Tell Me A Story

"Tell me a story, Mom." Eric says.  We are in the car driving to swimming lessons.

"What kind of story?" I ask the question even though I know the answer.

"About when you were a kid." He says.

So I start talking.  This time I tell about Sunday afternoons at Nana's house.  Last time I told the kids about sledding down the hill behind our house.  Another time I talked about building forts in the woods.

My stories don't have lessons or morals.  They don't have characters or plots.  I just tell what I remember.  Playing with friends.  Eating dinner.  Swimming.  Laughing. The kids always listen attentively.

When I finish, Beth chirps "Tell another."  So I do.

I wonder what stories my children will tell when they grow up.  I imagine Emily will tell her kids about gymnastics class.  She'll talk about her pink leotards and how she would practice by tumbling around the living room.  Beth, I am sure, will tell stories about the pool.  She'll recall splashing in the sprinklers and zipping down the slide.  Eric may talk about soccer, or hockey or swimming.  Or he might tell about playing kick the can at the end of the street on cool August evenings.

I hope they will all tell their kids about the day our neighborhood threw a block party.  They can talk about decorating their bikes with yellow and blue streamers for the parade.  They can talk about the horns and kazoos that everyone tooted as they waited for the big event to start.  They can tell how the police officer showed up to lead a hundred bikes, trikes and scooters around the neighborhood. And how she gave out stickers and let the kids sit in the squad car.

They can recall how the fire department brought the big truck to our street and let all the kids climb inside.    They can talk about trying on the fire fighter coat and boots.  And they can talk about how Beth sat in the ambulance and asked a hundred questions.

They can talk about what happened when he firemen hooked the hose up to the fire hydrant and sprayed our street.  They can tell about how the kids shouted and danced.  They can talk about being dripping wet and feeling like it was the happiest day of their lives.

They can talk about how we played a movie on our garage door and everyone ate popcorn and wrapped themselves in blankets and sat on our driveway.  They can talk about being carried into bed and falling asleep the minute their heads hit the pillow.

I'm not sure what story my kids will tell when they are all grown up.  I just hope that whichever one they choose, I am a part of it.