Since the middle of 7th grade, I've wanted to be a writer. I wrote a simple little poem that opened my eyes to the power of the pen. My teacher wanted to submit it in a local contest but seeing as it would shed light on the dark shadows in our family closet...my mom quickly declined. It was a sappy 10-lined subtle little blurb about my desires to be loved by my step-father. Had I known that turning in that 5 point assignment would mean turning my world upside down, I think I might have gladly taken an F.
It was the early 90's, the age of telepathic communication, so my mom left a message at school for me to call her that fateful day. Clueless of my teacher's intentions, I called and she had my head for lunch. I could feel her red-hot embarrassment through the phone. What made me decide to "run away" that day was the threat, "You wait until I tell your father!". Even though it was one of those oldie but goodie threats it came with some fire and yeah, I wasn't about to wait around for that. Fearing I'd never see my 14th birthday I didn't take my bus home and went along with my just-as-fearful friends to a nearby safe place we learned about in a school assembly video. Turned out the "safe place" didn't know the first thing about being safe so they stuck us all in a little storage room with cartons of cigarettes while they called my parents.
Thankfully, it didn't turn out as bad as I'd envisioned (well, not that day) but it did ignite a passion in me for the written word. And my life, well, gives me a lot to write about.
