My kids have not asked for a dragon story in a while. They used to ask me non-stop, and if I was not able to think of something, they would help me make up stories about themselves– cleverly disguised as “dragon stories.”

If they were to ask me today, this is the story I would tell:

Once there was a dragon named Dragon. Dragon had always wanted to fight a knight in a battle and save the princess like in the fairy tales. Because, you see, in dragon households, the “happily ever after” comes after the mighty dragon rescues the beautiful princess from the fire-breathing knight.

Dragon wanted more than anything to battle a knight. He had never actually seen a knight and wasn’t quite sure what they looked like. But he knew this: Every self-respecting knight was a master swordsman.

So Dragon decided he needed a sword for his inevitable battle with a knight.

Dragon’s mom gave him some cardboard and scissors to make one. Well, Dragon couldn’t really cut with scissors yet. He was able to make two-inch slices around the edge of the cardboard like a fringe, but it wasn’t until he was a little older that he could maneuver those scissors and cut out a sword, which he wrapped in aluminum foil. Then he bounced around the house shouting, “Ha!” and “Ho!” and generally scaring any visitors who dared enter their castle gate (their front door).

One day, years later, Dragon’s dad announced that a famous dragon named Sir Gregory was coming to town for a visit and would be giving fencing lessons to young dragons.

“This is my chance,” thought Dragon. “I can learn the art of fencing, slay a knight, and save a princess, just like a fairy tale dragon.”

There was a list of required equipment for any dragons participating in the lessons, and Dragon noticed that he would need sweatpants and lace-up tennies.

“Mom!” Dragon panicked. “I need lace-up tennies and sweatpants for fencing lessons! Can we go to the store?” And so they did. Dragon picked out a soft pair of sweats and some dusty rose tennies that all the princesses would be sure to adore.

And he practiced every day with his cardboard sword and waited for Sir Gregory to arrive.

Finally, on the day of the first fencing lesson, Dragon got ready. He had his sweats. He had his tennies. He taped down his ears so they would fit under the mask. When it was getting close to time to leave, though, Dragon came out of his room crying.

“Oh, no. What’s wrong, Dragon?” his mother asked.

“I am not going,” Dragon said defiantly.

Dragon’s mom waited. Dragon was an early teenager by now, and Dragon’s mom was becoming used to Dragon’s hormonal outbursts.

“I can’t go. Look at me! Just look at me!”

Dragon’s mom looked. And waited.

“Look at my pants! This is why I can’t wear sweatpants.”

Dragon’s mom looked.

And thought.

And looked.

And thought.

“You’re going,” she said, and that was that. Dragon cried and said his legs looked like sausages in those pants. But he got in the car.

He remained silent for the entire twenty-three minute drive to Sir Gregory’s Fencing Academy.

And then.

Then he walked into the arena and saw the foils and the masks and the gear. Soon, Dragon was fighting like the dragon of his wildest fairy tale dreams.

And Dragon lived happily ever after.

He eventually became a grand master fencer and married a lovely princess dragon who wore satin gowns and tied ribbons to her ears and wings.

He never even had to slay a knight.