My mom was a writer. And, although she never got any of her work published she never gave up doing something she dearly loved. I have her short stories that she submitted to Reader’s Digest and much of the poetry she wrote probably while waiting for her sons to come home from late-at-night escapades or perhaps even the War.
Since I have helped one author get her book published
about her father, I guess I owe it to my mom to have her works published. One of
her stories was about her youngest son, Tommy, who mistakenly cut all of the
branches off of the small but healthy, beloved redbud tree that she had planted
in the back yard. I guess Tommy, me, misunderstood her instructions and chose
not to cut up the dead branches that had fallen, but cut off the branches from
the thriving tree. I’m sharing that same story in my book that I
have worked on way too long although it will be from a different
perspective.
I think mom somehow directed me towards being a scribe
and when I told her that I was changing majors from Business to Journalism at
the University of Oklahoma back in the sixties, I
think she felt there was hope for me after all. Writing came easy for me, just
like I thought it came easy for her........but a couple of years later when I
was writing for the U. S. Air Force while I served at Langley AFB, I began to
question my ability as a writer. Not so much as a news writer but as a feature
writer. During a visit back to Dayton when she asked to see some of my stories,
I told her. “Mom, they are just stories...just a bunch of words thrown
together”...I told her I was struggling with a piece about the Soldiers and
Sailors Home in Baltimore, Md. that I had been sent to write about. It was an
emotional experience and I so wanted to convey the feelings I was having to the
people who would eventually read it. ...and I just couldn’t bear the thought of
anyone turning up their nose at my soul searched words.
She sat me down and gave me advice that day, something
she had never done before. Partly because she couldn’t corral me long enough to
sit me down and rarely did I ever want to listen to criticism...but her words
were words of encouragement.....words that I still need today....words that
I have to repeat to myself on a daily basis.
She said, “Tommy, anyone can write, anyone can sing,
anyone can paint. It doesn’t necessarily mean you will sing on key or that your
colors will blend on the canvas or that your words will interest your
readers...but if you sing from your heart...if you paint from your heart and if
you write from your heart...then your goal is reached and if they don’t hear the
song, or see the painting or understand what you are trying to say, then it is
their problem not yours.
My writing then took on a new meaning.... the Soldiers
and Sailors story was run in Parade magazine, albeit highly edited and
shortened, but nonetheless published which back then Parade was a much larger
publication than it is today if it evens exists.
I wrote from my heart when I had the
chance, although most of my stories were to report the news and be positive
about the Vietnam War.
Soon afterwards, my enlistment was up and I returned to
Oklahoma City and began writing and editing for a company newsletter and
suddenly my words stopped and I moved in a new direction.
Thirty years later after the Internet exploded
I had a chance to start writing again......with my mom’s
wisdom seated deep in my mind and writing from my heart...I knew I was back on
course...but what I lacked was her encouragement....”Write for
yourself......write from your heart”. Maybe my work may never be seen in my
lifetime, but perhaps my children , or my children’s children will find my
musings just like I found my mom’s and decide to share the thoughts with
others.
I love you Mom. I try as hard as I can, but I still
need your helping hand once in awhile.
Tommy
