Everybody knows the story of Jack and the Beanstalk; I mean they think they do.  That is because mothers don’t believe what their children say.  Jack’s mom didn’t believe the real story, so Jack told her a more reasonable story which was spread to all her knitting club friends and eventually into most storybooks.  I only know the real story because I have friends in low places.

          The Sparrows lived in a tiny cottage on a small plot of land.  There was enough room for a cow, a few chickens and a vegetable patch.  The vegetable patch had been recently tilled.  The ground looked rocky with lots of red clay.  The cottage appeared to be in need of repair:  shingles were missing and broken, the door needed painting, and the shutter on one of the windows was hanging from one hinge.  There was a brown dirt path that wound through the scrubby pine trees to the nearby road. 

Skipping up the path on his way home, young Jack, holding a fishing pole and two trout on a stringer was singing “Zip-A-Dee-Do-Da!!”  As he neared the cottage he heard shouts.

 He crept up to the edge of the cottage and listened through the open window.     He heard a calm man’s voice say “it doesn’t matter Mrs. Sparrow, you and your son will be forced to leave if you cannot afford the rent, I will be back in two days, have the money or be packed.”

          Jack ran to his mother.  She was in the kitchen sobbing.   When Jack looked at her he noticed that she was bonier than ever before.  Her clothes looked baggy on her.  She had long dirty blond hair with a small brown band holding her hair in a tight pony tail.  She was wearing a soft blue dress with brown slip on shoes.

 “Ma, Ma! What’s wrong?  Can I help?” asked Jack.   “We have no money!” wailed Jack’s mother.  “How?” he asked.  “We had ten pence yesterday!”  “That unfair, cheatin’ landlord took all of it,” sobbed Jack’s mother.  For a moment Jack thought his mother had a touch of melancholy.