The Making of A Writer

My mom has an unbelievable talent with the elderly. She always has, even before I was born. 
When this picture was taken my mom was employed at a residential Senior group home. I would go with her on the weekends and play as she cared for the people there.

I remember picking wildflowers that grew along the road outside of the house, swinging on the tire swing out front and the metal swing set out back. I remember the pantry that was my favorite place to hide during games of hide n' seek. Yup, these "old" people with nothing left to give were my friends. They colored with me, played with me, read to me and even made me eat beets. Yuck! They gave me all they had . . .they gave their time.

It was there in that old house that I learned to write. The lady you see me hugging here is Phyllis. I remember sitting in the back room with her (just the two of us) while she went over how to write each letter of my name. The pride I felt at writing my whole name for the first time on my own was monumental.

Today I don't just think about Phyllis when I sign my name or hear it called. I think of her whenever I hold a pen or pencil, whenever I create, whenever I write.

Sometimes the things we make time for, however small, have a lasting impact on others.

How are you influencing others around you?

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