Number One Son is quite a writer. He is eleven and is a fairly dramatic kid. Here is a piece of descriptive writing that he did for school about learning to unicycle.
I thought it was pretty funny and thought you might enjoy it too. Reproduced with his permission.
I thought it was pretty funny and thought you might enjoy it too. Reproduced with his permission.
Getting bucked off again. Over four sessions at school he didn't really get the hang of it, but he did get perhaps two meters at the most. Which is pretty good, those things are DIFFICULT.
The Psychopathic Beast
The devilish thing seemed to grin at my bloodied knees, enjoying my pain and suffering. The unicycle dared me to jump on its back, to get pummeled back to the ground. I was afraid. But there was the cry, “Come on, get on your unicycle.” No surprise there, but I hesitated, still staying back from the monstrosity I was ordered to ride. I cautiously slid to the unicycle, dreading what was to come. Blam! Now was no different. My knees, bloodied ever more, were not eager to move my legs towards the unicycle.
Suddenly I felt a rage, “How dare this thing be the master of me?” How good it would feel to tear it apart with my newly found strength. To crush it, to destroy it. But I could feel that dream would never become reality. The unicycle had the upper hand. I was doomed. “Come on get on your unicycle”. That dreaded cry. I hopped back on, you know the story. Hit the ground again. Bit the dust. The gritty, hard, now-red dust.
To think some people do it like it’s a piece of cake. I wonder if they went through the same torture as me. But worse, to go through more than I already had would drive me to sure insanity.
I stood up. Determined to conquer the terrible beast. Even though I knew I never would get it done today. I rose up seemingly stories tall over the unicycle, ready to conquer, to crush it with a touch of my fist.
I went back, happy with what I’d done. The great beast was helpless in my grasp, the beast they call a unicycle.
Suddenly I felt a rage, “How dare this thing be the master of me?” How good it would feel to tear it apart with my newly found strength. To crush it, to destroy it. But I could feel that dream would never become reality. The unicycle had the upper hand. I was doomed. “Come on get on your unicycle”. That dreaded cry. I hopped back on, you know the story. Hit the ground again. Bit the dust. The gritty, hard, now-red dust.
To think some people do it like it’s a piece of cake. I wonder if they went through the same torture as me. But worse, to go through more than I already had would drive me to sure insanity.
I stood up. Determined to conquer the terrible beast. Even though I knew I never would get it done today. I rose up seemingly stories tall over the unicycle, ready to conquer, to crush it with a touch of my fist.
I went back, happy with what I’d done. The great beast was helpless in my grasp, the beast they call a unicycle.
Number One Son looking dramatic. This dramatic landscape is Surat Bay, in the Catlins.
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