Dear Credential Candidates,
Hiding in the dark at the bottom of the stairs, holding my breath, I
eavesdropped on my parents as they sat in the warm, lit kitchen and discussed
my story that I had just so proudly shown them a few minutes before.
I held my
seven year old body as still as a seven year old body could be, so not as to make
the stairs creak or invite the spiders to come out of their dreary homes and give
way my hiding spot. I lay frozen in the shadows, smelling the dirty carpet,
Soaking up the warm, positive comments and encouraging words
being shared above me at the dinner table, I realized.
.. I could WRITE!
It was the day after Christmas.
Santa had yet again spoiled me even
beyond my wildest childish dreams.
But, my favorite gift, which I now squeezed
tightly to my chest in the darkness of the bottom of the stairs, was the small,
$1.99, three-ring, blue binder full of pages and pages of beautiful, gleaming,
blank, empty, notebook paper.
My father had lovingly created a label on the
cover that read, “Terri’s Notebook.”
That was my favorite gift of Christmas 1978.
I had already fallen in love with reading in kindergarten and by first grade I
was already bringing home a grocery bag full of books every two weeks from the
My excitement for reading continued to blossom and my love for writing
continued to grow, as I filled notebook after notebook.
Several years later, in
third grade, Mrs. Morgan had us write reports on animals and flowers.
I really wanted to write about my favorite sport and had a great story idea about a