My son has this amazing imagination. Ever since he started talking he's told stories. One was about his dad rolling him down a giant hill in a trash can. That one he told his sister and I on the way home from preschool one day.
In Kindergarten his class made books of what they wanted for Christmas. They had to cut out pictures for this project. My son managed to find a mug of beer in the stack of newspaper ads they were using and cut it out. His teacher asked him if he wanted beer for Christmas and he said no, it was for his dad because his dad likes to drink a lot of beer. Ok, then. Yes, both his parents drink beer, but not so much we'd ask for it for Christmas. At least that one has some truth to it, unlike the story he told his first grade teacher.
It seems that the teacher had read a story in which the main character had an experience that scared him. Like all good teachers she was hoping to get her students to make a personal connection to the story so she asked the class if anyone had every had a scary experience. I'm sure she was expecting episodes of being afraid of monsters in closets and under beds or maybe even fender bender incidents. Ha!
His teacher was so mortified and scared she felt the need to email me and ask if my son might benefit from sessions with the school counselor. She wondered if there was anything else she could do for us or if the school community could help in some way.
I really tried not to laugh and I'm so glad she did not tell me this in person because I am not sure I'd been able to control my laughter and the poor woman was so worried. No, robbers never broke into our house at night or during the day. Our dog was never locked in a closet. Even if robbers had broken in my husband would not have had a baseball bat because it would have been downstairs and there would have been no way to get to it with robbers in the house.
I really hope that if robbers did break in and tie me up and duck tape my mouth they would do it some place more comfortable than the garage. Every computer and television we've ever had has only left the house under our own wishes. And, 911 has only been dialed from this house the time a teenage boy screeched through the stop sign across the street, slammed into the streetlight in front of our house and knocked it over into our yard. Which happend when my son was older than first grade.
After I recovered and was able to stop choking on my sandwich I composed an email that I really hoped did not convey the hilarity I felt. His teacher was very understanding and at some point that year we devised a plan to help her know when he was making up stories or telling factual events. He had to put his finger on his nose when he was telling a story.
He still tells stories, but so far that's the best one.
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