2019-11-12

Jack (10yo) just wrote a 3-page story narrated by an anthropomorphic treehouse that was reminiscing about being built by a bunch of kids (“they lifted the planks of wood onto my shoulders”), but now it’s decrepit and falling apart, and one of the kids returned as an adult to repair it, and laid his hand on the wood and said “you’ve always been a part of my life”, and he told me that he started crying when he wrote it, and I told Eliza and she started crying, and now I’m crying.