Search Results for: the little bear

Common Sense

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“Okay, kids,” the teacher said in a sweet voice.  “Lock your mouths and throw away the key.  It’s story time.”

“What?” Bryan stood and started waving his arms around.  “That’s a terrible idea.  If we can’t open our mouths, we’ll starve to death.  We’re all going to die!”

“It’s just for during story time,” the teacher said.  “You’ll be able to open your mouth just fine afterwards.  Sit down, Bryan.”

“What if I lock my mouth and throw away the key, and then I can’t find the key?” Bryan asked.

“Then you can just hold onto your key.  I don’t mind, as long as you stay quiet during story time.  Now, sit down, Bryan,” the teacher said.  Her voice sounded a little less sweet.

Bryan sat down and felt around his mouth with his hands.  He jumped up again.  “Teacher,” he said.  “I think I don’t have a key for locking my mouth.”

The teacher sighed.  “It’s all pretend Bryan.  Just pretend you’re locking your mouth closed for story time.  We can talk about this more later.  Sit down.”

Bryan frowned.  “But what if my mouth really does lock closed?  I won’t have a key to open it.  And If I get a cold, I won’t be able to breathe!”

“Just sit down and be quiet,” the teacher said in a slightly grumbly voice.  “You will be just fine.”

Bryan sat.

The teacher began reading a story about a talking bear family eating porridge together for breakfast.  “Bears talk?” Bryan said.  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Shhhh,” the teacher said.  “It’s just pretend, Bryan.  Save your questions for after the story.”

“But what’s porridge?  Is that pretend too?” Bryan asked.

“It’s like oatmeal.  People eat it for breakfast,” the teacher said.

“Is it sweet?” Bryan asked.

“If you add sugar to it,” the teacher said.  “Now shush.”

“I like sweet cereal with milk for breakfast,” Bryan whispered to his neighbor.  “My dad says I might as well add sugar and a multivitamin to milk ‘cause it would be the same thing.  I think that sounds better.  Then it wouldn’t get soggy.”

“Bryan, if you keep talking, you’ll have to sit at your desk until story time is over,” the teacher said.  Bryan put both hands over his mouth and nodded.  The teacher finished the story.

As soon as she was done and asked what they’d thought, Bryan jumped up.  “Yes, Bryan?” the teacher asked.

“Do bears really live in houses?” he asked.

“No, that was just pretend,” the teacher said.

“Why did she go into the bear house and eat their food and break their things?  Was she a bad guy?” Bryan asked.

“I don’t think so.  I think she just made bad choices,” the teacher said.  “Sit down, Bryan.  Let’s see if someone else has a question.”

“Isn’t that what bad guys do?”  Bryan asked.  “Make bad choices?”

The teacher sighed again.  “Bryan, sometimes people make mistakes.  Even bad guys.  The important thing is to learn from your mistakes.  It’s even better when you can learn from someone else’s mistakes so you don’t have to make those mistakes too.”

Bryan sat down.  “Oh.  Is that why we read stories like this?”

The teacher smiled.  “Exactly.”

“But doesn’t everybody know not to steal and break things?”  He looked around at the rest of the class.  “Who knows not to steal and break things?” Bryan asked.  Everyone’s hand shot up.  Bryan turned back to the teacher.  “See?  You need to read us smarter books.”

The teacher pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for a moment.  Then she took a deep breath.  “Perhaps you’re right.  Does anyone else have any questions?”  Every hand shot up.

Charlie’s Room: Lost Tooth

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“I’m home,” Isaac said.

“Dad, Dad, guess what?” Charlie said.  He ran to the door waving his fist in the air and grinning.  He was missing one of his front teeth.

“Wow!  Did you lose a tooth?” Isaac asked.  “Let me see it.”

Charlie opened his hand and held it out, palm up.  A little tooth was resting in his palm.  Isaac picked it up and looked at it closely.  It was so small.

“It’s neat, huh?” Charlie asked.  “Do you think I could save it?”

“If you put it under your pillow tonight, maybe you’ll get a quarter,” Isaac said.

“I think I’d prefer to keep the tooth,” Charlie said.  “You can’t go buy them in stores after all.”

“It’s up to you,” Isaac said.

Charlie held up his tooth and squinted at it.  “Is there really a tooth fairy?” he asked.

“What do you think?” Isaac asked.

“If I put my tooth under my pillow, I can make a tooth fairy trap.  Then I’ll know.  I’ll save my next tooth,” Charlie said.  “Do you want to help me make the trap?”

“Sure,” Isaac said.  “What did you have in mind?”

Together they built the trap.  Following Charlie’s directions, Isaac tied the tooth to a stick with a short string and then used the stick to prop up a box.  Charlie wrote “FREE TOOTH” in marker on the box.

“I can’t put this under my pillow,” Charlie complained.

