Little Tiger Tales

Written by D. Byron Patterson and published through Lambpants Media, Little Tiger Tales is an imaginative fantasy series for kids ages 8 and up. Each installment about the streetwise Chinese orphan who finds himself in America is its own story that also adds to a larger one that grows with each adventure. Magic and imagination are big themes in Little Tiger’s world, but bigger are themes of family, love, friendship, honesty, bravery, and creativity.

Self-acceptance through bold honesty and creativity leads to happiness—that's the message you can find in all Lambpants Media creations. From the antics of Lamby, his Chinese Puppy Dragon Jonesy and a motley crew of living stuffed animal friends to the fantastic adventures of Little Tiger or the odd-ball wishing well stories of Grandpa Dean—if you want something for the whole family, you got it.

Little Tiger and the Dragon King of Beijing is the first part of a series that continues in Little Tiger and the Sponge Docks of Tarpon Springs.

Little Tiger & the Dragon King of Beijing
by D. Byron Patterson

The fifth of February was warm for the first day of Spring Festival. Clouds over Beijing grew fat with rain as crowds gathered for the first parades of the New Year. Bright red lanterns lined traffic-packed streets and sidewalks swollen with vendors and people celebrating. Hanging between the lamp posts were banners covered in red and gold dragons. And flying in the sky above the buildings—the homes, shops and temples—were fleets of dragon-shaped kites. The Year of the Dragon had finally come again.

Each Chinese New Year began with Spring Festival. For fifteen days, young and old feasted with family and friends. For the children, there were endless gifts of candy, cookies, oranges, toys or red packets of good luck money.

But this was a sacred year for the Chinese people. Everyone believed they were descended from ancient dragons. Everyone had a smile or a story to tell, and for this special time, no one was a stranger.

In a province west of the Forbidden City, a small boy in a New York Yankees baseball cap was running. Three large teenage boys were on his heels throwing firecrackers at his back and calling him names. For the boy, the chase was a regular part of each day, but he was quicker than usual on this day. He felt lighter today, more like a spirit, as if he might suddenly leave the ground from running so fast.

Imagining his dragon blood racing, the boy darted between bicycles and rickshaws. He was nimble, slipping only once when a puddle tugged at one of his oversized shoes. He recovered at a corner packed with people watching a bright dancing dragon.

Crouching as it passed, the boy waited and watched the parade with a smile. He loved busy streets and knew how to blend into any crowd, which was (as everyone knows) the best place to hide from bullies. He also loved feeling that he was part of something bigger than himself, that he was not alone in the world. A few moments passed before the bullies went after a girl flying a homemade kite. With a sigh, the boy adjusted his cap. He could do nothing about his wet shoes, but at least he was free to leave the shadow of the building behind him.

For ten years, he had lived there, but the orphanage was not a home. And the man who ran the place made certain of that.

Fu Wong was a skinny cruel-looking man with cold gray eyes. He spoke like a snake with a bad lisp and rarely smiled because his oversized teeth made his face look like a skull. He often encouraged the older boys to bully the younger ones to teach them about life in the real world. That life in the real world was full of pain and disappointment. That no one was special, no one was happy and everyone was alone.

Most days, the boy believed he was alone.

After all, he knew nothing about his birth mother or father. He knew nothing about his ancestors. Even his name did not belong to him. The night he was left at the orphanage, a nurse had put ‘Lee Chen’ on his admission papers.

Thinking of how much he hated that name, the boy looked up at the building and shook his head. He knew that not all orphanages were like his. He also knew that not all people were like Fu Wong. Still, in the back of his mind, the place and the man were one and the same. He often left both whenever he got the chance. Turning away, he secured his backpack and headed toward the lake.

Being only ten years-old, this was his first Year of the Dragon celebration. Loving dragons his whole life, he dreamed of them and often prayed that he would meet one someday. Stopping at an intersection, he watched the sky as he waited for traffic. He imagined himself soaring like one of those kites above the city. But deep in his heart, more than meeting a dragon or flying like a kite, the boy dreamed of having a home and a family who loved him.
He then went down a small side road. The air between the buildings was thick with the aromas of deep fried foods. When his stomach growled, he took a piece of chocolate from his pocket and stuffed it into his mouth.

At the end of the street, he stopped to watch groups of children in tiger hats and shoes running and laughing. Some were waving red packets over their heads. Some were lighting firecrackers. Some were playing chase and throwing orange slices. And then all of them, every last boy and girl, disappeared around a corner—they were gone.

The lake outside the Inner City was just ahead.

The boy walked under two fig trees and watched sailboats as he skipped pebbles along the shore. Moving carefully over the mold-covered rocks, he spotted a familiar canal that fed water into a cluster of hidden gardens. After climbing the bank, he crossed a white marble bridge carved as two dragons fighting over the waterway. His heart racing, the boy took a narrow dirt path toward an embankment and climbed a plum tree there. Moving up the trunk, he slid across the limb that draped over a high wall and then dropped to the lawn near the main gate inside. Getting to his feet, he brushed his arms and adjusted his baseball cap as he turned around.

Waiting there as always was Ming Wu, who was leaning heavily on his bamboo cane with a smile on his wrinkled face. “You are very late,” said the old man.

“My apologies, Ming Wu,” said the boy, bowing as he added, “but I took the long way today.”

Spreading his arms, Ming Wu laughed and said, “Happy New Year, Little Tiger.”

© 2009-2010 Lambpants Media. All Rights Reserved.

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