Kristen Brosseau
A memory..Grandpa always loved the arts. He was a quintessential â??cool catâ?, ya dig? Anyway, I remember being a little girl and telling him I wanted to be a veterinarian when I grew up. He looked at me with that non-expressive, contemplative stare, which feels as if it lasts forever when you are on the receiving end. He then said, â??I think you should be a writerâ?. He told me I was creative, had a good imagination, and penchant for storytelling. I disagreed; because I was 6 years old and didnâ??t quite understand what I would do all day as a â??writerâ?.As the years have moved along, I thought about many things that I would like to do with myself. Somehow, writing has always made its way into my life. From reviewing and editing my friends English reports, edits my schoolmates papers in college in exchange for a basket of onion rings, all the way to heading our companyâ??s newsletter and editing project proposals for multimillion dollar contracts (Some insight: people are very trusting.) Writing, despite my initial rejection, finds its way like a river to the ocean into my life.Someday maybe I will write a novel or maybe I will just continue to let writing flow in and out of my life. Either way, my grandfather, the â??cool catâ? knew from the beginning. He told me I was creative and imaginative and had great stories â?? so I believed him and because of him, I was able to convince others that this is part of who I am, too.He planted the idea which grew into reality. I will always, always, thank him for his love of the arts and sharing his love with me. Someday I will write something meaningful, and it will be for you Grandpa. And for you, dear reader, is it mere coincidence that these days fall on the 112th birthday of John Steinbeck?