Every man’s memory is his private literature. 

~Aldous Huxley

This weekend is the anniversary of two things woven inside one other well enough to tell a story.  

That story is the prologue of how I came to be here, exchanging words with you.

Mia starts first grade next week.  

It’s no less sad than starting Kindergarten, but admittedly less monumental.  Last year at this time, I was sorting a mess of feelings as my tiny peanut, who it seemed was just a bundle in a blanket a few months before, was laying out her uniform and requesting pigtails for the first day of school.

We wondered about Mia’s teacher and what our girl would hear on the playground.  We hoped she’d make friends easy, and crossed our fingers they’d be nice.  

We prepared to release our daughter like a cub on the Savanna, free to find herself as predator or prey.

Anyone with a five year old and a beating heart knows exactly where I’m coming from, but this was last year, so it was still new to me.

How did you deal with it, Writer Dad?

I wrote.

I didn’t Dear Diary, or any such thing.  I kept a journal, but it was just random thought strung together by memory in an ernest attempt to never forget.

Like taking pictures with a pencil.

I’d been doing that for a while, but even Daisy’s best efforts had still not swayed me to sit long enough to spin a yarn.  

Mia moving to Kindergarten… well, that did the trick just fine.

We were reading a lot of chapter books; an even mix of what Mia liked and what we wanted her too.  I thought I’d write something we could all agree on.  So I sat down at the keyboard and started to write.

The story that spilled, was really little more than my own daughter talking for a few thousand words, as if I were rapidly scribbling as she pontificated about her life on the final week before Kindergarten.  When the story was finished, I printed it out and folded it in half, in the worst mockery of a bound book.  

I read the story, Daisy cried.  

Then I read it to Mia.

This is my favorite part…

As Mia was hearing the book for the first time, she started to finish my sentences.  Now that first little booklet could probably never get published, but it captured my baby better than a coffee table full of glossy photographs.

The next week, Mia went to school, and everything started to change.  

In a couple months, I’d be midway through the first draft of a novel, and often assembling my thought in loopy rhythm.

This project is special.  It’s exactly as old as my life as a writer, both sharing their first birthday this weekend.

Little has changed since that first draft.  

I looked at the story with fresh eyes a few weeks back.  I changed the names of people and locations, but otherwise the book is identical to the thirty pages printed (and awkwardly assembled) one year ago.

I hope you enjoy it.  You’ll find an excerpt below:

Writer Dad

If you enjoyed my words, please subscribe.  I’ll be back on Monday.

Mia Maria and Two Times the Kindergarten:

Hola! (That means hello in Spanish).   

My name is Mia Maria Robinson.  I am five and a half years old, and in one week my life is going to change forever!   

At least thatʼs what my mom and dad keep saying. 

Next week, Iʼm starting Kindergarten at Abraham Lincoln Elementary School.  My parents have been telling me about Kindergarten since before I was even four, but they just started acting weird like a couple of months ago.   

I think it actually started when we went to buy my new uniforms for school. We went shopping for clothes, just like we do at the end of every Summer, but the whole time we were there, my mom and dad kept looking at each other with these really sad faces, even though they were still saying really happy words. 

Like my mom said: “Youʼre such a big girl, Mia.  I canʼt believe your going to be in Kindergarten,” and my dad said, “I canʼt believe how big you look in your uniform.  Youʼre such a little Kindergirly.”  And then he scooped me up with a great big hug and passed me to my mom like I was a churro.  

Even though they were taking turns hugging me, they both seemed kind of sad… 

Disclaimer: This is not Writer Dad’s voice. It’s Mia’s. Writer Dad just types a lot faster.

 The last three Fridays: “The Truth in our Make-Believe,” “The Eighth Wonder of the World,” and “Bye Bye Butterfly.”