Peter was the youngest of six. His older brothers and sisters were all amazing people. He had to admit he was a green-eyed monster and jealous of their incredible talents.
The oldest brother Charles was great at playing the guitar. He made up songs and funny lyrics. But every time Peter tried to play the guitar, it came out like a loud clang. Peter’s hands were so small they could not quite wrap around the neck of guitar. Soon he gave up his dream of playing music.
The oldest sister Margaret was great at speaking Spanish. She talked in Spanish at the dinner table. But when Peter tried to speak Spanish, he could only remember a few words and ended up pantomiming the rest of his sentences. He became good at charades, but lousy at Spanish.
Jeanne was great at soccer. She could dribble the ball around cones in five seconds flat. When Peter played soccer, he would trip over the ball and one time he ended up scoring a goal for the other team.
Jenny was great at art. She could draw beautiful flowers and trees that would make you want to visit the park. When Peter drew a picture, it came out as unrecognizable scratches. He couldn’t make anything that looked like it did in real life.
Kris was great at martial arts. He was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and knew not only the moves, but the philosophy behind the self-defense techniques. Peter was pretty good, but he was only a yellow belt and could not never beat Kris.
Peter decided he wasn’t good at anything. He couldn’t play the guitar, speak Spanish, play soccer, draw, or do Tae Kwon Do. He was very sad. He wrote in his journal how sad he was that he was not talented in any field. He wrote about his tiny hands, the charades, the goals he scored for other teams, his painting of a flower that looked like an elephant, his losses to Kris.
His mom came into his room. “What are you doing Peter?”
“I am writing in my journal,” said Peter.
She said, “I have a gift for you Peter.”
He opened up the gift and it was a dictionary! All the words were in there to express his feelings.
He taped the words he liked to the walls of his bedroom. Words like poppycock, niblings, and twirlblast. Surrounding him when he slept were all his favorite words. He loved the words.
Soon, he wrote every last page of his journal using the new words he looked up in the dictionary.
He realized he was good at something. He was good with words. This made Peter very happy. He was no longer a green-eyed monster, but a brown-eyed king of words.