Most of the time, I am the proud parent of three lovely and loving grown daughters. When they were younger I expected them to surprise me with actions that were, shall we say, unusual. Not that of an adult because, well, they were not adults yet. Now they are all three well into adulthood and still, I am being surprised on a disturbingly regular basis.
Now, maybe it’s just me that has this problem. It may very well be that my daughters are perfectly normal and I am the one suffering from whatever it is that is affecting me. It could very well be that I have too much time on my hands to think of such things and everything is just fine Sherwood Forest. No need to call in Robin Hood and his band of merry men.
It occurred to me, some time ago actually, that I wanted to become a writer. This happened in high school some forty-eight (48) years ago. Just about the time I was flunking out of English for the first time. Needless to say I did nothing with those desires except ignore them. Oh, I wrote some sappy poetry which, when I read it now, brings forth the phrase, “What was I thinking?”
Since then things have gotten a little better. I laid off the writing for decades and concentrated on reading. It really helps to see how the experts do it. You know the ones I refer to? The published authors.
I’m not necessarily referring to Shakespeare. I mean who writes like that anymore? Other than William, whoever wrote like that then? Dickens is fine. Tolstoy and those other guys, their fine but the ones I am referring to are Hemingway, Steinbeck, Wouk, Koontz, Cussler and Clancy. Now there’s a group of writers to admire. Among many others, of course.
I do not, let me repeat that, I do not place myself anywhere within that group of distinguished gentlemen and authors. Oh but if I could. Compared to them, I am but a hack. A pure wanabe of the lowest denomination by comparison but, I will say this. I am passionate about my writing. I feel I have something to contribute in several arenas but my greatest love is my history. My life and times. When I lived and how I grew up. What I saw and how it effected me. These are the things I want to share with the world, if-you-will, and my children and their children to follow. There-in lies the problem.
I feel my children are taking this all for granted. That they do not truly appreciate what it is I am trying desperately to impart to them. A way to look into the past on a very personal basis. A look into the past through my eyes guided by their questions. When I am gone, they will have no one to ask these of. It will be left up to history to answer these most important of questions and history doesn’t know me that well.
We all take things that are at our fingertips today for granted. We never realize just how fragile and irreplaceable time is until it’s run out and then it’s way too late.
I know how I felt when my mom died. I wanted so many questions answered and it was too late. I sworn that I wouldn’t let that happen with my dad and guess what, it happened again. I am now trying desperately to remember all that had happened in my youth and put it into some sort of story form so my children and their children have at least some of those questions answered but, I need their help and they, as much as they may try, just really don’t care that much. They are now like I was then. There’s always tomorrow.
“Well my darlings, their isn’t always a tomorrow. Sometimes all we have is today and all the tomorrows that life has to offer is not worth one yesterday of regret.”
I wish you all a very Happy and Safe New Year!
Tell someone you love just that and mean it. Hold someones hand and squeeze it a little tighter. When you hug someone, let it last a few seconds longer. Life is precious. Love is a gift. Share life and give love. It’s a reward in itself.
Have a great day! See you next year.