Relationship

Background Photo Credit: www.pixabay.com

Are you yearning for closeness in a relationship? Are you willing to take steps toward intimacy?

It's in using the principles that follow that  I am currently writing a family memoir. By fostering a relationship with my great Aunt Anna Bella and paying attention to what she had to offer, I learned about the events that would shape her life and her "fully engaged" personality. For more on my great aunt click on this link
("A Picture on the Wall.")

The Principles

A relationship becomes stronger when we listen.  For a verbal processor it can be hard to keep from talking long enough to hear the person you’re with. Can you identify? I can.

“Commit” to being present. “Focus” on the person you are with.  “Listen” and “hear” all of what they are sharing.  It takes putting one’s own needs aside and shutting off the inner chatter of your mind. Hear their inner desires without judgment.
 
“Reflect” back to them by showing that you hear and understand. You can do this by saying something like: “It sounds like you mean ___” or “____ really seems painful for you.”  When someone feels heard they’ll “discover” what’s troubling them and be able to put it in perspective.

You’ll know you’re on the right track when their face and shoulders relax and their voice softens. They've reached an Ah-ha moment.  It's that moment when they've figured out what is at the core of their distress.  They begin to “heal”. Watch and hear them become “energized” as they share a “solution” that is uniquely their's.

Closeness abounds when a person feels that they are understood. Their gratitude is evident.

Relationship Recap

Commit 
to being present.

Focus
on the person you’re with.

Listen
carefully.

Hear
what is being said.

Reflect
back what you’ve heard, briefly.

Discovery
will happen if you let it.

Healing
begins.

Solution
found.

The more present we are in a relationship the closer we'll get.

If  you've found this post helpful, feel free to click "Share".  Also, I'd appreciate hearing what you think.

Resources:  The Zen of Listening by Rebecca Z. Shafir, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People by Steven Covey, and Listening Made Easy by Robert L. Montgomery

A Father's Love - Halifax Explosion

This year’s December 1st lighting of the Tree for Boston on the Common marks the 99th Anniversary of the Halifax Explosion.   I am eternally grateful for all the aid given by the Canadians, Americans, and other countries.  For without this life giving generosity many more would have died.  Thank you for the gift of family.

What follows is a short remembrance based on my great grandfather Michael Landry's experience.

9:00am
December 6, 1917
Halifax, Nova Scotia

It’s a warm beautiful sunny day in December.

Sixty one year old, widowed dad, Michael is at his job at the Round House about a half mile from home.

He’s walking toward a rust colored freight car parked next to an outbuilding.  His job is to clean the car. Michael walks between the building and the car, unlatches and slides open the door, then climbs in to assess what needs to be done.  Before he can open the door on the other side, he feels the ground rumbling.  As its force increases, he’s knocked off his feet.  The large metal box shakes violently.  There’s a deafening sound reverberating within its walls as Michael’s body is jostled about.  Abruptly it stops.  Silence.  

Shops C.G.R. adjacent to the Round House – Photo #36
(Halifax Relief Commission Photos – Mass. State library)

Lying on the floor, Michael lifts his head and turns toward the door.  The air feels heavy and it’s dark outside. Getting up, he makes his way to the door and climbs down.  As he rounds the car, he sees a debris field containing a mixture of splintered wood, glass fragments, and shattered equipment.   There’s a huge dark cloud hovering over the harbor.

My family, he thinks as he stumbles through the debris and heads toward home.    

Oh, God, my family, my two girls.  He starts running out of the yard.

C.G.R. Round House – Photo #41
(Halifax Relief Commission Photos – Mass. State library)

As he's running, he thinks about his two girls and how he'd hugged them before he left for work. 

He thinks about his older daughter, fourteen year old Anna Bella at home doing the household chores; something she's done since her mother's death in January.  Elizabeth, age eleven, is at school.

He continues to run. The usual landmarks are missing.   Somehow his internal compass takes over as he makes his way down what was Young Street to look for Elizabeth.  The time it takes him to reach St. Joseph’s School feels like an eternity. The closer he gets the worse it looks. Houses are in various stages of demolition.   

