The short story he decided to write was based on his very first day at school. He remembered being walked to school by his grandfather, the old man's hand rough but comforting in his.
He remembered the school gates that seemed so large and intimidating on that day (he recently drove past the school and was surprised to see how small they were now).
He remembered the noise of the other children, some of them, like him with adults (parents he assumed), some of them laughing and running and shouting with children their own age.
"You'll soon make friends," his grandfather said, bending down to give him a kiss on the cheek. He heard his grandfather's knees crack as he squatted, a sound like wood exploding in an autumn bonfire.
"I don't want to go," he said. His grandfather smiled and ruffled his hair.
"We all have to do things we don't want to do. But most of the time those are the things that are really worth doing." He gave him a little encouraging push in the direction of the school. "Go make your mother proud."
...
