I never thought I wanted to be a writer. In fact, I despised it when I was young, especially because I related it to handwriting and mine has always been terrible. In fact, I attributed writing to a forced task that was a nuisance keeping me away from going outside and looking for rolly pollys and other creepy crawlies with my dad.
As a kid that’s what I lived for, walking behind my dad, hearing him tell me “follow the charge.” To which I would run ahead and say, “follow me.” I loved helping him. I loved scraping the dirt and finding weird pupas to hold in my tiny hands. I loved picking up a worm and yelling “look daddy, it’s a worm.” I was a queen of the obvious as most children are, yet bugs amazed me and my dad was the reason I never minded their sometimes slimy skin.
I feel like I owe a lot of my love for writing thanks to these moments I shared with my father. Watering plants and learning about life from him built a wonder and compassion that has created a huge part of who I am. Feeling so at home in nature gave me the curiosity to look a little deeper, to give myself to what I felt, and feel the need to record the beauty of days spent idle yet full of wonder.
My dad was never much for books, but he always told me stories, stories that sharpened my mind, created a believer in me, made me think, made me wonder. My childhood is filled with days walking hand and hand with him. Speaking about butterflies and mischief, God and the beauty of bees. Those days under the sun, spending my time listening to his tender voice, sparked a love for words in me that I never realized was so important.
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. I am so happy to be able to share with you all a piece of my life that lead me to pursue the path I am on today, especially such a joyful part of my childhood. Let me know your thoughts in the comments! I’d love to hear any childhood stories you have, what are some of your brightest moments from when you were a kid?
-Till next time!