Personal Musings

The Writer In My Family

I remember when my sixth grade English teacher told me that I was a good writer. It changed the way I looked at the world. It changed the way I looked at education. Mrs. Bixby gave me a sense of confidence that was badly needed at age 12. I attribute my love of writing (and reading) to that sixth grade teacher. Today there’s only one true writer in my family. Her name is Meg and she’s soon to be a freshman in high school.

This summer Meg attended the Duke University Young Writers Program. On Thursday night they had their final celebration where a few of the writer presented their work in an auditorium on Duke’s campus. These kids are amazing and their performances blew me away. This was Meg’s second year in the program, and she was asked to share one of her poems in the final celebration. She performed like a champion – confident and composed. Needless to say, her mom and I were very proud. As Meg recited her poem, I saw tears welling up in Scotti’s eyes. It was a great moment. I filmed Meg’s performance on my iPhone, so the quality isn’t the best.


She dances on twilight

of vanilla cream shores.

With the tides’ steady rolling.

She twirls, and spins;

she leaps and twists.

underneath the purple velvet of nighttime.

She spins a song that only she

can hear,

tangling with the crested waves.

Her hair floats, drifting in the breeze.

Swimming just under the surface,

but rising with the water.

She rolls out of the spray

full to the brim

with ringing laughter.

She dances, free.

Only at night,

when no one else

can hear her woven unspoken tale

of love not returned.

1 comment on “The Writer In My Family

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