Let's Entertain the Kids

Fantastic Tales

Acollection of stories for the imaginative child, ranging from a colourful horse to a new, villainous creature trying to warp the minds of children at Christmas. 

Balloon

An ordinary balloon , tied to Helen’s wrist, sees the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Look at all those balloons, says the ordinary balloon. One of these days, I’m going to be in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Please, says another ordinary balloon. You? In the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade? Come on.

It’ll happen, says the ordinary balloon. Wait and see. 

Hey, hey. This balloon thinks he can become a part in the parade.

The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade? Please, says a yellow balloon.

I hear ya.

Just because you two think I can’t get in, doesn’t mean I won’t.

Big dreams never come true, says the yellow balloon.

Hey, if I can get in, says the ordinary balloon, anyone of us can get in. All I have to do is talk to the man in charge. 

And you are, asks the man in charge. 

I’m a balloon, said the ordinary balloon.

An ordinary balloon.

I can’t help being me. 

Have you done anything special?

No.

No?

That’s right. No. I be me.

You be you. Ordinary. We don’t deal with ordinary balloons. We deal with special balloons.

But the world is made of ordinary balloons.

Our parade isn’t the world. Our parade is special. And it’s filled with special balloons.

I, says the ordinary balloon.

But the man with glasses interrupts him, saying, You will leave. You have wasted my time, Mr. Ordinary Balloon.

But it’s ok to be ordinary, says Helen.

Let’s just go, says the ordinary balloon. I just don’t want to be here anymore.

Ordinary balloons, says the man in charge, are nothing special.

The ordinary balloon looks at Helen, who’s crying and sniffling in Central Park. What’s wrong, asks the ordinary balloon.

I’m lost.

You’re not the only one, says Peter.

You’re lost, too, asks the ordinary balloon, who then looks at the other kids, Are you kids lost, too? All of you?

Yeah, they say.

Well, I’ll guide you back to where your parents are. Would you like that?

Yeah, they say. 

Follow me, says the ordinary balloon. I remember the way.

The kids follow the ordinary balloon back to their parents. 

Look, says Peter’s mom, a balloon.

Mommy, yells Peter.

Peter, yells Peter’s mom, Peter!

The other parents call to their child. Monica, yells one parent. Henry, yells another.

The kids run to their parents.

Are you ok, asks Helen’s mom.

I was scared, says Helen.

We were scared, too, says Helen’s mom. We didn’t know where any of you were.

If it wasn’t for my balloon, says Helen, we never would’ve made it.

The parents and kids thank the ordinary balloon. Thank you, ordinary balloon, thank you.

The man in charge sees the ordinary balloon. Why hello there, Mr. Ordinary Balloon.

Why it’s the man who said no, says the ordinary balloon.

I said it then, but I’m not saying it now.

Really?

That’s right. Mr. Ordinary Balloon, would you like to be apart of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade?

I would love to, said the ordinary balloon, but only if I can bring some friends.

If they’re anything like you, we’d love to have them.

Don’t worry. They’re all as ordinary as I am.

The ordinary balloon and his ordinary balloon friends march in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Look, look, says a green balloon tied to a kid’s wrist. A balloon, just like me. Finally. 

Class Pins

All I want is a class pin, says Holly Go Holly, yelling, Is that too much to ask?

And they did so much work being good, too.

But Little Suzy was a natural and earned a class pin.

It’s frustrating being passed over, yet again.

So, she yelled, I don’t care about no class pin.

But what does that mean, her classmates ask her.

Are you going to do bad things, they ask her.

Are you going to...and they give examples.

But she says, No! No no no!

Instead of doing these bad things, she continues to do some good things.

But Little Suzy is a natural. Doing even better things.

But when it comes around to handing out the class pin, the teacher hands it to Little Suzy.

She claps, I’m happy for you.

You are?

Yes I am. And she was honest, living up to the word.

What about now, her classmates ask her. Are you going to do them now — those bad things — those really baaad things you used to do?

