The Penguin was suffering from a writer’s block. He can come up with the most wonderful stories, but he goes absolutely blank when a particular theme is assigned to him. Just like I do.
Today he told me he was supposed to write a so-called text-at-liberty for school, themed ‘Christmas’. Now, we do celebrate Christmas, but Santa Claus nor Father Christmas visits us, because we already celebrate his ancestor, Sinterklaas, in the beginning of December. We still have a christmas tree – a live one we’ve succesfully dragged inside for the third year in a row – and we buy each other gifts. But there’s no storytelling around the theme, no mystery, only the magic of the brightly glowing lights.
The Penguin was close to tears. He couldn’t come up with more than a description of our Christmas tree with it’s regretfully-broken-yet-replaced lights. To his standards, that wasn’t nearly good enough.
So I started to improvise some Christmas stories with him. I didn’t mean for him to indulge in a new tradition, and I am not intending to buy huge white collared red socks after this. But I decided there is just no such thing as too many stories for a child to hear. Or to tell.
Maybe there is this peculiar little fairy who wants to travel to the North Pole but has her wings frozen?
Maybe it will snow on Christmas eve in the whole wide world, even in the Saharan desert?
Maybe there’s a firefly who wants his family to be part of a huge christmas tree?
Or maybe there’s just a simple little boy and a simple little dog who find each other on Christmas eve?
While we were tiptoeing in Christmas magic, our preschool Panther joined in. She had the verybest Christmas story to share, she told us.
Even the Penguin agreed he will have an extremly difficult time topping this one.
Once upon a time there was a little boy.
The little boy didn’t have a mommy.
All he wanted for Christmas was a mommy.
When it was finally snowing and Christmassing, he received a huge present.
It was veryveryvery heavy.
He was veryveryvery happy.
He ripped the paper off immediately.
And then he started to cry.
It was only a toy.
It was a really nice toy.
But he said toys alone are no good.
You need a mommy to play with them, together.
Luckily, there was a second gift.
It was hidden behind the Christmas tree.
It was even bigger and heavier.
Now he was very carefull.
He took the paper off, piece by piece.
He peeked inside the paper.
And then he started to cry tears of joy.
Inside the present was Takeenta!
Takeenta. That’s my name in Panther language.
Tears of joy indeed.