Bonding With My Boy

Today I want to share something absolutely amazing with you all.

A few days ago, while I was cleaning up, I caught a glimpse of a notebook in my sons room. In big red lettering across the top was printed the word: STORY.

Feeling instantly elated and nostalgic, I backed away and left the room as quickly as I could before temptation ensnared me.

I remember being twelve and shutting myself away in my room for hours, days even. Lovingly adding the sheets to my binder as they piled up. Writing with a fervour that I probably couldn’t mimic now even if I tried.

The passion, the intensity. Reading books like they were a cool drink on a hot day, devouring story after story, scribbling ideas, characters, magic and mystery.

I wondered if my son was experiencing that joy now. Excited, pleased, and more than a little envious, I shut his bedroom door and slipped away. Writing can be so uniquely personal, I knew better than to read without an invitation.

I wanted him to enjoy this as much as I did back then, I loved the idea of him experiencing the same wonder and passion that I did. What a beautiful experience.

The next day he came to me looking sheepish, “I’ve been writing a story.” He said.

My excitement was surely palpable. I gushed and I clapped, I grinned and was so unbelievably proud that he wanted to share that with me.

Then he handed me a purple pen and asked me to proofread it for him and make corrections.

Well, my heart probably couldn’t have swollen any more than it did right then.

I put all of my clients on hold for the morning, sorry guys but this is high priority stuff.

I sat with his story and his purple pen and delicately added punctuation, paragraph breaks, and tense corrections. We sat together after and I told him how wonderful his story was, how blessed I felt that he wanted to share it with me and that he wanted my guidance on how to improve it.

I would like to add here that my son has always struggled with perfection, and what I mean by that is every single thing he has ever drawn or written had to be perfect the first time, even in school. I spent a huge amount of time during COVID homeschooling trying to teach him how to draft, scribble, how to be imperfect and allow himself to be open to corrections. It was hard for both of us.

I never would have guessed in a million years that he would ever come to me and ask me to correct anything of his, ever. The fact that it was a story made the experience that much sweeter.

Maybe this is just a transient interest for him, I won’t pin all my hopes on having a child following my footsteps into a writing career just yet. But, my goodness, am I going to enjoy bonding over this shared passion right now.

He’s already started on his second draft, and a second story, too.

Oh, and without giving too much away, his story was steeped in horror and gore. The picture attached to this post is his accompanying artwork. A genre after my own heart 👻👻

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