As he approaches the parishes block, he sees there’s no roof on the church and the walls are barely standing.   The school is a windowless bulged-out mess.  A set of stairs has collapsed, so he moves around the building to discover a few children and a couple nuns covered in blood with soldiers assisting them.  

"Has anyone seen Elizabeth Landry?" he asks.  

“She’s not here,” said Sister Cecilia.

Burnt District – Photo #16

(Halifax Relief Commission Photos – Mass. State library)

Michael heads down the hill.  He smells the burning ruins and flesh.  Human carnage is strewn about the ground with cries of anguish coming from under the wreckage.  Soldiers and civilians are pulling people from the rubble.   Fireman using their equipment are doing their best to keep the fires at bay, but there aren’t enough of them.  

He fears that Anna Bella may have perished. It appears that the area where the house stood is now totally burned. 

In front of  him, the injured are being loaded onto horse drawn carts and motor powered vehicles. Running from one to the other he checks for his two girls. It is hard to find them since most everyone is unrecognizable. He continues his frantic search.

  

Then he hears, "Papa, we're over here!" 

He turns to see two girls, seated and holding each others hands, on the back of a buckboard. One has a swollen face and is covered with blood and dirt.  The other is covered with plaster dust.  

"Anna Bella, Elizabeth!"

"Yes, Papa, it's us," says Elizabeth.

Michael moves to them and wraps them in his arms

----------------------
To read more about the family during the explosion at "A Picture on the Wall."

Permission granted for photos used in this blog:  Folder #17 Photos 1-79, MS Coll. 90 Massachusetts-Halifax Relief Committee Records. State Library of Massachusetts Special Collections.

Writer to Writer - Hamilton and Miranda

Cal Shook - York Harbor, Maine

Motivational tools for writers and other artists are provided when two authors from two different centuries’ lives intersect.

Imagine writing yourself into the history of one of the greatest countries on earth and you weren’t born there.  Alexander Hamilton wrote his way from a tiny Island in the Caribbean to
free passage to America.  Once there he would gain admission to education and work his way up to become an influential force in shaping what would become the United States of America.

As an immigrant, Hamilton embraced his new life and opportunities.  His ability to communicate his fresh perspective would create a revolution that would change the course of history for generations to come.

Fast forward to the 21st Century and meet writer/artist, Lin-Manuel Miranda, the son of an immigrant. Lin-Manuel becomes enthralled by the life of Alexander Hamilton.  Six years in the making, his hip hop Broadway musical, “Hamilton”, is performed to sold-out crowds.

How in the world does a “rapping” musical about American history become a much sought after production?  The PBS special “Hamilton’s America” offers keen insights to what it takes to become an accomplished author.  Thanks to Lin-Manuel’s openness and candor the following motivational tools are revealed.

Tool #1:  Write as though time is running out.

Our time here on earth is limited.  Be obsessed – let it all hang out.

Just as Hamilton wrote wherever and whenever he could using his portable desk, Lin-Manuel did the same letting all the rhymes in his head make their way out onto the word processor on his laptop.

Tool #2:  Know your subject intimately.

Lin-Manuel was inspired by author Ron Chernow’s book, “Alexander Hamilton”.  Its 832 pages provided an extensive look into the life of this great man – warts and all. Not only did Lin-Manuel use this creative work, he also traveled to historic sights to gain further insight into the look and feel of the era in which Hamilton lived.

Tool #3:  Take a risk and keep it real.

Test it out by taking a risk, but make sure it’s real – authentic.

“I have thought it my duty to exhibit things as they are, not as they ought to be.”  – Alexander Hamilton, Letter of August 13, 1782

The first song Lin-Manuel created was blunt and edgy in its portrayal of Hamilton’s life.  How would it be received?   An opportunity presented itself when he was invited to sing a song from “The Heights” to close out an evening of artists at the White House.  Instead he decided to sing this new song that he’d just written about Hamilton.  As his performance ended, the audience rose to their feet in solidarity with applause.

