Ages for this chapter:

Mark - 5 Years Old

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“So how was school buddy?” Johnny asked, taking Mark’s hand and leading him carefully through the throng on people that would bring them to their car. The five year old had started school less than two weeks ago and he’d had bad days and good days in that time.

An adorable furrow appeared between Mark’s eyebrows and he opened his mouth before frowning and closing it again, staring resolutely forward instead of answering.

“Hey,” Johnny stopped, crouching down to his son’s level and looking him in the eye. “What’s up? From one to ten, how good was your day?” The young boy contemplated, looking down to count on his fingers once before he had an answer for his dad.

“Four.” He answered simply, holding up three accompanying fingers to which Johnny had to hold back a chuckle.

“Why was it only a four?” He prompted, lifting the boy under the armpits and settling him in the car seat comfortably before closing the door and walking round to the other side to climb into the car himself.  Mark shook his head and frowned again. “The teacher lady, she’s mean by the way, took my book away because we had to colour but I didn’t want to colour daddy!” The child was suitably unimpressed and Johnny listened intently, giving the occasional dramatic gasp or otherwise expected reaction so that his son knew he was listening.

“Why didn’t you want to colour? You love stories but wouldn’t they be boring without pretty pictures to look at?” Johnny reasoned, noting the way Mark’s frown only deepened when he mentioned the pictures instead of disappearing completely. “No.” He replied stoutly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat so he could look very pointedly out the window.

“No?” Johnny repeated, waiting once again for his son to explain his abrupt answers.

“No because the drawers are supposed to make the pictures and the bookers are supposed to make the story. I don’t want to be a drawer so I don’t have to dra