“You might have to leave a note under your pillow just in case, telling the tooth fairy where the tooth is,” Isaac said.

“Good thinking,” Charlie said.

That night, Charlie went to bed early.  When Isaac heard snoring from down the hall, he went in to check on the trap.  A little man dressed in green with a bushy red beard was standing under the box.  He snipped the string with tiny scissors and put the tooth in his pocket.

Then the little man looked up and frowned.  “It’s mine, and you can’t have it,” he said.  He disappeared.

Isaac was confused.  That looked like a leprechaun.  Did leprechauns turn teeth into gold like tiny little Rumplestiltskins who worked with teeth instead of straw?  Why hadn’t anyone told him?  Parenthood really needed a manual for all of these sorts of things.

Isaac looked down at the empty trap.  Charlie was going to be so disappointed.  No tooth, no fairy, and no quarter.  Isaac pulled out his wallet.  He shined a quarter on his shirt and put it under the box, while holding it in the corner of his shirt.  Charlie might think of looking for fingerprints, after all.

The next morning, Charlie was a little disappointed.  He brought in the snipped string to show Isaac.  “The tooth fairy is smarter than I thought,” he said.

“Well, I guess no one has caught one before, so they must be,” Isaac said.

“That’s true,” Charlie said.  “Luckily, I have lots more teeth to lose.  Maybe next time I’ll catch one.  I should probably start thinking of ideas now.”

“Let me know if you need any help,” Isaac said.

“I will.  Thanks, Dad,” Charlie said.

A Tough Crowd

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“Hey, Art, do you want to hang out after work?” Bert asked.

Art was putting on his coat, but he paused when Bert asked his question. “What do you have in mind?” he asked.

“Well, there’s this great juice bar nearby,” Bert said. He picked up his coat.

Art zipped up his coat. “I don’t really like health food,” he said.

Bert laughed. “Neither do I.  Luckily that’s not all they serve.” He started to put on his coat. “They make the best ice cream sundaes in town. I think it’s the homemade ice cream. They go fast. If we head over now we might get one. Plus we’d avoid the rougher crowd.”

“Why is there a rough crowd?” Art asked.

“It’s not a big deal,” Bert said. “The place is just really popular and attracts all types.   We’ll be fine. Especially if we go early.”

”I do like ice cream,” Art said. “So I guess I’ll go.”

Art followed Bert to the juice bar. He still wasn’t so sure about this. Once inside, they discovered a crowd already there waiting. “There’s still some seats at the counter,” a server said, “but you won’t be able to sit together. If you want a table, you’ll have to wait.”

They sat at the end of a bench by the door and began to wait. It was a long wait. “They’re probably out of ice cream,” Art whispered. “Let’s just go.”

“Wait another fifteen minutes,” Bert whispered back. “It’s really good ice cream.”

Just then, the door slammed open and a herd of bulls charged into the restaurant. They were big and strong.   Some had whiskers and small beards.   Several had nose rings or a big metal earring with numbers imprinted on it.

“We want a round of wheatgrass juice,” the one in front said. He strode towards the counter, the light glinting off his sharp horns.

“Are those cows?” Art whispered. Bert stomped on his foot and shushed him. One of the bulls twitched an ear and glanced in their direction.   Bert smiled, but it looked like he felt a little ill. The bull looked away.

As soon as the herd passed them, Bert pulled on Art’s arm and stood to leave.   Art followed him out. There was a pack of motorcycles parked outside.

“Cows ride motorcycles?” Art asked. “Since when?”

“They’re bulls,” Bert said. “And try not to be so loud. They’re mean when they get angry.”

“Bulls? Don’t they only get mad if you wear red?” Art asked.

“That’s a myth.” Bert paused at his car and leaned against the door. “They don’t like sudden movements or people in their personal space.   They carry their weapons around in the open and charge at people and stab them with little warning. They’re pretty harsh.”

“But bulls on motorcycles? I thought they just stood in fields looking majestic or something,” Art said.

“Oh, bulls are the original bikers,” Bert said. “They’re born wearing leather, you know.”

“I guess that’s true,” Art said.

Bert opened his car door. “I guess no ice cream today. Do you want to try another time?”

“No,” Art said. “I’m sure it’s tasty ice cream, but I don’t think it’s the right atmosphere for me.   Honestly it was a little scary.”

“I understand,” Bert said. “It’s too bad, though. It really is good ice cream.”

“I make pretty good homemade ice cream,” Art said. “You should come over sometime and try it and tell me how it compares.”

“Sure,” Bert said. “When’s the next time you’re making some?”

“Come over Saturday around noon. You can meet my family. Bring your favorite sundae topping,” Art said.

“Sounds great,” Bert said. “I’ll be there.”

Art waved and walked to his car. Bert waved back and sat down. He pulled his car door closed. They drove away and never came back.