Tool #4:  Set deadlines and meet them.

After two plus years and only two songs, Lin-Manuel realized that he needed to get moving if this was going to be more than just a couple songs.  To remedy this, he set deadlines and met them.

Tool #5:  Tap into the talent around you – Collaborate.

Feedback from others is essential no matter what type of work you’re creating.

Not only did Lin-Manuel have conversations with fellow author Ron Chernow, he held what he called Cabinet Meetings with a core group that would help spur the production forward.  Collaboration with authors/artists can help determine whether your words are making sense and assure that they fit the totality of the work.

In Closing:

Alexander Hamilton’s life inspired Lin-Manuel Miranda and thanks to them and the PBS special “Hamilton’s America”* I am feeling energized.  The tools mentioned above, along with testimonials accompanied by music and other visuals provided in this special, are motivating me to write whenever and wherever I can.  The next draft of the memoir about my paternal grandfather Joe's family is under way.  The time to get it done is “now”.

What's your "now"?

*Note:  The video "Hamilton's America" on PBS will expire on November 18, 2016

Don’t Quit!

Don’t quit, my friend, hang in there.

Sometimes when we feel like we’re at the breaking point and about to give up, a new breakthrough is right around the corner.

Last week I came pretty close to losing it as I stepped back to review the memoir that I’m working on.

A Reflection on Last Week

Many years of research and writing are in front of me and it’s not a pretty site. Some sections of  the narrative are intertwined with details and free flowing thought that leave them sounding chaotic. This is not what I expected this draft to look like. Yuck.  

Feeling discouraged and not wanting to quit, I decide to take a short break. Fortunately, my husband Jim and I had already scheduled two days with family and friends. It provided a wonderful diversion.

A New Perspective

Rested and renewed I return to my writing room.  Sitting with paper and pen in hand, I remember a blog post by Cal Armistead - “How do Your Write a Book? First, You Start with a Lump of Clay…”

Rereading Cal’s article was like getting a shot of adrenaline.  Maybe it’s not a chaotic mess, but a lump of clay that is taking shape. If I stick with it, it will continue to take form. It will become a complete work in its time.

Politically Distracted?

Are you finding this political season a bit of a distraction? I am.

Expressing political opinions has reached an all-time low. The words we use do matter.

Much of the rhetoric coming from the varying political persuasions is laced with labeling, judging, name calling, and fact distortion. Polarization appears to be the norm. How is a person to make an informed decision based on comparing the facts when they are buried beneath the hype?

Prayers please…

Just for today may we have the courage to move beyond the publicity and seek out the facts.

May we have:
Ears that hear,
Eyes that see, a
Mind that explores,
Arms that embrace, a
Heart that loves, and
Feet that move.

Your life and circumstances matter.  Using a variety of sources can be helpful in uncovering the facts. A lot is at stake this election season and each of us can make a difference, one person - one vote at a time.  

Thrive

How can we thrive?

The 20 words below are an experiment in "brevity with meaning" as I contemplated the question, "How can we thrive?"  My prayer is that all may thrive!

Thrive

by Cal Shook

Need

Lack

Poverty

Decay

Plenty

More

Accumulate

Hoard

Shoes

Yours 

Mine

Switch

Walk

Experience

Understand

Empathize

Listen

Collaborate

Abundance

Thrive

Creativity, Legacy, Empowerment - "The Gift of the Memoir"

This month's blog features a captivating poem called "The Gift of the Memoir" by Bill Farr about creativity, legacy, and empowerment..   As you read Bill's poem, may the writer/artist within you be empowered by his words

York Beach, Maine - Cal Shook

"The Gift of the Memoir" 

by Bill Farr

My mind is a kaleidoscope of paintings,

Colors swirling in all directions and

Caught in the ebb and flow of time.

I peer into the tube of the ages and

Gasp at all that is hidden inside...

There are so many people and places,

I cannot resist the urge to stop and 

Capture each one in words.