No I’m not.

And she continued to do good things.

But Little Suzy is a natural.

She does even better things.

But when it came around to handing out the class pin, the teacher hands it NOT TO LITTLE SUZY but Holly Go Holly. 

But...why, she asks her teacher. Suzy did better than me. 

Yes, says her teacher, but I thought you deserved it more.

She looks at her class pin.

A class pin, she says.

And her classmates say, Are you stopping?

Stopping, she says. Why would I stop?

Because you got your class pin.

But I do what I do because I love it. I am my class pin. I don’t need one to prove it.

And THAT, says her teacher, Mr Goodyear, is why I gave it to you.

It’s not fun being looked over. And Little Suzy took it personally. And she stopped doing good things.

I thought you were a natural, says a classmate.

A natural, says Little Suzy. A natural wouldn’t do it for the class pins.

They all gasped, Little Suzy, I’d never.

Well it’s true, says Little Suzy.

And Little Suzy was bad the rest of the year.

At the end of the year, Holly Go Holly smiles at her collection of class pins, saying, Look at all those class pins.

Grease

Who’d like some chocolate pudding, my mother asked.

Me that’s who. Who am I? I’m Nate and I put the Nate in opinionated. My mother likes to say, Stop running your mouth! My mother once told me to shut up more than once, too. Saying, Silence is the best sound you can hear. It means nothing bad is happening.

Well I hate silence. I hate you, Silence. For many reasons. One, it makes me uncomfortable, and two, it silences people, stopping them from telling you something they want to tell you.

Hey, you want to know something?

You do, do you?

Well, I say, what’s the best way to fill that silence? With opinions. Who’s got some opinions? Well I got some opinions. So call me opinionated. Pencil crayons are better than pencils. Just look at them purdy colours. Kernel should be spelt the way it sounds as in Kernel Sander’s popcorn kernels — sounds capital D delightful. Cats are better than dogs because I can’t walk a big dog. But if you had a cat-sized dog, I’d say it’s fifty/fifty cat/dog. You just can’t go wrong with a little dog. But boy are they tough. Who knew such a fierce thing could come in such a tiny package. When it comes to cats and dogs, I don’t like it when they hiss or growl because it means they’re going to scratch or bite you, but a dog will bark the robbers away. Cats, on the other hand, won’t. They me-ow. Me-ow. me-ow. me-ow. And no robbers afraid of a me-ow. You’re hurt? Well I ain’t going to do anything. That’s why you need a dog. Let’s bark like a dog, shall we?  Bark, bark, bark. If you barked, those are some good dog impressions. If you didn’t, I bet you’re shy. In that case, join in. Great parties are filled with great people. And you deserve to be in this great party. Would you like another chance to be a dog? Alright then. Let’s be a dog. Bark, bark, bark. We did good, didn’t we? Yes we did. Great people think alike. But that doesn’t mean you have to agree with everyone. Greatness ain’t better than goodness. And it’s good to stick to your guns. In this case, my guns are my opinions. And I like to wield them like a gunslinger. Shooting at everything with a bull’s eye. And everything has a bull’s eye. Even me. Even you. Even your mom and dad. And they’ll have opinions about you. And you know what? If you can’t stand up to an opinion, you can’t stand by what you say, what you believe, and what you do. Not to mention, others. Stand by your opinion like you stand by your man. Ain’t that right, daddy?

Couldn’t have said it better myself.

That’s his way of saying, That’s right. But an opinion isn’t about being right or wrong. It’s about speaking up. So speak up. Be heard. Or no one will listen to you. Remember, which wheel gets the grease? The one that squeaks. Remember that, kid. The one that squeaks. So let’s squeak together. Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak. And here comes the grease. And by grease, I mean chocolate pudding. Chocolate pudding. Oh yeah. The greatest grease of all time.

Happy Easter Bunny

Dad, I did it, says Howard Hopper.

