Fall Down Dad | Piper Perri

Piper sat in the ruins of her civilization. Her lower lip began to tremble. Her big brown eyes welled up with genuine, world-ending tears. This was not a simple fall. This was a betrayal by physics, by her own feet, by that stupid Hot Wheels car. The wail was coming—the kind of wail that rattles windows and summons mothers from three rooms away.

He flopped back down, twitching one foot as if in a final death spasm. Piper crawled over to him, her own fall completely forgotten. She peered into his face, her pigtails dangling like twin carrots. piper perri fall down dad

Outside, the October sun dipped lower, casting long golden shadows through the window. The fallen leaves continued to gather on the lawn, but inside the Perri house, the only thing that mattered was the sound of a little girl giggling in her father’s arms, learning that the world is full of falls—and full of hands ready to help you back up. Piper sat in the ruins of her civilization

And so, father and daughter began to gather the blocks. They built a new tower—wider, lower to the ground, and far more stable. They built it with silly rules: every red block had to be followed by a joke, every blue block required a funny face. The tower grew, crooked and colorful and utterly imperfect. This was not a simple fall