Yet, this legacy is bound by a boxed 

Frame of white and letters, caught on

Weightless pages.

There is no room for each story that

Would crowd into the space.

There is not enough 

Time to hold the past.

I write, driven by the belief

That all is not in vain.

Life has been and continues to be

A tale filled with wonder and magic.

The memoir is the gate to 

Resurrection.

My fingers slow as the words pour forth.

My mind races back to the moments

So long ago,

Yet so fresh and renewed today,

I cannot let these souvenirs from

The past escape.  I must

Capture them now,

Empowered by this day.

Writing a memoir is a sea surging 

Tide that cannot be caught in the 

Small bucket that is my mind.

I view the receding years from this 

Mountain peak of age. I must

Bring it forward and make it real.

Who will see the paintings in my head

If I do not preserve them?

Who will meet the characters in the

Pages of my life if I do not 

Bring them to the stage of now?

The memoir stores all and reveals

Time past and long lost life.

The years that have fled become

Presents for those about 

To embrace the future.

Such is the gift of

The Memoir.

----------------------------------------

Thank you Bill Farr for giving me permission to use your poem in this month's blog.  Your words express and touch the heart of my experience. It is a reminder that, 

" I must Capture them now,

Empowered by this day."

if I am to leave a family legacy in the form of "The Memoir".

She Lost Her "Best Friend"

A simple Landry family story about the legacy we leave and a not so typical friendship through the eyes of thirteen year old. Though given in the first person, it is compiled from various conversations with my great Aunt Anna Bella Landry (Bradley) and research information available at the time of this writing.

Michael and Charlotte (Bouchard) Landry Family - Circa 1915

January 1917
Halifax, Nova Scotia

I’m thirteen years old and I’m crying uncontrollably. My best friend is gone. Please, it can’t be true, I need her too much. I’m a mess.

The rest of the family is attending the wake and funeral.  They thought my constant crying would be too disruptive, so I’m home.

While sobbing, my thoughts turn to this past year.  It started off great. Each day my younger sister Elizabeth and I would get up early and help Mom get breakfast ready.  Because we have five older brothers, we love having time with Mom.  There are actually four boys at home because Leo has gone overseas to fight for our country.  Also, there would have been three girls, but older sister Bernadette died two months after she was born.

Following breakfast, Dad, Joe, and Dan head off to work. Elizabeth and I clear the table then head out to St. Joseph’s School.  While we’re gone Mom cleans the dishes and does other chores like washing laundry and keeping the house spotless.  All of this is done by hand. We didn’t have a dishwasher or a washer and dryer.

When we returned home, Abe and Jimmy head off to school.  Girls go in the morning and boys in the afternoon because the boy’s school is being repaired.  Mom is spending more time teaching me how to keep house.

Then one dreadful day in June, we got news that Leo had been killed in the Battle of Y-Press in Belgium.  This left a big hole in our family and Mom was never the same.

Summer into fall is hard to remember.    As the days got colder and colder Mom continually went outside, without a coat on, to hang laundry.   When asked about it she’d say she had too much to do to bother with her coat.  Our over protective Mom, not wearing a coat didn’t make sense to me.  Then she got weak and started coughing.  Before long she was getting behind on everyday chores.  Our immaculate house was looking a bit disorganized and laundry was piling up.  Elizabeth and I were worried and so were Dad and the boys.  Mom was hospitalized and diagnosed with Tuberculosis.   She didn’t make it.   I not only lost my Mom, I lost my best friend.

Note:   Great grandmother Charlotte (Bouchard) Landry was 46 years old when she passed away. She sewed the dresses that Anna and Elizabeth were wearing in the picture above.  Charlotte was thrifty with money and she raised children who knew how to take care of it and provide for their families. Her love and dedication to her family live on in the current generations.

Landry family picture:
Back row from left to right –  Private Leo , Michael (Dad), Joseph, Annie Adams (Dan's first wife), Daniel, Charlotte (Mom)
Front Row:  Anna Bella, Elizabeth

Daily Vacations

Photo Credit: Cal Shook 

Picture the weight of the world being lifted. You are experiencing perfect peace.

