On Monday, Heather Armstrong of Dooce posted some of her second grade homework. It reminded me that thanks to doting relatives who hoarded all evidence of my burgeoning creativity, I still have a copy of the very first story I ever wrote. Without further ado:
The Olive and the Pickle
by Jane, Age 9
Once upon a time there was an olive and a pickle. The olive danced around and played, but the pickle slept all the time. The pickle was the olive's next door neighbor, but the pickle didn't like the olive because he made too much noise. The olive didn't like the pickle because he slept all the time.
But one day a whistle sound came from the door. A present was there in the box. There were two jars in it; one with olive juice and the other with pickle juice. On the card it said "Aunt Olive, Uncle Ollie, Aunt Patsy Pickle and Uncle Patrick Pickle." On the box was a note. It said, "Please wake up pickle and give him the jar." The jars are marked.
Olive said, "Wow. If I could only find a way to make Pickle wake up, I would do anything." As he got to Pickle's house, he knocked at the door and then Pickle came to the door. Olive told Pickle what his aunt and uncle gave him. Pickle said, "But Olive, you left the radio on." So Olive rushed out and once again went to turn off the radio. When he got back to Pickle's house, he said, "Do you want your swimming pool?" "Yes," he said, "if you go to the store and take my money and buy a water bed."
So he went to Hot Dog Street, up Pancake Street, two blocks and down Apple Avenue. He cashed a check there and went back to buy the water bed. To his great disappointment, a big fat lady grapefruit bought the last one. Olive said, "I will not tell Pickle. I will go to the sporting goods store. I'll try the water bed there. Won't Pickle be surprised. I'll buy it."
When he got back, Pickle fell asleep on his water bed, while Olive played ball, swam, got out, dried himself and picked little cakes off the bushes and ate until he was full. Now it is you see Olive and Pickle are friends because Olive is not so noisy and Pickle is not sleeping all the time. That is the end of my story.
Notes: If this seems exceptionally well punctuated, it's because someone (probably my mother or grandmother) typed it up for me at the time. Apparently she let me determine my own paragraph breaks, though.
What's with the crazy water bed stuff? At the time, I thought that those inflatable pool rafts were called water beds.
Cakes growing on bushes? Huh? Read as many Oz books as I did when I was a kid and some of it would rub off on you, too.