 

King of the Forest

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The majestic elk paused in a beam of sunlight on a prominent ridge. He held his head up high, knowing his antlers were gleaming in the sunlight. He waited.   Soon, the murmurs began.

“It’s the king of the forest,” a rabbit whispered.

“Isn’t he amazing?” a finch chirped.

The little animals hurried to make him flower crowns to honor him. The elk waited patiently for them to return.   Rabbit and birds and squirrels were soon scampering back. However, just before they reached him, they paused. A squirrel gasped.

“It’s the king of the forest,” the squirrel said.

“He’s wonderful,” a snake said.

The animals hurried closer with their crowns. The elk lifted his chin a little higher, showing off his antlers.   But, the animals hurried past him.   The elk turned in surprise, his eyes following the animals as they headed up the mountain.

A white tailed deer stood in a beam of sunlight. He was posed on a large rock, looking serene and royal. The elk growled. This was completely unacceptable. Upstaged by an upstart white-tailed deer? Hah. He’d show them.

He casually wandered into the forest. Once out of sight, he raced around to a spot where he knew he’d be framed by a small thicket of young trees.   He slowed his pace as he stepped out into view, casually parting the trees with a hoof.

He turned to show his best side at a good three-quarter profile, making sure to use the light to best advantage. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the animals had not yet reached the deer. He was just in time. He was careful not to smirk as he heard a gasp.

“It’s the king of the forest,” warbled a robin.

“Wow!” a squirrel said.

The animals ran past the deer. The deer’s head whipped around and he looked up at the elk. Their eyes met and the elk lifted his chin. The corner of his mouth tilted up just a little. He couldn’t help it.

The deer’s eyes narrowed. He turned and walked further into the forest as though he didn’t care whether or not anyone noticed. The elk knew better. He needed to be crowned before the white tailed deer upstaged him again. Or worse, a moose came and overshadowed them both.

What if a bear decided to be king? He could never stand up to a bear. Luckily, bears hated politics. But, that could change. He glanced down at the little animals. Unfortunately, they were slowing down. It was hard for them to pick their way up the slope with their short little legs.

He could hear a crashing sound nearby. Time was almost up. The animals probably would give up and wander off if he tried to outshine the annoying deer a third time. He needed to show he was better than anyone else right now.

The elk turned and smiled at the little animals. He clambered down from the ridge, trying to look graceful.   Some of the little trees slapped at him as he pushed past, but he pretended not to notice.

He met the little animals half way and bowed his head to be crowned. A rabbit squealed. The animals hopped and flew, covering his antlers and ears in little flower crowns. It was a little scratchy and his ear tickled, but he ignored it. He raised his head and the animals cheered.

He pretended to look off in the distance. From the corner of his eye, he could see the deer push though the bushes further up the mountain. The elk snorted. Too late. He turned back to the little animals. They all looked up at him adoringly. He smiled.

“I know of a good berry patch nearby, and the fruit is ripe,” he said.   Let’s celebrate together, friends,” he said.

The little animals cheered again. “He’s the best king of the forest ever,” a squirrel said. The elk smiled again, looking majestic, while jumping up and down on the inside.   The animals left together to celebrate.

Lost

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Mara was walking home from Amy’s house through the park. When she started out, the sun was shining and she could hear birds singing. Somewhere there were wind chimes playing a new melody as the breeze blew. It lifted strands of Mara’s hair and threw them into her face.

A gust of wind blew past and the leaves shook and whispered. The world went grayer and Mara looked up. Dark clouds were moving quickly across the sky.   Where had they come from? Mara shivered. She wished she’d brought a coat.

The wind blew through even stronger. Mara kept tucking her flying hair behind her ears. The wind chimes clanged an urgent tune. She couldn’t hear the birds any more. Mara started to walk a little faster. As she left the park, she felt the first raindrop.

And then, it poured. It rained so hard that Mara couldn’t see clearly. She was still two streets away from home. She hurried a little faster, rushing through a blurry world that she couldn’t really see, continually blinking the water out of her eyes.   Left turn and then right turn.   She should be almost home.

As suddenly as it began to pour, the rain gentled. Mara looked around. She had no idea where she was. She’d never been on this street before. She would remember that stump carved to look like a bear if she’d ever seen it before. Or that dark purple house.

Mara stopped walking and looked around again. She was cold and wet and it was still raining and she had no idea where she was. She turned around and tried to walk back the way she came. Nothing looked familiar. Should she knock on the door of one of those houses? She wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. Besides, it looked like no one was home.

There were no lights on in the houses, even though it was overcast and rainy.   There weren’t cars in the driveways.   Was she alone in the world? Did the rain take everyone away and leave her behind? Her eyes stung and she blinked away the tears. Her nose started to run and she wiped it on the back of her sleeve. She’d change out of this shirt as soon as she got home anyways.