Where are you located?

For me it is at the ocean. Watching the tide go in and out is like having my cares washed out to sea.  The world can wait while my soul is restored.

Rest During a Storm

After a day ministering to others, Jesus got into a boat with his disciples,then made his way to the back where he laid his head on a pillow and fell asleep.  As the boat makes its way toward the next shore, a storm hits.  The boat rocks violently and starts to capsize.  The disciples wake Jesus shouting. "We're drowning!"

Jesus sits up and tells the storm to stop and it does..
Mark 4:35-41

A Peaceful Island

At the time of this writing, my husband Jim and I are on vacation. The beauty of creation is around us as we walk along the ocean.  It's low tide.  We head for the cove.  With the tide rolled out the danger of a rip current is gone, leaving a once treacherous cove free to pass and a peaceful island within reach. My soul is at rest.

As this time away comes to a close, my goal is to create daily vacations.  A time each day to envision the cares and worries of everyday life, rolling out with the tide and freeing me to cross over to a place of peace - a daily restoring of my soul.

My prayer for you, my friend, is that you will find Peace!

Note:  Are you looking to create moments of rest and relaxation in your life?  Check out one of my favorite authors, Kirk Byron Jones.
.

School Days – A Lesson on Fear

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.” (ESV)

With her tea cup clanging as it hits the saucer, my great Aunt Anna lifts the cup to her lips and takes a sip.  I sit in eager anticipation of the history that is about to come to life.

Extreme discipline is at the heart of the story below based on Anna's recollection.

Circa 1915 

Mary is in the principal's office standing in front of Sister Jaine.

"Hold out your hands."

Reluctantly Mary lifts her hands, palms down.

With a ruler, Sister Jaine whacks them.

As the beating continues, “You were told not to walk across the Protestant church yard and you disobeyed.”

Mary’s knuckles start to bleed.

“I hope you have learned your lesson,” says Sister Jaine, “You may return to class.”

Mary returns to class with bloodied knuckles.  The pain and swelling make it hard to concentrate on her lessons.

Once classes are over, Mary walks down the stairs and finds Anna waiting for her.  They head out of the building together. Holding out her bloodied knuckles, Mary shares her story with Anna as they walk home.

“It’s not right, Mary, you shouldn’t have been punished like this,” says Anna.

“When I get home, I’m telling my parents what happened,” says Mary.

The next day Mary’s father walks her to school and into the principal’s office. In a fit of rage, he informs Sister Jaine that Mary will no longer be a student here.

The following afternoon, Anna heads from class to the main entrance of the school.  Sadness sets in with the knowledge that Mary will no longer be joining her on the walk home. Then the image of Mary’s bloodied knuckles comes to mind and the wrongness of it haunts her. They tell us that we’re not allowed to cross a Protestant church yard. What is that going to do to us? They tell us we can’t enter a synagogue or any other church not Catholic. I’m not going to become another religion by entering their building or walking across their yard.  Why are we being taught to hate? This doesn’t make sense.

Afterward

Following the telling of this story, Anna proclaimed, “I still believe in my religion, but why in the name of God was it wrong to cross the yard of a church that’s not Catholic. I went to Jewish ceremonies. I went to Greek baptisms. Doing these things did not make me choose another religion. I believe everyone has a right to their religion. You can believe what you want, just don’t push it on others.  I married a Protestant and I loved him just as much as if he were Catholic.” 

Reflection

When fearful I need to check my words and actions to see if there's a ruler, of sorts, in my hand. Fear clouds my judgment and won't allow me to make informed and caring decisions. My great Aunt Anna would not let anyone bully her into prejudice.  Checking out other faiths, as well as people not like her, Anna's life was enriched with an eclectic group of friends.

Who do you identify with in this story?  Are you the child with bloodied knuckles?  Maybe you're the friend who dared to enter the yard and building of another faith?  Or maybe, like me, there are times when you're fearful and it's tempting to pick up a ruler.

