When a man reaches the age of eighty-two, as I have, he has a lot of memories. Some cherished. Some he’d sooner forget. Like the time I got sent to the principal’s office for…well, like I said… some memories a person would sooner forget.
Let’s talk about jobs for a few minutes, shall we? I held a lot in my early years—paper boy, shoe-shine boy, golf caddy, department store stock boy. After a stint in the Army and earning my Masters, I entered the teaching world where I stayed for nearly forty years. Teaching English to high school students was a great joy in my life. Attending teachers’ meetings, not so much.
Through all those years, I wrote. Retirement meant I could spend nearly every hour of my day writing. Sheer heaven.
Then something unexpected happened. My wife mentioned she’d like to write, too, yet she lacked the courage, the resolution to do so.
Suddenly I took on a new job.
Now I’ve always taken pride in a job well-done. As a young boy, my newspapers were always delivered on time. When I shined shoes, my customers always sauntered away happy, able to see their reflection in the tops of their shoes. My students loved the unit on Shakespeare. Perhaps it was my jumping onto the top of the desk to deliver soliloquies that kept their attention. So was I a good cheerleader for my wife? She had eight titles published and two contracts for two series from two different Big Six publishers.
So, what do I get for all my efforts? Lots more hugs and kisses. And the best part? I don’t have to wear one of those silly cheerleader uniforms. At eighty-two, my arthritic knees are not a pretty sight, but my wife’s happy face is.
~~~~ Calvin Davis is author of The Phantom Lady of Paris.