I did my best, though, first explaining the writing process to him and encouraging him through it. "Just get your thoughts on paper, first," I told him. "Then we can go back and tinker with it later."
A smile came to his face, as though I were finally breaking through. "Tinker," he laughed, the lesson obviously lost. "That's a funny word."
He would eventually finish the paragraphs, along with his clay re-creation of a typical Cherokee Indian home. On this chilly October morning, the due date, it was an easy choice deciding to drive him to school instead of putting him on the bus. The clay was much more likely to get damaged on a bus full of kids ready for the weekend.
Then, a funny thing happened on the way to school. When I was slowing down at one point, the house slipped from its position up front, and the walls collapsed. So, too, did my son's tears begin to fall.
The fault was entirely mine for not ensuring the house was more secure. I could feel the anxiety and worry washing over him, so I did what all parents must do in similar situations: I made him a promise.
I will make this right, Edward. Everything is going to be okay.
By the time we reached the carpool line he was all smiles.
His mother and I fixed his project as soon as I got back to the house, then I returned it, much more carefully this time, to school. Everything indeed turned out okay.
The Cherokee Indians, by the way, lived in different houses for different seasons. In summers, their houses were bigger and often lacked an exterior wall, which helped cool the house. In summers, several families even stayed together in one house.
As cold weather approached, however, they built much smaller houses without any windows, because such houses were easier to heat with a fire inside.
Or, I guess you could say,
as the cold weather approached, the family grew even closer.