The tall wooden block tower wobbled. With a loud clatter, it crashed scattered across the bedroom rug. He thought this was the worst disaster ever.
He clenched his hands tight. He kicked a stray red block across the floor. He didn't know the name for this giant, heavy feeling, so he just stomped his boots.
The stomping shook the floorboards as he marched fiercely down the hall. The back screen door swung wide open to the empty, quiet yard.
Outside, he grabbed his favorite blue rubber ball. He threw it as hard as he could at the big oak tree. The ball bounced off the bark and splatted straight into a muddy puddle.
Dirty water splashed all over his bright sneakers. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks. He threw his arms up in the air, ready to yell again.
Dropping to his knees in the dirt, he grabbed a handful of wet grass. He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed into the yard. "GAAARRRGH!"
A startled squirrel did a wild backflip on the fence, dropping its acorn with a loud tink onto a watering can. He stared at the empty grass, breathing in heavy, loud puffs of air.
The back door creaked as Dad stepped outside. He set two cold, sweating juice cups on the grass. He sat right down in the dirt next to the puddle.
"That looks like a giant case of frustration," Dad said. He thought about the new, crunchy-sounding word. Tasting salty tears on his lips, he whispered, "Frus-tra-tion."
Just saying the long word out loud changed things. His shoulders dropped noticeably back down. He finally uncurled his tight, sweaty fists.
Picking up a thick twig, he drew a grumpy face in the mud and gave it a firm poke. Then he let out a long, quiet sigh, leaning against Dad's arm.
Taking a slip of the sweet apple juice, the backyard felt much quieter. "Let's go build a shorter tower," he said, leaving the grumpy mud-face behind in the grass.
