Discovering My Literary Roots

PARADISE FOUND by Sara Etgen-Baker

As a small child I’d climb onto my father’s lap.  “Daddy,” I’d beg, “blow me some smoke rings and tell me a story.”  Like an actor on cue, he’d place a cigarette between his fingers and bring it to his mouth.  Then like a magician, he’d flip open his lighter and bring the flame to the tip of the cigarette.  When it was fully lit, he’d wave it like a fiery magic wand exclaiming, “Abra Ka Dabra!”  Then he’d oblige me—blowing me smoke rings and telling me stories.  My love for storytelling must’ve begun with these magical moments with my father.    

But my love for words themselves began with my mother who read a page from the children’s dictionary to me every night before I went to sleep.  (Seriously!)  Then at breakfast the following morning, she’d quiz me.  “Tell me what a mammal is.”  “Can you give me an example of transportation?”  I loved words because knowing more words meant that I could read.

And learning to read—well that was a rush.  Every word I read lit the darkness; sparked my imagination; and led me out into an expanding world.   Within those small, flat, square pieces of paper, I could slip into another character’s skin; hear another’s voice; and listen to another’s soul. 

But once I started to use words and write my own sentences—well that’s when another universe opened up and my creativity began.  I loved writing and weaving a tapestry with words.  I fell in love with expressing the human condition. 

Some years later, a teacher’s unexpected whisper, “You’ve got writing talent,” further ignited my writing desire.  But I ignored that whisper and chose to teach literature rather than write it.  I buried my desire and learned to hide my discontent.  So I retired from teaching a few years ago and told my husband, “I need to resurrect my inner writer.”  He supported me in what was the best decision I’ve ever made—outside of the day I agreed to marry him.   

And in so doing, I re-discovered the paradise and bliss I’d lost so many years ago.   

Sara Etgen-Baker writes memoirs and short stories.  She hopes that when her Judgment Day dawns, Saint Peter will look in his Book of Life and say, “By all means open up the Pearly Gates and let her in!  She blessed others; she was a writer.”