Once upon a
time there was a boy who thought backwards and told every story backwards, too.
He always loved to tell tales, but everyone found it difficult to listen to him
because he started at the end and worked back to the beginning. It was odd. Sometimes
to make matters worse, he’d begin in the middle and work in both directions
until people would leave scratching their heads in total confusion. The little
boy didn’t care; he loved telling stories and never tired of it. He was excited
about life and saw something interesting in everything.
Every day,
he came up with a new tale to tell from whatever he happened to come across.
His mother tried not to discourage her son, but even she had her limits. Day
after day of trying to decipher the tangled mess was a constant strain.
His father
would make rude groans whenever he began to relate one of his latest adventures.
At times he rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in disgust which caused the
boy’s mother a certain amount of anxiety.
One day
after a particularly perplexing tale, his father said, “Timmy, until you can
start at the beginning like everyone else on the planet, I don’t want you
telling any more stories. I strictly forbid it. You are driving everyone crazy.
Do you understand?”
Timmy ran
from the house in tears. He clearly did not understand. After all, he couldn’t
help the way he was. He couldn’t help his backwards thinking. It was how his
brain worked. He ran for the pond behind his house and onto the little dock
where a punt was tied. He got in, untied the painter, and began to row around
the pond. He rowed over to where pink, yellow, and white water lilies were
growing. It was his favorite part of the pond. He leaned out over the side and
his hot, salty tears fell onto a Lilly pad. Suddenly a big green frog appeared.
He was wearing a gold crown on his head and he also carried a golden wand.
He asked,
“What do you wish, Timmy?”
“How do you
know my name?”
“That’s not
important,” declared the frog.
“Who are
you? You could at least tell me that much,” said Timmy who had by this time
stopped crying.
“I am King
Croaker and I have magic powers. I was sent here to grant you a wish. You do
believe me, don’t you?” he asked.
“Well, I
don’t know. I’ve never met a talking frog before,” answered the boy.
“You’ve been
through a tough run-in with your dad. He told you not to tell any more stories,
isn’t that so?” asked the frog king in a demanding tone of voice for a frog.
“It’s true!”
exclaimed Timmy.
“Then you
should believe me since I haven’t lied so far,” stated the frog sagely.
“I guess
you’re right, but who sent you?”
“Again, that
is not the point. The fact that I am here to help you is all that matters. Now
tell me your wish,” said King Croaker.
“I wish I
could tell a story from the beginning like other boys do. Then I could tell as
many as I want and people would like to listen. I have so many great ones to
tell.”
The frog
waved his magic wand and uttered some kind of mumbo-jumbo that Timmy couldn’t
comprehend and then he disappeared.
Because of
that, Timmy rowed to shore and tied the punt to the wooden dock not feeling a
bit different. He figured the frog must have lied, but he didn’t know why he
would. He trudged back toward the house
because it was nearing suppertime. As he went through the kitchen door, he saw
his mother setting the table.
She said, “Timmy,
I’m sorry your father got so mad. I’ve told him to be more patient and
understanding with you. We know you can’t help the way you are and he’s
promised to try.”
“It’s okay.
I understand,” said the child dejectedly.
His mother
told him to go wash his hands and he did.
His father
came in and asked, “Where did you go, son?”
Timmy
answered, “I went rowing in the pond, Dad.”
His father
in an effort to be patient and understanding asked, “Well, tell me about it.
You must have a story, don’t you?”
Timmy smiled
brightly and began relating the story about the frog and to his surprise he
began at the beginning and told the tale without going backward even once. When
his parents heard about King Croaker and the magic wand, they became angry.
Because of that, his mother said, “Now Timmy,
haven’t we brought you up to tell the truth?”
Before he
could answer, his father snapped, “Go to your room. Not only are you lying, you’re
using it to cover up the fact that you’ve been lying all along. That backwards
routine of yours was just a ploy to gain attention. I won’t put up with it
again. Do you understand, young man?”
He ranted
until finally, Timmy left for his room and never said another word for the
entire evening. His mother brought him a tray of food later and eyed him as
though she expected some sort of an apology. Timmy said nothing, so she left
feeling disappointed.
Timmy never
spoke of King Croaker again and also never talked backwards again. After that,
though, he wrote his stories all down in a journal. It was safer that way.
