My Mother's Words

If given a pencil and a piece of paper, and asked to draw - anything - I can not do it. For 47 years, when attempting to recreate something by sketching or drawing, my attempts fall far, far short. I am not artistic in the least. Attempting to even draw a cat is beyond my capabilities.

However, if given a pencil and a piece of paper, and asked to write - using words - I excel. For 47 years, I have loved the beauty of words and language and stories and thoughts flowing out of my brain and onto the paper.

When I was 7 years old, I was given a diary as a gift for my birthday. The diary was magical - and I loved nothing more than writing my thoughts and events for the day, as only a 7-year old can. My mom would watch me diligently write in that diary every night, and she urged, "You should become a writer." But I had dreams then of being a rock star...if I were to write anything, it would be to write hit songs.

When I was 9 years old and in the 3rd grade, we had to write a short "book" - chapters and all - for an assignment. My book was chosen as the best at the school, and I have fond memories of visiting the other classrooms and having the opportunity to read my book aloud to the other children. My mother repeated her mantra, "You really should be a writer when you grow up." But I had dreams of playing major league baseball - and baseball players don't write. If I were to write at all, it would be to sign autographs while being rich and famous.

When I was an awkward, rebellious teenager, I sat down one day and wrote an epic poem about what it was like to be an awkward, rebellious teenager...I gave the poem to my mother, who still carries that poem in her purse to this day. The poem just advanced her argument that I should be a writer when I went off to college, but at that point, all I wanted to do was to be cool and quit being geeky.... Awkward, rebellious teenagers don't write.

I went off to college and the only writing I did then was to write dry, boring term papers on sociology and psychology and education....Oh, I got the "A" on every paper I wrote, but it was pedantic at best and redundant at worst....Mom again pushed for me to be a writer, but I only wanted that degree - I didn't want to write. If I wrote anything, it was to write down my goals of graduating and getting an awesome career.

And now...I'm 47 years old...retired...and I've been writing the blog for about 18 months...and it's actually fun. And people actually read it. And I really enjoy it.

So, Mom? Looky over here! I'm a writer. Are you happy?

It took awhile to get here...but I'm glad for the journey. It gave me stuff to write about.

Peace.