Throughout sixteen years I developed a book for a child or children I do not know.
I did not exude a typical adolescence, assuming obedience is still strange for a teenager. Though, my tarnishing fault was a lack of interest to call my parents when they did not know where to find me. I began to contemplate what my father would have done in my place, juxtaposing hypothetical compositions with personal reasoning.
In turn, I began to document my thought life, hoping to one day share with my future children the things I was concerned with at their age. To share a collection of stories played out in real time. When speaking of being in high school, I was actually in high school. When questions of the future appear, hindsight was not available.
Perhaps a whimsical notion but it was an idea I could not shake.
What began as poems led to a bit of prose, and gradually more personal matters were included. This compendium has grown with me. As you read you will see me mature, by the subjects I choose to depict and the words I use to do so.
There are still grammatical errors splattered across the pages, and random thoughts I have debated keeping. But I left them for the sake of personality.
I feel the same when playing music, as my fondest moments are the realization of new melodic lines that often come with quirky flaws. I enjoy the purity of those ideas, those captured and sporadic epiphanies.
This book has endured multiple editions, deletions and additions, with literally years of editing. Throughout such measures the purpose remains, to give a truthful account of who I am, as if defined by what I think about.
There is no plot or order I’m adhering to, but my struggles and convictions as they appear.
Beginning on the cusp of my teenage years, this may appear to be, too personal. However, I now think of these recorded moments as, symptoms of age.
When I mentioned selling literary work at a coffee shop, this is the primary reference. Publishing dates were to correlate with the birth of a child, becoming a grandfather, and eventual death. I may not live to the extent of my hopes, but I am writing as if I will.
The latest edition ends with me being twenty-three. Considering that I am now thirty-four and a father, an update is needed.
Table of Contents
- My Teens
- Some College
- Post Scripts
- 21 to 22
- Filling In Gaps
- Forgetting Friendships
- Controversial Logic
- Speaking of My Father’s Death
- My Love Story
There are eleven years worth of notes and essays to revisit. Yet, I do wish to have time for this devotion again. If only there were more hours in a day, if only this or that …