions of any kind.

 

I call it blind inspiration because the story itself can inspire people who’ve never met the so-called inspirer.

 

Many of you know that my daughter, Allie, has juvenile arthritis — juvenile idiopathic arthritis, or JIA, specifically — which is an autoimmune disease. She likes to call it a condition, because she doesn’t like to tell people she has a disease. Can’t blame her there.

 

As the Arthritis Foundation likes to say, JIA is not your grandmother’s arthritis. It causes kids’ joints to swell, like arthritis does in adults, but the cause comes from kids’ own bodies. A child’s natural defenses attack their own joints, thinking they are repelling an intruder. The cause is unknown and there is not currently a cure.

 

But this isn’t about the disease — sorry, condition — but how a fifth grader I know is dealing with it.

 

Remember when you were 10 or 11? I sure do. Fifth grade was a blast and I see several similarities between Allie’s childhood and mine. We were both in the crossing guard (it’s called safety patrol now) and that’s still a position of pride and responsibility in elementary school. My life then consisted of outdoor recess, gym class and lunch — to pack or buy was the most difficult decision of the day.

 

But that’s where the similarities end.

 

I didn’t need to take prescription medication twice a day to protect my body from itself. I didn’t need to worry about how that same medication lowers my immune system and makes me more susceptible to other conditions.

 

And I certainly didn’t have a friend who had JIA — in almost every single joint in her body since she was 18 months old — like Allie’s friend, who I’ll call E.

 

Please don’t get me wrong, my daughter is an inspiration to me every single day. But her friend E is an inspiration forall of us. She takes immune suppression drugs so strong they’re used for chemotherapy. She doesn’t take pills, she gets injections. Yet she still smiles and laughs and plays. She’s still a kid.

 

And she’s a great friend.

Allie knows she can ask E anything and, if she’s facing something new, E has probably already been through it. She helps Allie deal with all of the questions she has running around in her head — Why me? What did I do? And, perhaps most important of all, she helps Allie know that she’s not alone.

 

Allie’s friend E didn’t set out to inspire me or anyone else. She wasn’t trying to become the subject of a blog post somewhere. She’s just being a true friend.

 

Thank you, E.  You’re an inspiration to all of us.

The gift that never came (and how I somehow managed to survive just the same).

My wife and I decided not to exchange Christmas gifts this year. And, while I had no issue saving the money and spending more of it on the kids, I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel.

 

It’s not that I wanted something in particular this year. I had no list, nothing in mind. I simply hadn’t gone through Christmas without giving my wife a gift in more than 25 years…and, I admit, I had become rather fond of receiving gifts from her, too.

 

To give credit where credit is due, it was all her idea. She suggested that we really didn’t need much and she was right. While we aren’t wealthy by any means, we are certainly fortunate to have what we need. We just don’t need to get each other anything anymore.

 

We even told our parents we didn’t need much. Of course,they had to get us something. So we asked them to help with some very practical gifts, like helping with the cost of new tires for my nine-year-old car. Much appreciated, by the way.

 

And we did make one concession. We decided to buy a new TV as a ‘family gift’ when the old TV in the basement stopped working and we found one on sale — but that was it. Seriously. Nothing else. Agreed?

 

We both agreed. There was heart-crossing and pinky-swearing and the threat of needle-in-the-eye sticking all over the place. [Not to worry, this isn’t a story about how one of us went all rogue and bought the other something anyway and people came away mad or sad. We both stayed true to our overly-sworn commitments.]

 

But I have to admit, I still had doubts…right up until Christmas day.

 

Not about the gifts themselves, but more about how the morning would feel. We had always done things a certain way and now that way was changing. Would the kids think it was weird (and why would I care about that)? What would we do, just sit there? Would we miss the simple act of opening presents? The surprise factor?

 

Would we miss it?

 

The happily surprising fact is that we didn’t miss a thing. We got to spend a lot more time watching the kids open their presents and play with them, and we also got to spend a little more on each of them because we didn’t spend that money on ourselves. That was nice.

 

As it turns out, the biggest gift I received this Christmas was the gift of being able to see it all over again through the eyes of others. The Christmas spirit was alive and well this year at our house...and it was all because I didn’t get a thing.

Breaking up is hard to do, especially when it’s not your relationship

My 16-year-old son and his girlfriend of several months have recently separated. They dissolved their relationship.They changed their status to ‘single’. Okay, they broke up.

 

Funny thing is, I think my wife and I are more upset than they are.

 

Oh, don’t get me wrong, My son is not very happy right now, he’s been pretty somber and quiet lately — even more so than usual — and they still aren’t talking at all, which is sad. But we really liked this one, so we’re taking it kind of hard, too.

