this was me,
coming out of the blocks in the 70’s
full of fire and zipping around
in front of my father’s Ford XR Falcon.
It was the time to be alive
men were hairy
women had curves
cars were strong, loud and powerful
and people’s eyes looked
to the stars.
in grade two
some kid
sitting next to me in class
was filling up a sheet of white paper
with fly-like images of planes in dog fights.
It was amazing.
I was hooked.
years later,
after a lot of scribbling,
I was known as
‘the kid who could draw‘
In grade six
I entered a school competition
to write a children’s book
I won.
the reason?
I think
was that my story
had words
and pictures
in it.
it still makes sense
to this day.
so now
I take a pen
sketchbook
or laptop
with me most everywhere I go
(I’m actually typing this at 8.04am on a train commuting to work).
I fight for every moment
outside of the day-job
to write
and draw
and…
at the mid-point of my life
this desire
has become an oasis.
It’s awkward to describe this heart-felt addiction to the average person.
they don’t see the point
but that’s ok,
I’d imagine an astronaut has a hard time
explaining himself too
when he looks up
at the stars.