The Beginning

Flash Fiction

The Beginning

My Grandfather spent a lot of time writing. Whenever I walked by, there he was hunched over his paper, pencil in hand, apparently thinking about his next sentence. It became the norm for me, walking by, never saying hello because that distracted him, distraction usually didn’t go well.

When I was really young, I would just enter in, but it always got testy. He never yelled at me or anything, just called my mother to come get me, and didn’t look happy. Mom would take me out, whispering about how I wasn’t supposed to go in there. Eventually I figured it out, and I started waited till he was out of there to talk to him at all.

I think that’s why I had so much trouble learning to write. I didn’t want to fall down that rabbit hole! Nobody else knew what I was thinking. I spent years only writing “required” things on paper. Then, fourth grade, our teacher started a weekly writing lesson where we had to think up our own scenario, and write a story with it.

I hated it!!! But still had to do it, or it would show on my report card. One day I was practically cursing over it when Gramp came out and asked me what was wrong. I told him! I told him how much I hated writing because he was always writing! He just sat there a minute, then he hugged me, and said “I’m so sorry!”

We talked for hours about it. He was suddenly very upset that he missed so much of me while he was writing! And I found out how writing could be wonderful! That was the very day I became a writer. And, I never lock myself away from my family, nor does Gramp, not anymore.