Mara began to slow down. Would walking around help when she was lost and alone? Shouldn’t she wait for someone to come find her? But would they know where to look? She shivered and rubbed her hands together.

The bushes in front of her rustled and a black cat stepped out. It looked at her than tilted its head to the side.   Then it turned, and tail up, it walked down the sidewalk a few steps and stopped.

The cat turned and looked at her. “Meow?” it said.

“Am I supposed to follow you?” Mara asked.

The cat turned and walked a few more steps and turned and looked at Mara again. She took a step forward and it turned and started walking. This time it didn’t stop. Mara followed it. She didn’t have any better ideas.

The cat turned and walked down a path between two houses. Mara hadn’t seen it until they’d turned off the sidewalk.   It was bordered on either side by chain link walls that fenced in the yards on either side. Some sort of leafy vine wove in and out of the fence, making them seem more like hedges. Mara looked close and could see morning glory blossoms, closed tightly against the dark and rain.

The cat continued walking forward, without pausing or looking right or left.   The rain stopped and the sun came out.   Mara started to feel a little warmer.   And then they turned a corner and she knew where she was. If she turned the next corner, she’d be able to see her house.

She sprinted forward and then paused and turned. She needed to thank the cat. But, the cat was gone. She looked around, turning in a circle. She couldn’t see it anywhere. “Thank you for helping me,” she said anyways. Then she turned and ran home.

A New Home

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“Drat,” the witch said. “I’ve been eaten out of house and home again. Perhaps it’s a bad idea to build my home out of candy and gingerbread. Even when I built my house in the middle of woods, children still found me and ate holes in my walls.”

“I still say you should have eaten them, see how they liked it,” her magic staff said.

“Oh hush,” the witch said. She paused and looked over her shoulder. She could just see the candy-shingled roof over the tree line.   “If I listened to you, their parents would hunt me down and hang me in the town square. You have absolutely no common sense.”

“Yes, and I have wood for brains. You’ve said all this before,” the staff said. “So, what now?” They both watched from the shadows as another noisy crowd of children rushed past them.

“Can’t we make our house out of something else?” the witch asked. She turned and watched as the roof suddenly tilted at an odd angle.

“I really think you should put that culinary degree to use. You defied your parents and ran away from home to get it.” The staff hummed. “Perhaps you could make your home out of vegetables?”

“Most vegetables aren’t sturdy enough, and all the local wildlife would come and eat holes in the walls. There’s lots more animals than children in the woods,” the witch said. The roof disappeared. She turned and adjusted the strap of her small bag. She started walking again.

“You could eat them, and their angry parents too,” the staff said.

“I’d still have holes in my walls,” the witch said.   “When I use all my magic on patching my walls, I don’t have any left for starting my magic mail-order pastry business.”   She pushed through some bushes and used her staff as a shield to avoid the thorns.

“Hey watch it. Use your magic. Here, let me.” The staff sent out a pulse of magic that parted the vines. “Maybe it’s a good thing that you haven’t had a chance to start your business yet.   We could go home and go back to magic school. I have so much potential.   I could be doing so much more with my life.”

“Maybe I’ll make my next house out of wood,” the witch said. “You’re using my magic when you do that, you know?”

“That was harsh. Really, really harsh. I would never suggest you build anything out of human flesh, you know,” the staff said.   “Besides, you started it when you used my sensitive wooden self as a shield without asking. I think you might have scratched my finish.”

“I’m sorry. How do you feel about rock as a building material?” the witch asked.

“Rock candy? It has a high sugar content and flavor is practically nonexistent, but it sparkles nicely. It’s a little too transparent for house building, though. Let’s leave it for windows,” the staff said.

“No, building a house out of stone,” the witch said.

“Inorganic matter isn’t something I’m good at,” the staff said. “Hey, where are we going?   I don’t recognize this place at all.   What if there are bears? Or worse, termites? Let’s go back to the city. You can start your business on weekends while you’re going to school.”

“They won’t let me use the ovens,” the witch said.   “Hey, is that a house?”

“What, here? Let me check it out before you get to close.” The staff said. The witch nodded. “Hmmm. Empty, stone, no roof. The well is dry, but I can fix that. No bears or termites. This looks good. Candy shingles?”

“How about straw? Then we can clean up and unshrink the furniture,” the witch said.   She set her bag down and pulled out a spell book.”

“Thatching? I suppose that would be all right. I think we could use the spell on page thirty.” The staff began to hum.

“Thanks,” the witch said. “Maybe I could finish my magic schooling by correspondence. I wouldn’t want you to waste your potential after all.”

The humming grew brighter, and happier. The witch began to wave the staff around in spirals and figure eights, and then she started chanting. Thus finally began the career of the witch of the deep woods bakery. And her magic staff.