My first memory of writing, the topic was my favorite color. My hands were small and clumsy.
Little fingers seemed dwarfed by my tall yellow pencil, the tip sharp and ready.
The first stroke on the empty paper made a scratching sound…
Lovely….
It was the first note in an orchestral performance.
Down the pencil went. B flat.
Around the pencil went. D minor.
Up again the pencil went. A Sharp.
….I was obsessed….
My hands and thoughts were instruments to an art of eyes and ears.
…how thrilling…
At 5 I felt a bit more powerful than I should have…
I went crazzzyyyyyyy.
What should have been a sentence reading..” My favorite color is blue”…..
Ended up a paper filled with clumsy up and down and around lines covering every inch…
And maybe a little of my table.
It’s safe to say my teacher wasn’t very pleased.
….But I certainly was…
Too pleased really.
On my way home, holding my dad’s hands, I bragged about my new- found powers.
He shook his head and laughed…handing back my paper with zest.
Telling me of course I had powers!
“You are the conductor of great many wonderful things in life!”
I laughed and ran ahead…
Scribbled paper in hand, fighting against the wind.