Teachers of My Writer’s Voice by Alan Anderson

 

Preamble

Here is my spin on our prompt for July. This is a brief look at how my writer’s voice of today came about through decades. This includes memories of people who helped shape my voice. I call them the teachers of my writer’s voice.

My Teachers: Those who lit the torch to light my way and who are the ink of my pen.

My Mum and Dad

Mum and Dad were my first teachers. They helped me learn about life and were the first to introduce me to the love of Almighty God.

With the passing of time and decades after my parents immigrated with my siblings and I to Canada, I remember them like two strong Scottish fir trees. I have always considered my mum as my model for life. She lived a quiet life devoted to her family and to the Lord Jesus Christ. My dad taught me a strong work ethic, emphasizing hard work to support one’s family. He also had a strong devotion to God and to serving his church.

Miss Gordon

I was born in Scotland and lived there until my parents decided to immigrate to Canada in 1964. Miss Gordon goes down in my memory as my all-time favourite schoolteacher. She taught me for only one year when I was nine years old, but I never forgot her. Miss Gordon noticed I enjoyed my English subjects. She encouraged me in this. I credit her for my endeavours to focus on writing at an early age.

Gerry

Gerry was a boy I knew in elementary school when I started school in Canada in September 1964. I have brief and distant memories of his freckled face, and red, dishevelled hair. I also remember he was always happy because he smiled a lot. We were pals for a brief space in time.

One day at lunch, I went to visit Gerry. He had been ill and off school for a few days, and I missed hanging around with him. I knocked on the door of his house and his dad answered. I asked him how Gerry was feeling. He told me Gerry was in hospital and not well. A few days later, Gerry died from his illness. I can remember thinking, “but he was only a kid. He was my age. How could he be dead?”

Rosemary

Rosemary was a girl I knew in my first year in high school. She was the person people say could light up a room. She always smiled when she chatted with me and laughed a lot. I enjoyed being around her.

My childhood relationship with Rosemary was a brief one like my relationship with Gerry. My attraction to her was innocent, but she was one I loved being with. The last time I saw her, she laughed and giggled about something. Oh my, how I loved her giggles!

Like Gerry, Rosemary also missed school a lot. One day, as our school day began, our teacher came into the classroom. He asked all my classmates to sit at our desks. He then informed us Rosemary had died. Her cause of death was leukemia. I remember her giggling face to this day.

Their Memories

I think of my parents every day. They ignited a bright light in me to help me shine for decades. I have remembered Miss Gordon, Rosemary, and Gerry for sixty years. They are among those who lit a fire of life in me. The memories of them all nurture my “voice,” as my life as a writer continues.

 

 

Alan lives in a small village called Deroche, British Columbia, with his wife, Terry, and their poodle, Charlie. He enjoys walking on the dike near his home with trees all around and where he finds inspiration to write. He occasionally writes articles for FellowScript Magazine and is a regular contributor to the InScribe Christian Writers’ Fellowship blog. Alan’s website and blog is https://scarredjoy.ca.