Max hated mornings.
He hated brushing his teeth.
He hated soggy cereal.
But most of all, he hated tying his shoes.
"This is the worst part of my life," Max grumbled, yanking at the stubborn knot. "Why do shoelaces even exist?"
As he tugged harder, something strange happened.
His left shoelace shimmered. Then sparkled. Then it wiggled all on its own.
Before Max could yell for help.
ZAAAPP!
A rush of wind swirled around him. His room vanished. Colors spun. His stomach dropped.
And then, THUD!
He landed flat on his back in warm, gritty sand.
Max blinked. "Whoa..."
Towering above him were giant triangle-shaped buildings - pyramids! Camels strolled past, and people in white linen robes walked by carrying baskets.
A boy around Max's age peered down at him. "Are you okay?" he asked. "I'm Nefer. Want to help me make ink?"
"Ink?" Max asked, brushing sand off his shirt.
Nefer grinned. "For writing. We use berries and charcoal. Come on!"
Max followed him to a shady palm grove. They mashed blueberries with flat stones, dipped thin reeds into the mixture, and painted symbols onto papyrus scrolls.
"We write like this every day," Nefer said. "It's how we keep our stories alive."
Max scratched a wobbly cat shape onto the page. "This is? kind of cool."
But just as he was getting the hang of it, his shoelace shimmered again.
"Uh-oh?"
ZAAAPP!
Max landed on a creaky wooden floor.
The room was dim. Sunshine peeked through dusty windows. Outside, wagons rolled by and horses neighed.
Max sat in a one-room schoolhouse. The desks were tiny. The air smelled like chalk and old wood.
A girl in a bonnet leaned over and handed him a slate board and a piece of white chalk. "You're new," she whispered. "Here. Write your name."
Max scratched out "M-A-X." The chalk squeaked loudly.
"We don't use much paper," the girl explained. "It's too expensive. You just wipe and reuse!"
Max glanced around. There were no books. No lights. No snacks. Just slates, pencils, and a big pot-belly stove.
"I miss my backpack," he muttered.
Before he could ask what year it was, the shoelace twitched again.
FLASH!
ZAAAPP!
Now he landed in a chilly stone cottage lit by candlelight.
"Another one?" a voice called. A thin boy looked up from a tattered book. "I'm Leo. Want to study with me?"
Max nodded. "Sure?" He sat beside Leo on a wooden bench.
Leo handed him a crusty biscuit. "It's all I've got left from lunch," he said. "But we can share."
Max looked around. The room had no heat. The window was cracked. A single candle lit the page.
"Don't you get tired of all this?" Max asked.
Leo shrugged. "Sometimes. But if I learn to read, I can become a teacher. Maybe even open a school someday."
Max felt a warm twist in his chest. This kid had nothing and still wanted to give more.
Just then, the shoelace shimmered again.
"Wait!" Max said. "I want to?"
ZAAAPP!
He landed on the soft carpet.
His bed was in front of him. His shoes were on. Both laces tied neatly.
Max stood up slowly. The room was quiet. Warm. Bright. He looked around like he was seeing it for the first time.
There were lights. Books. A cozy bed. A backpack. A whole closet full of snacks.
Max blinked. Then he smiled.
That morning, he ate all his cereal. He tied his shoes without a single groan. And when he walked into school, he raised his hand before the teacher had even spoken.
"Can we learn about history today?" Max asked.
His teacher looked surprised.
"Sure," she said. "Any reason?"
Max just smiled and whispered,
"Let's say... I tied into something pretty amazing."
The End
Moral:
When we learn about the past, we understand just how lucky we are in the present.
