Last week I went down stairs to put a book on my writing desk, when I got there I found something unfortunate, marker dots and streaks on the desk I built not a few months before. It would not come off. Then, I turned to my old desk on the other side of the room and noticed similar marks.
At first I was upset. I’d have to paint my new desk again and figure out how to get the ink out of the wood of my old desk. But first I had to find the culprit.
It didn’t take long for me to do so. My daughter June, who is five, had the same marker stains on her hands. I asked her about it and she admitted to it reluctantly. I told her she would have to help me paint my desk. Then I saw the papers she held. She asked me to help her staple her book together. The annoyance of having to paint my desk evaporated. Instead, I was thrilled.
While I was at work, she was also working. She was creating a story in the same space that I do. The marker stains were the signature of her effort.
When I realized this I could not have been more joyful to paint my desk again. My beloved daughter was doing her best to follow in the steps of her father. She wanted to write books where her daddy wrote books. She wanted to create too.
I am at awe when I see my kids emulate my wife and I. It simultaneously thrills and terrifies me.
What do your kids or family think of your writing dreams?