“Papa! Papa! Hurry up, I want to know what happens!” I heard the screams of my oldest child as I approached their room. “Yesterday, you stopped at the best part,” he told me impatiently, as he came to greet me at the door.
“Settle down, boy. Are you ready for bed yet?” He nodded pointedly, clearly anxious for my stories. “And you, kids?” I asked my other children, who were all gathered in their older brother’s room, as they did every night.
“I even brushed my teeth!” exclaimed the youngest. They all sat on the bed, buzzed with expectation, unable to stay still. Even in the dim light of the room, I could see their eyes shining with excitement.
“Alright, alright.” I approached the bed and carefully put a blanket over them. I then sat on my designated spot, the run-down rocking chair in the corner of the room. Looking at them once more, I thought about how my children were probably the only in the world that looked forward to bedtime. While most kids their age refused to put their toys down or let go of the football, my boys got themselves ready for bed after dinner, and looked forward to hearing the stories I told them. I felt my chest swelling with pride every time I thought about them; these kids appreciated every lesson I taught them, and I knew they could do anything they set their little minds to. I was abruptly pulled from my thoughts by one of them impatiently clearing his throat, trying to get my attention. “Where were we?” I asked.
“The part where Bilbo meets Gollum!” he told me happily. It was clear last night that none of them were happy about me stopping on a cliffhanger, and it had had more impact than I thought it would. The certainty in his voice indicated to me that he had given the story much thought, as if it hadn't left his mind and he was dying to know what happened now.
I stopped and thinked, situating myself in the story. Bilbo had gotten lost in the mountains and encountered Gollum. How was he going to get away? “Gollum proposed to Bilbo a game of riddles. If Bilbo lost, Gollum would eat him, and if Bilbo won, Gollum would show him the way out.”
“Woahhh,” said the youngest, sounding both impressed and intimidated. “Riddles! I’m no good at them, I would not want to be in Bilbo’s shoes right now…”
“That’s because you’re stupid,” said the oldest. “You could never go on an adventure like Bilbo!” I ignored the comment, and continued on the story.
“Well, Bilbo had no choice but to accept the proposition, and so the game started. Bilbo felt prepared, riddles were often all he played with other hobbits in the Shire. Gollum hissed the first question: ‘What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees, up, up it goes, and yet never grows?’” I stopped, and looked at them expectantly, waiting for one to give me the answer.
“A mountain!” shouted the youngest. “It’s a mountain, right, papa?”
I smiled. “That is what Bilbo answered as well,” I said, looking at him proudly. I continued to tell the riddles, which they would try their best to guess. It went on until I could no longer think of anything else, and started forgetting whose turn it was to tell the riddles.
“Papa, I think you’re getting confused. It’s Gollum’s turn, Bilbo just went,” said the middle one.
“Yeah! And a while ago you said ‘Bilbo hissed’! It’s Gollum that hisses, papa!” said my youngest, through a fit of giggles. Soon enough, they were all giggling and laughing at me.
“You are right, children. I’m getting too tired, my memory is foggy. We shall return to the story tomorrow, when I will tell you the last riddle.” I answered.
“If you can remember…” said the oldest, and they all burst out laughing. Even I let out a few chuckles. They were onto something: I was getting older, my memory was not what it once was. I would mix up characters, forget where we stopped or where I was going.
“I have the perfect solution for you!” said the youngest, excited. “You should write it down.”
It was brilliant, I did not know how I hadn’t thought of it before. After publishing so many stories and building up Middle-Earth, I had finally gotten to the story I most wanted to tell. I could teach not just my children, but people around the world. Show that the most unexpected people were capable of great things. That a six-year-old can answer riddles on the spot and give me the best advice I had ever gotten. “You’re right,” I told him. “I should write it down.”
Comments