Note:
Anna Bella (Landry) Bradley was 97 years old when she revealed this story. She lived on her own until about six weeks before her death at the age of 103.
Photo Credit:  All three photos from www.pixabay.com

Cape Breton Boys – a life altering sledding experience.

Sled from www.pixabay.com

Are there story tellers in your family tree?

I’ve found that spending time with relatives can uncover moving stories of triumph over tragedy.  What follows is one of my favorites. 

It is the winter of 1910 and the Landry family is living in River Bourgeois, Cape Breton.  There’s a foot of fresh snow covering the steep hill a short walk from their home.  School is out and children are making their way up to the top with sleds in hand.  One at a time and in groups, they mount their sleds and head down the slope.  The air fills with shouts of joy.

Standing on the sideline are two Landry brothers, eleven year old Abe and fourteen year old Leo.   Their hearts race with excitement as they watch their friends speed down the snowy incline.  Caught up in the excitement, Mom’s words forbidding them to go sledding have slipped deep into the dead zones of their brains.

After sliding down the hill several times, Clifford walks over and places his sled at Leo’s feet. 

“Want to take a few turns?” he asks.    

Leo says,” Thanks” as he grabs it by its side and then heads to the summit. 

The delight Leo feels, as he rides down the hill, surpasses anything he’s experienced before.  It only gets better with each trip down.

Then something strange happens.  The last thing Leo remembers is walking over to Abe and Clifford with the sled.  But now he’s running and his mind seems to have blanked out why.   Clifford is running with him.

Reality comes into focus as Leo sees what he’s heading toward.  Abe’s contorted body and a broken sled are lying next to a huge maple tree at the base of the hill.

Winter Tree from www.pixabay.com 

Leo gets there first and crouches down next to Abe’s body.  Clifford joins him within seconds. The rest of the children aren’t far behind.  

Abe’s eyes are closed and he’s not moving. His right leg is at a peculiar angle and there’s blood trickling out of gouges seen through the large tear in his pant leg.

The three of them are soon surrounded by the rest of the children.  

“Abe,” Leo shouts.

There’s no response.

“We’ve got to get him off the cold ground.  We need a large toboggan.” Clifford pleads.

The circle of children separate as a large toboggan is handed over. 

The two teens quickly grab Abe’s motionless body. As they lift, it stiffens.  Abe’s eyes open and he lets out an ear-piercing scream as they place him on the toboggan.   Leo holds back tears as his brother looks up at him wincing in pain.

 Abe starts trembling and says, “Mom’s going to kill me when she finds out.”

“Abe, we’ll figure something out.  We’ve got to get you home,” Leo says.

Grabbing the rope attached to the front of the sled, Leo pulls and heads down the path to their home.  Clifford joins him.  Abe moans as his body is jostled in route. 

Leo’s mind is racing. How can they can get Abe in the house and keep Mom from finding out? She’s going to kill us. 

Before entering the house the boys work out a plan.  They are successful in keeping it from their parents for a short while.   How they pulled this off is still a mystery.   

Once it was discovered that Abe was seriously hurt, a doctor was summoned from St. Peter’s.  By the time the doctor arrives a couple of days have passed.  Upon examination, it is discovered that Abe’s right side has taken the brunt of his run-in with the maple tree.  The trauma to that side includes:  a broken hip, several holes running down his leg with pus coming out of them, and the inability to move his foot.    

Abe Landry at Landry's Shoe Repair, Halifax, NS

Abe suffers greatly in the months to come, but recovers.  As a result of the trauma the growth in his right leg is stunted; leaving him with one leg shorter than the other. This in combination with the damage to his foot makes getting around difficult.   A cobbler helps by taking measurements and a special boot with a lift inside is ordered from New York.   The boot gives Abe freedom of movement and a passion to apprentice as a cobbler.  

Following through on his desire to become a cobbler, Abe apprenticed and then set up his own business.  He became the owner and operator of Landry's Shoe Repair in the Hydrostone district in Halifax, Nova Scotia.  Abe ran his business for 47 years. 

