His father made that toy for him a couple of years ago, as a seventh birthday present. Seven years on this big, green land; seven years of looking at the twinkling lights in the sky. Just seven more years and he could travel the world and see more.
For now, he played with this neatly constructed wooden glider. For a boy of seven years, he was meticulous about his property and careful to make things last as long as they could. His mother found his behavior very odd and his father only smiled encouragingly at his son as if to say 'keep aggravating your mother; she deserves it.'
Ahead of his time, the seven year old boy had written stories of "aliens", creatures not of this world. The great swampland of 1805 Louisiana was the perfect setting for a creature, digging out of the mud, eyes glowing red, and ready to devour any foreigner.
The other schoolkids enjoyed his written works and almost constantly ask for more each day. Too bad the teacher always took away his stories but that just meant he could start from scratch and make them even better.
Toys, stories, imagination, people... they could always be better. The future will be better, he always quoted.
"John!" his mother's shrill voice echoed, "Suppa's waitin!"
"I don't have time to be hungry," young John mumbled. "There is a world waiting for me, Ma."
"Did you hear me, boy?" his mother warned. It was definitely time to scoot now. "And watch out for my turtle statues that yo' father made for me. You and your rowdy friends already broke one out of the five he made!"
As John walked past her into the house, he quietly declared, "Those turtles look unnatural, Ma. They should be thrown away."
"You about to look unnatural if you don't clean up for supper!"
Things will change. They will get better, he remembers.