Now what did you do, asks Martin Hopper. No, no. Let me guess. You took the first steps in becoming a world class football player, just like my favourite player, Theo Von Thumper.

No.

No?

I became an Easter Bunny.

But kids want chocolate eggs for Easter, not the kind of eggs you make, the kind of eggs kids have for breakfast.

I thought you’d be proud of me.

I’d rather be your father. I’d also like a Theo Von Thumper signed football with my name on it, but you can’t have things your way.

Howard walks up to his mother. Mom?

Yes? 

Should I give up my dream of becoming an Easter Bunny? Dad says so.

Is he you?

Dad? No.

Am I?

I’m not talking to myself, now am I? 

You know my philosophy, don’t you?

Say it and do it. 

Howard eats a carrot for breakfast, brushes his buck teeth, then heads out the door, saying, I’m off to school, Mom.

I’ll see you when you get back, Howie. 

At school, his teacher shows him where to hide his Easter eggs. You hide ‘em here, here, and here. Here’s a good place, too.

While the kids sleep, Howard hides his Easter eggs.

The children find them all, but when they crack into them, they look disgusted, saying, No chocolate!

Howard, Petunia says, you have a letter.

It’s a Thank You letter. I can tell. Howard reads the letter which takes away his happy face.

Honey, what is it?

It says I ruined their Easter.

Howard sits on a log.

Petunia waves around a letter she opened. Howie, I have another letter for you. 

Burn it.

But—

No.

It’s just—

Leave me alone.

I’ll leave you alone if you let me read you this letter.

He sighs loudly, Fine. If you insist.

To Whom It May Concern.

They don’t even know my name.

I’m friends with the family you gave your Easter eggs to.

Another mother who wants to—

Can you stop interrupting me?

My lips are sealed.

I’m just asking for your ears. Now, back to the letter. They told me about the letter they sent you. I’m sorry if it hurt your feelings.

It didn’t.

Right. But I hope you continue.

Continue?

My son tried your eggs and liked them. And nothing bad happened to him.

Shocking.

Here’s a little something about my son: He’s lactose intolerant—

So?

—which means he can’t eat chocolate eggs.

Can’t eat chocolate eggs?

When I brought him your Easter eggs and told him there was a mess up and that these eggs were meant for him, he was very, very, very happy—

Happy?

—because he can now take part in Easter. Next year, can you come to my house? She then signed it, but I can’t read her signature. It’s nothing like Theo Von Thumper’s amazing signature, but that was when he still signed things.

The news heralds Howard as The Much Needed Easter Bunny: Helping Kids Celebrate Easter.

Petunia calls Howard into the living room, Howie. Come downstairs. There’s someone here to see you.

There, he sees Theo Von Thumper, the much celebrated football player with bent ears.

Just the Easter Bunny I was looking for, Theo says. 

Like I said on the news, it’s not like I’m anyone special.

Not to me, Howie. You see, when I was a kid, I wanted to be an Easter Bunny, too, but because my eggs are like yours, it never happened.

You make breakfast eggs, too?

So I became a football player and kids stopped making fun of me, shoving me in boxes. Theo pulls out a marker and a football. Now, to whom do I make this out to?

My Dad. He’s the fan.

And you are?

Martin.

Theo Von Thumper signs the football and hands it to Martin.

Martin looks at the signature.

You’ve got a good one, says Theo.

We know, says Martin and Petunia.

Theo wraps his arm around Howard, asking, You ever been to a game, Howie?

Can’t afford a ticket.

Well I’m buying.

The Hoppers cheer for Theo Von Thumper. Go, Theo! Go, Theo! Go! Go! Go!

Horse Of A Different Colour

Seven horses raced .

A yellow horse was the only one who wasn’t black, brown, or white.

He broke from the pack and kept up his winning pace, embracing his motto, A winning pace wins the race.

The race ended with the yellow horse stepping onto the podium.

A gold medal glittered around his neck. 

Another horse’s owner said, That will never happen again.

But it continued to do so.

