Every year for my birthday my Grandpa tells me a story. On my ninth birthday, all my friends and I gathered around him in anticipation. He sat in his rocking chair in front of the fire, his pipe in his mouth.
“Now see here, what do all you girlies want?â€? he asked in his old crinkled voice, his eyes twinkling.
“Story! Story Grandpa Jim!â€? we all cried.
“Well, you seem to be in luck then; I just happen to have a story in this here head right now,â€? he said, tapping his head.
“Hurray!â€? all my friends and I cried.
“Now let’s see here,â€? muttered grandpa, starting his story and taking a puff of his pipe, “About three years past, when you were lil six year olds, there was a family named Patason, and their daughter named A’zaira…â€?