This story is dedicated to Leo Landry who served in WWI and fought at the battle of Y-press in Belgium where he died on 4 June 1916 at the age of 18.  

----------

Special thanks go out to Mark and Courtney Moore and to the late Abe Landry and Anna Bella Landry Bradley for sharing their stories with us.  “The River That Isn’t”, by Garvie Samson was beneficial in creating this short story and gives a wonderful perspective about the people and their lives in River Bourgeois, Cape Breton from 1714 to 1994. 

I’d enjoy hearing what you think of this story in the comments section is below. 

Self- Esteem and Creativity

The idea for the following brief story came to me after reading Stephen King’s book, “On Writing: a memoir of the craft”.  I woke up dreaming about it.   

Photo by Mike Landry

Punishment.

It is recess time at Dawnville Elementary.  Children are playfully running and laughing.  Over near the entrance door a tall thin boy with unkempt shoulder length hair stands alone facing the “punishment wall”.  His name is Justin and this is part of a daily routine after being caught hitting one of his classmates. 

Justice.

Several days later, with two feet of snow on the ground and frigid temperatures, recess is indoors.  The classroom is humming with conversation as children pull games and puzzles from an “activity box” and then spread out around the room.  

Justin is standing by himself staring out the window at the snow covered trees

Alan sneaks up behind him and punches him in the back.   Justin’s body lurches toward the window.  Like a lightweight fighter, Justin steadies his feet and pivots away from the window with both fists raised.  Facing Alan he pulls his right arm back…

“Stop,” Mrs. “G” yells. 

Justin freezes in position.

“Alan, hitting is not allowed,” she says.

Justin drops his arms and stands straight. 

Both boys look stunned.

“Alan, go to your desk and put your head down.”

“But, he…”

“Alan, I saw what you did and how it happened.  Go to your desk, now.” Alan does as he’s told.

“Are you OK, Justin?”

“Yes.”

“Great!”

Relieved, Justin heads to the “activity box” and finds a game he can play on his own, then moves to a spot where he can sit by himself. 

Creative Expression.

Photo by Mike Landry

Later that day Justin is sitting at a round table at the back of the class with four other children and his Remedial Reading teacher, Mrs. “G”.  He thinks to himself:  I’m stupid and I’m always going to be stupid. 

Mrs. “G” hands each of them a piece of wide ruled paper and a pencil.   After reviewing basic sentence structure the group is asked to write a sentence.  “It can be about anything. If you’d like, it can be about a place you’ve gone with someone and had fun.” 

Justin’s hand hits the table hard with a thud as he moves the paper closer. Pressing down hard, he writes, “I do not want to do this.” Mrs. “G” quickly writes a big letter “A” next to his sentence.  “Good job, Justin, you wrote a sentence.”

Almost in tears, Justin looks at her and says, “My father is out of work.  He drinks a lot and sleeps a lot.  We don’t go anywhere or do anything fun.” 

 “Justin, if you could do anything for fun, what would you do?”

“I’d go fishing with my dad.”

Handing Justin a fresh piece of paper Mrs. “G” says, “Then write about that if you’d like.”

Justin quickly wrote down a sentence about fishing with his dad.

After four more “Good Jobs”,  Mrs. “G” moved on to the next part of the lesson where she encouraged each child to expand upon their sentence.

 All five were busy writing when Justin asked if he could draw some pictures about his fishing trip. 

“That is a great idea, Justin!  Does anyone else want some drawing paper and crayons?” Everyone was in.

Their words turned into paragraphs with each adding pictures to go with their soon to be short story books.  

How about you?

Is there a Justin in you?  A part of you that longs to be loved and accepted for who you are;  that yearns to be set free?   If you could do anything just for the fun of it, what would it be?   Be creative. 

I’d enjoy hearing from you.  Share your artistic expression below.  

Resourses:  

"Calling Forth New Life" - Kirk Byron Jones

 “On Writing: a memoir of the craft” - Stephen King