With the thirteenth title, the other owners talked about kicking him out, saying, His colouring gives him an unfair advantage.

But it doesn’t, said the yellow horse’s owner.

This league is only meant for black, brown, and white horses, the other owners would say.

Horses like that yellow horse, they’d say, only come around so often.

Horse of a Different Colour liked to race, taking on his namesake’s motto.

Seeing how much his horse liked to race, Horse of a Different Colour’s owner allowed him to become a practice horse. Before a practice round, his owner would say, You’re here to build their confidence, not to tear it down.

So Horse of a Different Colour stopped competing.

And the other horses won.

Horse of a Different Colour didn’t like losing even if it was practice. 

Wanting to cheer him up, Horse of a Different Colour’s owner wanted him to race.

The other owners gathered in a group, one saying, He’s not like his namesake, and he’s nothing like my horse, Revenge. Then, they’d say, Let’s let him race.

Because Horse of a Different Colour lost touch with his namesake’s motto, he watched the other horses win bronze, silver, and gold, the medals glittering around their necks.

They’re just so much better than him, said a woman in a red dress.

But they’re not, said Horse of a Different Colour’s owner. He’s just forgotten his motto.

Horse of a Different Colour remembered his motto.

A gold medal glittered around his neck.

Horse of a Different Colour heard people say, His colouring gives him an advantage.

Don’t let that stop ya, kid, his owner would say.

And he didn’t, winning more gold medals.

The other owners gathered in a big room, saying, We got to ban him, one saying, But he hasn’t faced my horse yet.

Revenge’s owner grabbed Revenge’s face, saying, You don’t win by an inch. You win by a mile.

Revenge nodded, believing his motto would see him through.

But by the second turn, Horse of a Different Colour and Revenge were neck and neck. If he kept his pace, Revenge would win, but only by an inch.

Revenge pulled ahead, but when he was half way to the finish line, his new pace tuckered him out, slowing him down.

Horse of a Different Colour kept his pace, passed Revenge, and won the race.

People would say, If Revenge didn’t pull ahead like he did, he would’ve won the race.

Horse of a Different Colour’s owner treated him and took him to another ranch, where, there in the distance, he saw his hero: his namesake, the yellow horse. He walked up to him, the yellow horse saying, I rooted for you, all the way.

Horse of a Different Colour said, If it wasn’t for you and your motto...

The yellow horse said, Would you race an old man like me?

Horse of a Different Colour raced the yellow horse and many more, the yellow horse rooting him on, Race on, Horse of a Different Colour, race on.

I Love You To The Zoo

Grandma, asks Baby Boy.

Yes, Baby Boy, what is it?

Is it true? You lived in a zoo?

Yes. When I was younger.

When you were younger, eh? How’d you get out?

They let me out. I was lucky. Very lucky. If I didn’t meet your grandfather...

Would you ever go back?

I’d rather be with you and your mommy.

If you’ll excuse me, Grandma, I have quite the day planned out.

Don’t let me hold you back.

Will I see you when my day is over?

We’ll see.

Goodbye, Grandma.

Goodbye, Baby Boy.

Mommy, asks Baby Boy.

Yes, honey, asks Mommy, an elephant.

I can’t sleep. I’m to tired.

Maybe I can help you with that.

You can?

How about a song? Would a song help, asks Mommy. I love you more than you can see. I love you more than a flower loves a bee. I love you more than a lion loves its mane. I love you more than my heart can contain. I love you more with the passing of the Sun. I love you more cause it’s so much fun. I love you with the passing of the Moon. I love you more than a banana-eating baboon. I love you, Baby Boy.

I love you, too, Mommy.

Can we snuggle bug?

Mommy snuggles with Baby Boy, her trunk wrapped over his eyes.

He ok, asks Grandma, an elephant.

He’s sleeping, says Mommy.

He’s too old to be sung to, says Grandma.

But he’s had a rough day, says Mommy. A long one, too.

Still, says Grandma. He’s a big boy. He doesn’t need to be