Stories I Tell My Son: The Strawberry Farm

Reposted from March of 2021

I have two types of memories when it comes to my father telling me bedtime stories. The first is the kind where he sat down on the edge of my bed and recounted the ghost stories of his youth, cautionary tales about el ojo, La Bruja Blanca, and La Llorona.

The other type came later, when he would tell my little brother and me to go to sleep, and we would beg him, story, tell us a story, and he would say, story, now go to sleep and leave the room.

As generational traumas go, it wasn't the worst, and it was easy to claim that when I had kids, I would never deny them a bedtime story. More than that, I would crush that shit. My stories would be entertaining and insightful, equal parts pathos and fart jokes, delivered with enthusiasm and in so many different voices it would make their heads spin.

The reality of fatherhood showed me that wasn't always possible, but I tried, did my best, just like my father before me.

The Strawberry Farm

Matador, age 4, asks for a story about a strawberry farm

Once upon a time, there was a dragon. In this dragon's ear was the biggest strawberry farm you've ever seen. Everybody loved the dragon's strawberries, but the only person the dragon allowed to pick them was Little Matador. And the only reason he—

Matador: No, not Little Matador. Little Matador Chick.

And the only reason he allowed Little Matador Chick to pick his strawberries was because Little Matador Chick had very soft hands.

Matador: It's good, Dada-Bird.

And every time he would go to pick a strawberry, he would sing a little song like this: thank you dragon, for your strawberries, they are nice and firm. Please don't breathe on me, because you breathe fire, and you will make me very warm. Goodbye, Dragon, I'll see you tomorrow, I'm taking these strawberries home. I will give them to my wife, I will give them to my children, and I will give them to a gnome.

And the dragon said, "It is a very nice song, but you know, gnomes aren't real."

And Little Matador Chick said, "Gnomes are very real. And they eat strawberries all night."

So Little Matador Chick took his strawberries home, and he said to his gnome friends, "What shall we do with these strawberries? Shall we cut them up? Shall we chomp them whole? Shall we put them into a smoothie?"

One of the gnomes, who was not very pleasant, said, "Let's take the strawberries outside and throw them at children."

Little Matador Chick said, "No, we don't throw things. We don't throw strawberries at children."

And the angry gnome said, "But I don't like children. They're always screaming and running around."

Little Matador Chick said, "That's what children do. Children scream and laugh and play and run around. That's no reason to throw strawberries at them."

Matador: We can hug, Dada.

And the angry gnome said, "Fine, give me my strawberries, and I'll go throw them at children."

Just then, Bobby Bones... oh my god, Bobby Bones... Bobby Bear came home, and Bobby Bear said, "What's this then? What's all this talk about throwing strawberries at children? You know you can't throw strawberries at children, they're much too small! You should throw mangoes at children! They're much bigger and guaranteed to hit!"

Little Matador Chick said to Bobby Bear, "You've been drinking again!"

Matador: *laughs* Stop! That's the end?

The End.