Last week, my eleven-year-old daughter came home with the news that she\u2019d been sent to the principal\u2019s office.<\/p>\n
When she told me, I didn\u2019t know how to react. The exact same thing had happened to me when I was her age \u2013 except for my daughter at least there’d been signs, so the school hadn\u2019t reacted as severely.<\/p>\n
What had she done?<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"http:\/\/zenashapter.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/11\/Ophelia-Shapter-poem-218x300.jpg\")
She\u2019d\u00a0written a poem. A good one. Her teacher had been \u2018mega impressed\u2019 and told her to \u2018go see the principal, because we might put this one in the school newsletter\u2019. Of course I was proud. What parent doesn\u2019t want their child being sent to the principal for good work?<\/p>\n
On the other hand, I wondered what it might mean. When I look back on my life, it was obvious I’d become a writer. That incident when I was my daughter\u2019s age? I\u2019d written a poem and been accused of plagiarism.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis clearly isn\u2019t your work,\u201d my teacher had said on reading it. She\u2019d seen no signs of literary talent to that point \u2013 back in my day, we didn\u2019t do nearly half as much creative work as my children do at school now. \u201cTell me where you copied it from, then write your own as you were told.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I didn\u2019t copy it.\u201d<\/p>\n
My parents were called. I came from a family where no one finished school. Mum and Dad already knew I was an oddity, and they encouraged it \u2013 education was the ticket to opportunity and freedom. Still, we had no poetry books at home and I hadn\u2019t been to the library.<\/p>\n
Finally I was believed. More than that: my poem was pinned to the classroom wall.<\/p>\n
My daughter\u2019s poem got a principal\u2019s sticker.<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"http:\/\/zenashapter.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/11\/credit-Raminnazer-300x300.jpg\")
Does this mean she\u2019ll become a writer like me? She\u2019s already won awards for her stories, as has my son. In a way, I hope not, because it\u2019s such a tough gig. You have to constantly expose your self-esteem to rejection. Chances of success are slim. There\u2019s little money in writing alone. There\u2019s no off-switch. Self-employment brings risks and juggling. In many ways, it\u2019s easier and more secure to be employed with a monthly wage, which is why I resisted being a writer for many years, working instead in publishing, as a copywriter, even as a lawyer.<\/p>\n
Of course, as stories themselves often tell us, there\u2019s no denying who you really are. When I was fifteen I wrote a 77-stanza poem for fun \u2013 who does that? My teacher thought it so good she made me read it aloud to my class (that one made me popular!). When I was sixteen, I established the school\u2019s first writers\u2019 group. At eighteen, of course I went on to read English Literature at university. Whatever made me suppose I could be anything other than a writer?<\/p>\n
What my daughter will be, she will be, of course, and she has plenty of talents I never had. I\u2019ll support her no matter what. Same with her older brother. Husband too, who tried not to be the graphic designer he is for a few corporate years.<\/p>\n
In the meantime, I guess I\u2019ll just have to live with the fact that my daughter’s poem is better and a tad more mature than mine at her age:<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"http:\/\/zenashapter.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/11\/hedgehog-1215140_960_720-300x199.jpg\")
Hedgehogs busy scurrying around,<\/p>\n
Digging up food from the ground.<\/p>\n
Eating worms, beetles and slugs,<\/p>\n
Gathering up all kinds of bugs.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
An owl lands on a branch in the park,<\/p>\n
Then he dives down on a mouse in the dark.<\/p>\n
\u201cYum!\u201d he says, as he lands on the tree,<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was a really lovely tea.\u201d<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"http:\/\/zenashapter.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/11\/dove-2680487_960_720-300x200.jpg\")
My last short days fly by like a white dove,<\/p>\n
My last term slips away like cold wet ice.<\/p>\n
The one year I thought I had ticks away,<\/p>\n
My long primary run begins to end.<\/p>\n
Memories I have made, ones that I share,<\/p>\n
Those special days and journeys must start over.<\/p>\n
Those friendships will not ever be forgotten.<\/p>\n
As the long hard run to school starts again,<\/p>\n
There are many allies and friends to make,<\/p>\n
And many experiences to have.<\/p>\n
My graduation sets me on my way,<\/p>\n
As I then become the young one again.<\/p>\n
As I sit at my desk writing this poem,<\/p>\n
I know I will never come here again.<\/p>\n
Do you think you were always going to do what you now do? Does destiny call?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Last week, my eleven-year-old daughter came home with the news that she\u2019d been sent to the principal\u2019s office. When she told me, I didn\u2019t know how to react. The exact same thing had happened to me when I was her age \u2013 except for my daughter at least there’d been\u2026<\/p>\n