Dear Reader,
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A few months ago my neighbor stopped me when I was out for a walk. His son, Mack, was supposed to be writing an essay to submit along with his college application, but 'Dad' was getting concerned, because he hadn't seen anything written yet. So he suggested maybe Mack should come over to my house Saturday evening to talk about his essay.
I was happy to help, but later that evening I got to thinking that a senior in high school probably wasn't going to be too excited about talking to the neighbor lady about writing--especially on a Saturday night. Mack's topic was how reading Science Fiction had influenced his life, so I decided to see if I could influence Mack to telephone me.
Early the next morning, I walked over to his house and left a stack of Science Fiction books outside the door, with a note tucked inside:
"Mack, I heard about the essay you're working on. Great topic, I'm curious. The books are yours to keep. Hope you enjoy them, Suzanne."
It was kind of exciting, doing a little "undercover" work, waiting to see if Mack would take the bait, and I was just about ready to give up hope when finally at 1:30 in the afternoon my phone rang. The books did their job. Mack thanked me over and over again, so I quickly suggested dinner, and to my surprise, Mack said yes. It was a date. Dinner and a discussion about writing in my backyard at six. (I live in Florida, so we wore masks as we chatted and dined 6 feet apart.)
Mack was pretty quiet at first and I could tell he still wasn't sure what he wanted to write about. So I asked him how he liked to spend his time, and after we talked about computers, Science Fiction and his friends, he mentioned his dog.
He has a chocolate lab, but he still misses his first dog, who was 15 years old when she had to be put to sleep. And when I asked Mack who took the dog to the vet when she had to be put down, Mack looked down at the table and his voice got very soft, "My mom took my dog to the vet while I was at school."
I knew he was holding back the tears and by this time, so was I, but I told Mack that crying can be very inspiring. Sometimes when I'm writing a column, I'm crying while I'm writing and I feel exhausted when I'm finished.
I'd brought along a column about putting your heart into your writing and I showed Mack a page of random notes I'd written before I got the idea for the column. I wanted him to see what the beginning of a column looks like before it's written--what a mess it is--hoping it would make him feel a little less pressured. And in the scattered notes, I pointed out the one line that ended up giving me the idea for the "Putting Your Heart Into It" column.
Before we said good-bye, I told Mack no doubt about it, I was sure there was a great essay inside of him and I had the feeling it was about his dog.
'Dad' called the next morning, while his son was still sleeping, "You certainly gave Mack a lot to think about, he was up most of the night."
Apparently Mack was up thinking about his dog, because yesterday I read Mack's story: "My first dog was my best friend for much of my childhood. He was a sweet yellow Labrador with hardly any yellow..."
It was a wonderful story about a boy and his dog and a lesson learned about life: "Sometimes the most painful thing we do, helps the ones we love."
It was a story that left me in tears.
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
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