(Note: it has been a long time since I have done a Slice of Life, which is a wonderful writing activity sponsored by Two Writing Teachers. But I felt the end of the year deserved a story of some sort, just to remind myself of the connection with that wonderful community of bloggers and writers. — Kevin)
Earlier this year, during the 24 Hour Comic event, I created a graphic novel about falling into an icy river and being saved by my brother (which I also wrote about for Memoir Mondays at one time). This week, as temperatures rose a bit, my sons and I have been taking a visiting dog (Bella, whose name was also that of our old dog) down to the river. There, I have watched as the older ones have discovered icebergs in the shallow parts of the water and it was as if I were seeing myself as a kid (without the near-death experience).
They kicked, prodded, threw rocks, used sticks as wedges — anything to break the ice free. They imagined they could board the ice and float down the river. One mentioned the waterfall downstream. The sound was roaring off in the distance. “We’ll jump off the icebergs before we get to the waterfall,” the older one said, and that was that. No thoughts about the freezing temperatures of the water or the difficulty of swimming with winter clothes on. I could tell that they knew that these bits of ice would never hold their weight to begin with anyway. It was all about the imagination.
One the other side of the river, away from the ice, my youngest son and I stood, watching.
“When I get older, can I make icebergs?” he asked, as his brothers slipped around. I nodded my head “yes” and together, we both tossed large stones in the water, aiming to break up the ice chunks that had been set free by the older brothers.
Peace (in stories),