Writing in the first person

Things I don't miss about the good old days. Typewriters. I was never good with a typewriter.

Today's lesson was about writing in the first person. This isn't my favorite point of view to read. I'm not sure why that is. As I thought about Jessica and Joanne's lesson, I could remember books that I enjoyed as a kid that were first person. They mentioned that the first person view was popular in children's books, so perhaps it is because we like seeing the world that way when we are young. Regardless, I was not looking forward to the writing prompt for this point of view.

The challenge was actually kind of fun, once I decided how to approach it. It was another challenge that I had to pick a number and then see which prompt I would do. I was asked to write from the experience of someone who was not like me. Something they said in the lecture made me decide to pick the character that I did.

I hope you enjoy it.

"I am two years old."

I don’t understand why Dad treats me this way. I’m a good boy. I try not to talk too much, but he just doesn’t understand why it’s so exciting when someone comes to the door. I’m jumping up and down, telling him someone is here, and he’s acting like it’s not important! Sometimes he even yells at me to be quiet. I don’t like it when he yells. It’s scary. But he’s a good dad. He and I go for walks in the park every day. That’s the best ever. Especially when I get to see the birds. They are so interesting. They always fly off when I try to go say hello to them. I’m getting bigger and can do more stuff. Maybe one day I’ll be able to fly too! But if I did that, I might get lost and not get back home. Never mind. I would hate that. Flying is no good.

Oh, it’s time for dinner. Hmm, Dad’s not paying attention. I’ll go tell him to feed me. “Dad, I’m hungry. Is it dinner time?” I ask.

Dad doesn’t respond. I keep asking because sometimes he plays this game with me. I just have to keep asking. I nudge at him and jump up and down. He finally gives me a look and sighs loudly.

“Scout, when are you going to settle down. You keep acting like a puppy,” Dad says.

“I’m not a puppy,” I bark back at him. “I’m two years old!”