There’s a lot you can do with a white board. You don’t have to throw them away and start over like with poster boards, and they keep their shape and don’t need any tape. I used to write everything out and my block writing was pretty good, but mom said to cool it on the killed trees. She gave me a white board, an eraser, and a rainbow pack of markers last Christmas and said to go nuts.
I’m known for my signs more than the games. Last year the town newspaper took a picture of the 2014 Great Lakes Snail Race!! sign Dad and I designed. That was a great sign and even though it was on paper mom let me keep it - but only if I didn’t let the fame go to my head.
There are signs everywhere if you take the time to look for them. Lemonade stands and tag sales and even some kids collecting for charity - though I’m not sure I’d trust their poster. But ours was the first famous sign.
We weren’t expecting it. A lady pulled a small black car with a smashed passenger door half way into our driveway and hurried over to the lawn where Dad stood. She wore black shoes with a tall spike in the back and walked crooked across the wet grass. I was hunting snails nearer the street when I first saw her. She shook Dad’s hand and looked closely at the poster.
My dad’s a designer. He must be a good one because he is always busy with a design project. When I first thought up some games he told me that a man must have a passion. I asked him about his passion and he said without thinking that he liked to design.
He isn’t good at designing games. I tried to get his help with a wild bird scavenger hunt, but said that no one had that kind of time. But he did help with the sign. For the bird watch he helped me to center my letters so that the poster was balanced. He told me that sometimes less is more and that white space (even though the poster was yellow) wasn’t always a bad thing. That I only needed to draw a few birds instead of ten. He was careful and slow with the ruler, marking start and stop spaces with quiet breaths, leaning in so close I could feel the soft fur of his arms as he dragged a thick marker across a pencil sketch.
I had already found some snails but I told Dad I hadn’t because the sign was finished and I didn’t want him to leave for work. He suggested ants or squirrels, saying we could get some cheese and lure them out of the tree.
“That’ll be fun. And they’re fast. It’ll be fun to watch them run.”
But I didn’t want to run. I wanted him to stay, and snails seemed a good way to buy some time.
The lady stayed with my Dad for awhile - pointing at me with a sharp, pink finger - laughing at something my dad was saying. I wanted her to leave, but the sticks on her shoes dug deeper into the ground and she wouldn’t stop laughing.
I ran over to them both - my dad’s face red and eyes wide.
“Hey bud, this is a reporter. She wants to do a story on your little game.”
“It’s my passion,” I said.
“What’s your passion?” she asked in voice that sounded more like a whistle.
“Design.”
“Oh? That’s impressive! How old are you?”
I didn’t like that she was still there and I asked her what she wanted.
“Don’t be rude,” Dad said laying a hand on my shoulder. His hand was heavy and I knew he’d have to go to work.
“Not many kids your age have a passion!”
She was going to make me famous. She had a camera and worked for a newspaper and said I was special but I wanted her gone. Because of her I had left the real snails back on the other side of the lawn and wasn’t sure they would still be there.
She asked for a picture of dad and I and after we took it gave Dad a card. He shook her hand and they kept talking, even as I walked away. I needed snails for the race because without them I would never be famous. But it wasn’t about that. It took awhile, but I found the snails, and even with them we never raced. Dad was called to work and the reporter still ran the story.
1 comment:
You should write children's books!!
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