WCYR NaNoWriMo – “Theatre”

1925 words. Making up for lost time.

The way I figure it, if I can wake up at 4:00AM for I have to do, I can wake up for 5:00AM for what I love to do. So, this Saturday morning, I woke up for 6:30AM and started to write. Yeah, it isn’t 5:00AM, but I was sleeping so well and this week has been horrible for sleep. If my “Microsoft Band 2” is to be believed (and it’s a Microsoft product, folks, so it is beyond reproach) I slept an average of 4:45 minutes a night this week. An extra hour or so felt positively decadent.

A month ago I was in Houston at a “Managing For Results” training session. They profiled each of us using a DiSC Assessment . The moderators explained how the assessment works, they gave us our assessment on second last day. I felt liberated. I really did. I told the moderator as much and he took me at my word. I think he saw I was about to cry.

It explained a lot about me I already knew but was told it was wrong to be that way. And a stranger with a series of scientific tests verified it.

I think I was maybe nine or ten. I saw a car model I wanted to make.

I loved cars. I would trace them from the “Buy and Sell” or “Auto Trader” magazine and then design my own. No desire to work on them, but I would stand there and hand Dad tools or hold his ‘trouble light’ while he tried to keep our vehicles on the road. But I hated working on them. Loathed it.

Dad had tried to make me into a ‘real boy’ by signing me up for sports, taking me with him when he went to work (he owned a carpentry and landscaping company – but he did most of the work – and when he was good, he was really, really good but when he was bad, he was horrible), and getting me away from my books or my computer (a Commodore 64 or early, early PC – the strongest memory I have is my cousin giving me a book on programming and I played with ‘BASIC’ programming, trying to make ‘Mr. Bojangles’ walk across the screen).

But, that car model. 1964 Mustang Shelby. Blue with white racing stripes. I wanted to buy the model and all of the paints. I wanted to buy the files and the tools. I wanted to cut out each piece, sand it down, paint it as close to real as possible, and then take my time to assemble it. It would be amazing. I would have my very own miniature car that I could open up and see all of the parts, like I could get into it and drive away. I imagined all of the things I could do in that car, the adventures. I loved the detail and I loved the creativity.

Dad didn’t like that. He didn’t see the point. To him, that was a waste of time. And as such, I should consider it a waste of time. He was the guy in charge, so I did as I was told. And continued to do as I was told, on and on. I would fight against that, my instincts telling me to do so, but eventually, after being so tired of fighting, I just gave up. It was easier to be a victim, to do what I was told.

I watch my kids grow up and see how different they are from one another. When either of them wants to do something, I ask them to justify it. To tell me why. I want to understand what they are doing and help them to find the best way to meet their needs. My daughter wants a boatload of pencils and pens and notebooks because she wants to draw. All I ask, is that she draws. Not think about it. She draws. And it doesn’t have to be perfect. Just finish what you start, critique it without being getting down on yourself, and then make the next one better. The same goes for everything she does.

I look at what she creates and it makes me proud. It’s what we make that matters, not how much we make.

And, when that little test showed me, that DiSC assessment, is what I already knew, I felt like I was coming out of the sharp turn in a NASCAR race, ready to drop the hammer.

So, yeah, that’s what made it easy for me to get up this morning and write. Because it is what I love to do.

I’m not going to post the contents of my current narrative. Too many words in my post as it is!

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