A Young Writer - "A Kind Father"

  I was flipping through a couple of scrapbooks of mine that mom had made for me many years ago. The first was from second through third grade and the second one from fourth through about seventh grade. What a treat to take a few moments and look back on the boy I was. There were things from school, scouting, church, sports, and the places we lived. I came across one particular item, a stapled booklet of short stories (extremely short!) written by my third grade class, including one by me. 

  As I read through it I was amused at the innocence of my words and I reflected on how as an adult I have lost that innocence. And though the story itself is not a great achievement I was amazed at my knowledge of the era the subject was written in. But I'll let you read for yourself and hope you don't laugh at me too much... I was only eight years old after all! :)

A Kind Father

by

Charlton Wiggins 

  In a pink and blue tavern in Tennessee, the son and daughter of Rick and Jill Sanders were eating their lunch. Just as they were finishing their lunch, there came a clatter of horse hoofs, it came again, closer and closer - then it stopped. Mitch reached over for his musket and aimed it at the door. Although Mitch was thirteen, he could shoot from two-hundred feet and shoot a squirrel through the eyes. All of a sudden, the door was flung open and there before them stood a tall lanky man. He wore a three-cornered hat, breeches, stockings that were up to his knees, buckled shoes and a bib. April, who was twelve, had been up a moment or two before Mitch yelled, "Pa!"
  Rick said, "Wait a minute." Then he moved over to the table and said, "I'll answer all your questions one at a time." After he finished answering all of their questions he had a good supper! Then they all went to bed with happy thoughts.
  Early the next morning, after they ate, their father called them back to the barn. There they father was waiting for them.
  "Come into the barn," said their father. He turned and led them into the barn. There stood a Palamino and a Pinto. Beside the Pinto was a musket and three boxes of cartridges.  Beside the Palamino was a frying pan and a pretty dress.
  They just stood there, and then finally managed to say, "Oh, you're the kindest father in the world!"

  Now before you judge me too harshly I realize a musket doesn't use cartridges and a frying pan is extremely stereotypical but that was the world we grew up in. Now the challenge would be to take this kernel of an idea and develop it into a full story!