Hopper

Once there was a little boy named Lincoln. Lincoln was three years old and his favorite thing to do in the whole world was to write stories. He didn’t know how to write the letters himself, so he had to ask his mother or father to write the letters for him while he told them the story to write. Then Lincoln could read it back to himself whenever he wanted.

“Mom,” Lincoln asked. “Can you write down a story for me?”

“Sure, Lincoln,” Lincoln’s mother replied. She dug around in a kitchen drawer for a notebook and a pen.

“Are you ready, Mom?” asked Lincoln.

“I’m ready, Lincoln,” Lincoln’s mother put the pen to the paper to show that she was ready to write.

“Here’s my story, Mom,” said Lincoln.

“I’m waiting, Honey.”

“O.k. It needs a picture first, Mom.”

“What kind of picture, Lincoln?”

“A frog.”

“I’m not sure I can draw a very good frog, Lincoln.”

“I’ll draw the frog, Mom. You can write the words for the story.”

So Lincoln took his markers and drew a big green frog so his mother would know where to start writing his story.

“That’s a very good frog, Lincoln.”

“Thanks, Mom. Are you ready to write?”

“I am, Lincoln.”

And Lincoln began his story while his mother wrote down the words.

Once, when I was two, Mom and Dad told me I was going to have a birthday. After my birthday, they said, I would be three. I would not be two any more. They told me that when I turned three, I could have a party and get presents. I told them I wanted a pet. Maybe a puppy. And a cake. With six layers. Two chocolate. Two vanilla. And two strawberry.

Dad said maybe I could have a fish. And a cake with one layer. But it could be both chocolate and vanilla. He said that was called marbled.

I was excited. I couldn’t wait for my birthday. But I wasn’t sure I wanted a fish.

On my birthday, when I quit being two and started being three, I had a big party with lots of my friends, a cake with one layer that was chocolate and vanilla, and strawberry ice cream. My friends gave me neat presents like games and puzzles and toy cars. Then just one present was left; the present from Mom and Dad.

“I don’t want a fish,” I told them.

“We know,” said my dad. “Open it and see what it is.”

I opened it, and inside the wrapping paper was a plastic jar. I read it, “Frog Food.”

“What’s it for?” I asked.

"Your new pet,” said Mom. “He’s in your room.”

My friends and I ran into my room and there, on my bookshelf, was a new aquarium. It was full of rocks and weeds and a big branch to hide under and a small dish full of water…and a great big, green frog.

“Cool!” said my friend, Bill.

“Sweet!” said my other friend, Squeak.

“Excellent!” said my other friend, Eryn.

“Are you going to give him a name?” asked Mom. She and Dad were standing in the doorway, watching me.

“I’m going to name him Hopper,” I told her. “I hope he likes to hop.”

“I’m sure he does,” said my dad. “It’s the nature of frogs to hop.”

The End

“That’s a good story,” said Lincoln’s mother. “I remember when you got Hopper. Does he hop a lot like you hoped?”

“He does,” Lincoln replied. “Hopper is a great frog.”

Lincoln’s mother handed him the story, and he practiced reading it for the rest of the day so that when his father came home from work, he could read him the story about the day he got Hopper.

“That’s a great story, Lincoln,” Lincoln’s father said after he heard the story. “I’m glad you wrote it for your mother and me.”

Oh, I didn’t write it for you or Mom,” said Lincoln. “But I wanted you both to hear it anyway.”
“Then who did you write it for?” Lincoln’s father asked.

“Hopper!” Lincoln yelled, running to his bedroom as his mother and father laughed.