A Story by Nick

Here's an anecdote that Nick shared in one of his school writing assignments. His spelling leaves something to be desired, so I have edited for spelling, and for punctuation, but not grammar. Words in { } are my explanations for what he's saying. It's a cute story...and true:

My dad lets me have lighters, and matches, but my mom don't. Probably cause she's caught me in the act with fire. One time we went up South {meaning South Carolina} to get some fireworks. When we got home I asked if I can bring some upstairs to my room. They said, yes, only if I don't light them. So I brought them up to my room and put them in my closet. A couple days later, I was in my room watching T.V. when I heard them, the fireworks, calling my name. I went to my closet, looked up, and it just got me. I had to light one. So I got a little one out of the pack and walked to the hall to make sure nobody was around, pulled out a lighter, opened my window, lit it, and threw it. It was very, very bright. It twisted in the air on the way down. When it went out, the next thing I heard was my dad calling my name. They were in the den, right under me, and the curtains was open. They seen the whole thing.