I write for a living.
Twenty-plus years of it, as a matter of fact. Heck, I’ve even gotten kind of good at it (although there are some who I will never equal…people like President Reagan’s speechwriter, Peggy Noonan, or former IBM top blogger, current GM head of digital media, and all-around great friend, Christopher Barger…I can live with that).
But what happens when you are shuffling through your 10-year old daughter’s archived school papers discover something she wrote back in second grade…something you couldn’t write today even with 20 years of carefully crafted words under your belt? Something like the piece below:
My Special Place
By Allison Maney
My special place is my bedroom.
When I step into the room in late afternoon, I can hear the peaceful sound of birds chirping, the wonderful sound of the wind blowing the leaves outside my soothing window. I can see adorable stuffed animals laying on my comfortable bed waiting for me to cuddle with them. I can smell the welcoming fresh air dancing all around me. I can feel the comforting texture of my pillow.
This is my room. The magical room where amazing things can happen. My wonderful, magnificent room.