rosita runs away

In their own time and in their own way

a diary of a mom

Brooke is putting on a play with her friends this Sunday.

A play that she wrote.

Brooke, the child who entered school with no imaginary play.

The child who we were told could not – might not ever – understand the concept of symbolic play.

The one for whom language was and remains a struggle, but for whom scripts have always been second nature.

(Oh, and the one who we were told would neither have nor want friends.)

Last week, she asked to go to the store where they sell blank books. I showed her one. She asked for a package of ten. And then she got to work.

She wrote five stories.

This is one.

The one that formed the script for the play.

I give you Rosita Runs Away.

{Images are the pages of the book, with the text transcribed as it was written below each one.}

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Rosita Runs Away

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