 

Please don’t tell him.

 

It may be a bit strange that we’re sad, even though it’s not technically our relationship. I don’t know, but that’s the way we both feel. And, I suspect, it may be the way his girlfriend's parents feel, too. The kids have known each other since they were little, so it made for a nice story when they decided to date and, as the saying goes, they made a nice couple.

 

A not-so-small part of me wants to reach out to her parents and console them (okay, myself); you know, maybe get together for coffee or something. But that might be weird, especially if they don’t feel like we do. And what if the kids found out we were meeting behind their backs…what if they saw us at Starbucks? Awkward.

 

I also can’t help but wonder: will they be able to patch things up? Can they go back to being friends or will they never speak again? The state of their relationship is an interesting metaphor for our own relationship with our fast-maturing son…both are quickly slipping out of our control.

 

On the upside, we’ve gotten to spend more time with him recently. He actually suggested a family game night a couple of weekends ago, where my wife, good person that she is, may have allegedly thrown a five-hour game of Monopoly out of sympathy. What moms won’t do for their sons. We all had fun.

 

Of course, we know these things are all part of growing up and that both kids will be fine, regardless of whether they are together or apart. They will both learn from this and their next relationship (or when the get back together, he said, hopefully) will be better for it.

 

It’s still hard watching you child hurting, whether it’s physically or emotionally, but we know it’s a burden all parents have to bear. It’s a trade we make for all of the good times and one I would gladly make, because the good times really are that good.

 

Hey, if you happen to see my son anytime soon, maybe you could ask him about his girlfriend? I’m still holding out hope.

My first semester as a college dad (Or, my life as a freight train)

 

Like the slow but inevitable plodding of a freight train, my life continues to move down the tracks…whether I like it or not. Yeah, that’s me, back there on the caboose, just trying to hang on.

 

This fall, the train that is my life passed through another major crossing gate as my eldest son, Andrew, headed off to college. It was mostly a smooth transition, moving from college visits last year to offer letters, high school graduation and the eventual selection of a school. I knew it was coming.

 

And we liked his choice. It’s far enough away (about 100 miles) to give my son some freedom, while giving my wife and I some solace in knowing we can get there relatively quickly if we need to and/or frequently if we want to. All was good, right?

 

Well, as good as can be expected when 20% of your life packs up and moves away.

Believe me, I’ve tried at times to apply the brakes to my life’s train, but it doesn’t seem to matter.  At this point, I can’t even get them to make that annoying, metal-on-metal squealing noise any more. My life has crested and the train is doing what trains will do downhill — it’s picking up speed.

 

Funny how most of us can’t wait to get things moving when we’re young, only to find ourselves begging for them to slow down later in life.

 

The really cool part, though, is that I can now see my son’s train gathering steam. Not only is it out of the station, it’s surging forward and leaving those huge, black cylindrical smoke patterns behind it as it heads up the first big hill.

 

He’s doing well in his classes, has joined a fraternity and just signed a lease for a house he and his frat brothers will rent next fall. He’s well on his way and we know the work he’s putting in now means his train will have many tracks from which to choose in the future.

 

We hope we’ve prepared him well enough for life’s twists and turns; he’s a responsible young man and we’re proud to tell people he’s our son. But there’s only one way to find out if we’ve done our job well and that's to wait and see.

 

I’ve come to terms with the fact that I can’t control what’s down the track for Andrew. My natural instinct is to protect him — to head down that track and clear the way for him. But I can’t do that. Not now.

 

He’s a big train and he can handle it. Right?

Welcome to my world

And welcome to Food Land.

Today, Allie was taking orders and made Jody a "Helthey Salade." And, while the "Stake" and "Mac and Chies" sounded good, I had the burger with chips and prune juice.

Then, when we were done (for plastic food, it was delicious) Allie went on a break and posted this sign on the pantry door. Guess we'll have to wait to get back in.

We're never quite sure what store or restaurant we're likely to find ourselves in when Allie gets her imagination going. But it's always fun.

Seven

According to Wiki, seven is a natural number following six and preceding eight (it actually says that). To us, seven took on new meaning as Allie, our youngest, became seven years old.

And, although seven is the sum of any two sides of a standard die, Allie is anything but standard.

As anyone who has met her knows, she very articulate, sometimes to a fault, and is a very thoughtful girl. Many times, I've wished that I'd captured what she said because it was so poignant, but I usually forget.

And perhaps that's the lesson here...we can't possibly remember every thing our children say or record every second of their lives. So soak it in, people. Because the day before yesterday, my daughter was three.

Which, by the way, is the only number besides seven in which a vector cross product ca be defined; but you knew that.

Happy birthday Allie!