A short story: 'Skipping Rocks'

Emma scoured the bank of the Ohio River to find the flattest, roundest rock. She grabbed a dark gray half-dollar-sized one, right where the water met the shore.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! I found a perfect one.”

Emma grabbed the rock and ran over to me. I was about ten feet away looking for my own.

“Watch out for the wood.” I pointed to a pile of dry-rotted planks near the tree line.

Emma held her trophy up close to my face. All the rocks were flat and large, but this one looked like it had tiger stripes. Emma loved the baby tigers at the zoo. In fact, she loved all animals, as long as they were “cute.” She tried a few times to call the fluttering ducks over from across the river.

“Great.” I smiled. “You ready to try?”

“I’m ready for my rite of pathum.” Emma bounced up and down.

“Passage, honey. Rite of passage.”