To Nana and Papa

When I was in elementary school, I learned to write the alphabet. I was so impressed with my writing that when my grandparents came to visit, I showed them my work in my writing tablet. My grandmother said, “If you write the alphabet every day, I’ll give you 50 cents.” She had a deal.👍🏽

Whenever they came for their weekly visit, I would show her my tablet and she would give me 50 cents for each set of letters. I wrote one set every day and my grandmother gave me $3.00 for six sets. This went on for several weeks. Then I learned to write the words on my spelling list. I showed my grandmother and she said, “If you write words every day, I’ll give you a dollar for each word.”👍🏽👍🏽

I could only spell a few words, but I wrote anyway. The next visit, my grandfather said I was getting good at writing. He said, “With words, you can make sentences.”

The next week I had written what my grandfather called a paragraph. He gave me five dollars for a paragraph. What??!! I was only eight years old and rolling in dough. I had gotten enough money to buy a video game. I didn’t need to write anymore.

My grandparents told my parents that they were putting money away for me because had I started writing short stories. (Two paragraphs can be a full story you know.)

When I was in ninth grade, my grandparents were on the way to visit us and a car ran a red light. Nobody survived that crash. I was so angry with the drunk driver that hit them that I started acting out. I had to start going to a psychologist to work through my anger.

My therapist suggested I write in a journal. She gave me a spiral tablet and told me to write what I was feeling instead of acting out the anger.

I didn’t like writing because it reminded me of my grandparents. My mother explained to me that I should honor my grandparents by writing each day. She said that would make you and them feel better. I knew she was trying hard to convince me that my grandparents were still alive in my heart, but I didn’t feel that. I stopped journaling.

In sophomore English, we had to journalize for thirty minutes in class. The teacher would write a prompt on the board and we wrote about that. It was painful to do this because it reminded me of my grandparents. I had to do the work, though, because I wanted to go to a good school far away from home.

One day the teacher wrote: If I had $500, I would...

I thought about this and began to write. I figured by now, I would have about $500 (or more) if I had continued to write the paragraphs that my grandparents encouraged me to write.

As I wrote, I could see my grandparents smiling as they pulled out their wallets. It wasn’t about the money for them, it was about the writing. I began to love writing again and wrote in my own journal every evening.

Over the years, we only went to my grandparents’ house to keep the yard cut and flowers watered. My grandparents usually won the “Best Yard on the Block” award. (Just a blue ribbon on a stake in the yard.)

The furniture was covered, and nothing was changed inside. My family and I would go there every few weeks to do the landscape work and flush the toilets to keep the pipes flowing.

When I was a senior in high school, my parents got a buyer for the house. It was too much for my father and mother and I was on my way to university the next year. We decided to give most of the furniture to shelters and second-hand shops.

My grandparents had lots of boxes in the attic—two of them had my name on them. I opened the box with #1 on it. It was filled with black notebooks. The letter inside read:

“Dear Marcus,

We know you are only in second grade, but we are so happy that you have started writing. It is a tool that will take you many places. We want you to know that we believe in you, so we bought these notebooks while they are on sale. Muleskine is the best notebook and only the best for our grandson.

If anything happens to us, please keep writing. We enjoy the stories you have started to develop. We see the writing on the wall. Hehe

Your grandfather insisted I put this joke in the letter. You know he thinks he’s as funny as Johnny Carson.

We love you very much. Dedicate a book to us.

Sincerely,

Nana and Papa”

I was overcome with emotion. Tears flowed like a river and I vowed to start filling those notebooks as soon as we got home.

Then I found box #2. It had an envelope addressed to me also, and under the envelope, a canvas bag. I read the letter.

“Dear Marcus,

We started putting money away for you since you are headed toward being a great writer. Whatever you do, don’t stop writing. Yes, we’re saying it again. In the canvas bag is our investment in you. We’ve been socking it away for you (even though it's in a bag and not a sock. hehe

We’ve seen your writing and decided that by the time you’re a freshman in college, you’ll need more notebooks and more money. It’s only $20,000, so use it wisely and dedicate a book to us.

Sincerely,

Nana and Papa”

I have written seven books and all of my dedications are the same:

To Nana and Papa

With all my love.