Sunday, September 30, 2007

Shhh, don't tell him I know . . .

At thirteen, my son waxes nostalgic, too:

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[by Night Editor's son]:

When you were a little kid did you like to wrestle with your friends and goof around? I know I used to love wrestling with my friends, my dad or anyone that was willing to wrestle. When we started to wrestle I brought out my big stuffed animal gorilla. Now this toy was perfect for wrestling because it was big and soft. It was also great if you just wanted to kick back relax and maybe watch some T.V.

Whenever my friends and I were in the mood to wrestle or we were debating over something it was rumble time. I would go and grab my gorilla and we would tell each other the stakes and the rules, which were usually just, like no pinching or scratching. After that it was time to get started. Since the toy was big and soft no one got hurt and everyone had fun. We would also watch wrestling on T.V. and try out some of the things we saw on T.V. out on the gorilla.

Another perfect use for my gorilla was watching T.V. with it. If I was feeling lazy I would just grab the gorilla and use it as the perfect cushion. Also late at night I would use it as a pillow to sleep with on the couch. I probably got the best sleep of my life with it too. It was also perfect for movies and video games. When my friends and I would have a sleepover I would grab the gorilla and we would us it as a comfy chair. My gorilla could be used for any thing involved with being lazy. It was good for anything and everything.

My gorilla is still in my house. We keep it right behind my dad’s recliner. No matter how old it gets it will still always have a place in my life.


Addendum: found the pic--he writes what he knows. . . .

2 comments:

Sassmaster said...

Awesome. That is writing to restore my faith in education.

Night Editor said...

That and the phrase "readers make better writers." I love the teen hyperbole: best sleep of my life; it will always have a place in my life. Pity the girl who shares his first apartment. . . .