For the Love of Paper

I think it all started at G.L. Perry Variety Store in the Urbandale Plaza.  My father not only instilled a love for reading on those payday trips to pore over the latest Trixie Belden or Nancy Drew in stock, he also helped foster a love for writing.  I think a lot of times those two particular loves go hand in hand.  It's pretty much par for the course that the more you read, the more your writing will improve. 


But back then, I didn't know that.  What I knew is that I was a student, and my job was to learn.  Every fall Dad would take me to G.L. Perry's and outfit me with school supplies.  He said you had to have the right tools.  I'm not sure to this day if it was that time with my dad poring over pencils, pens, paper, and binders that pushed me into the love of paper, or if it was that feeling of starting over, a year full of possibilities.  A brand new 64 pack of Crayola's with sharpened tips certainly made me swoon.  Throughout the school year, the weekly trips to G.L. Perry's continued.  Dad made have spoiled me a little, the last little chick in the next.  He had a difficult time denying me a book or paper product.  At the time, I covered his cheek with kisses, and clutched my Critter Sitter folders and paper to my chest.  When I got home, I would spread out all my school supplies and just gloat over them.  I was a paper hoarder in the making.


Fast forward thirty years, and not a lot has changed.  I sit here writing at the coffeeshop with my Filofax nestled safely beside me on the table, stuffed to the brim with cute post it notes.  I have to grin.  The more things change, the more they stay the same?


A few months before the accident, the kids and I were out and about on a Saturday.  We'd just dropped Tim off at work, and Cory mentioned wanting to get back into journaling.  Have I told this story already?  We spent at least an hour in Staples, and eighty dollars later, we walked out with all sort of goodies for both of the kids.  Cory was going to make a smash journal, while Jake had decided to take a stab at making his own comic book.  I could not resist their creative ambitions.  The smile on my face couldn't have been wider as I swiped that debit card.  I was passing something onto to them that my dad had passed to me.  What else is life really about?