Becoming a Grumble

"Clink, tink, tink." the spoon made a joyful sound

As it landed on a pile of some dirty-dinner-rounds.

"Darling, clean your dishes! Don't just throw them in the sink!"

Called the mother who was worried from the ever growing stink.

The boy who threw the spoon onto the stack of dirty dishes

Rolls his sleeves, and both his eyes while to himself he wishes,

"I should be allowed to do the things that I decide to do,

And not bother with the stuff that other's want me to."

Then looking down at elbows deep in sudsy-soapy water

The temper and the redness in the boys face grew much hotter

"I'm tired." he grumbles to himself, and steps down from the stool

"The idea that I should have to work is such a stupid rule."

He grabbed his jacket and his shoes from off the kitchen floor

Not looking at the mess he left as he stomped out the door

"It's my life!" the boy proclaimed as he sat on a fallen tree.

"So it makes sense that I should do what's good and fun for me."

"Crunch, crunch crunch" the sudden sound of footsteps drawing near

The boy jumped up and looked around, filled suddenly with fear.

"Who's there!" he cried, "Show yourself! I'm not afraid of you!"

Then came a voice, though no face showed, it simply said, "Pee-u!"

"Disgusting, nasty, filthy forest. Ugh, I hate your smell.

These stupid sticks, and trees, and leaves make me not feel so well!"

The boy was now far more confused than he was ever scared

For not a soul was to be seen despite how hard he stared

"It's ok." The boy persisted, "you don't have to hide."

Then suddenly the voice seemed nearer when it quietly replied,

"I'm not hiding. I'm right here. Although I wish I weren't.

I'm tired and I'm hungry since my lunch was gross and burnt."

"Why can't I see you?" asked the boy so quietly, he mumbled.

"Oh, it's alright. It's normal for you not to see a Grumble."

"What's a Grumble?" pressed the boy, "I've not met one before."

"Oh yes you have!" the Grumble said. "You certainly have for sure!"

"People were once able to see me. I wasn't always this way.

I was just a little boy like you who loved to run and play!"

"What happened?" asked the boy again, astonished at this news.

"I had to cut potatoes for my mother's stupid stew."

"Potatoes?" he cried, confused again, and curiouser even still

"It's not my fault my mom made me do things against my will!"

The Grumble sounded angry that the boy would act surprised

"You do it too! I know you do! Don't tell me otherwise!"

"Do what?" the boy asked again, now worried and upset.

"Grumble!" it said, "All the time! About chores and work I'll bet!"

"I folded clothes, and made my bed, and picked sticks up in the yard!

Everything she asked of me was so boring and so hard!"

"That's how I got to be this way. Nothing but a Grumble.

Cold and hungry with no friends and a constant tummy rumble.

It's all her fault!" the Grumble cried, "she made my life too rough!

It was that day, while making soup, I vanished with a puff!"

The boy just stared, he didn't know what to say or do

"So do you mean," he gulped and asked, "I could become one too?"

"Oh who cares." the Grumble said. "Life's awful either way.

Grumble or not, you'll still be stuck being miserable every day.

If I was a boy like I once was, I know that without a doubt,

I'd still be forced to clean and cook despite my poutiest pout."

The boy looked off into the woods, thinking quietly alone

"What if I chose not to do each task with a sigh and moan?

Could it be fun? Could I find joy and just decide to be glad?

That there are dishes to clean and dry on account of the meal that I had?

"Good bye, Grumble. Nice to meet you. Have a good afternoon!"

"Not likely." Said the Grumble. "But I hope to see you soon!"

"I don't." thought the boy as he raced away, anxious to be home.

He ran in the door, and very soon the sink was full of foam.

He scrubbed and rubbed the grime away till every dish was shiny

And he delighted in both his work and his choice to not be whiny.

"My dear!" said mother happily, coming through the door

"Look at all the work you've done! I could not ask for more!"

The boy looked down and with the dish rag slowly began to fumble

"I'm happy to help, and clean, and to be anything but a Grumble."

“Hell begins with a grumbling mood, always complaining, always blaming others... but you are still distinct from it. You may even criticize it in yourself and wish you could stop it. But there may come a day when you can no longer. Then there will be no you left to criticize the mood or even to enjoy it, but just the grumble itself, going on forever like a machine. It is not a question of God "sending us" to hell. In each of us there is something growing, which will BE hell unless it is nipped in the bud. ”

― C.S. Lewis