Nobody Read Me #Fairytales

Today's thought

It is almost ironic that I am a writer and author. My childhood didn’t consist of books or fairytales.

Since I was a little girl I loved to write little sayings and make cards for people I loved; in a child-like, Hallmark sort of way. I was always full of compassion. Growing up in a broken home, I felt a need to connect with others. Anyone who would pay me any attention was someone I cherished.

A few teachers along the way had taken me into their hearts and did extra special things for me. Once I had a kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Wagner, who invited me to spend an afternoon at her home on a Sunday. I suppose it was arranged between her and one of my parents, I didn’t know at the time how it was arranged and I never questioned it, but as I grew older I began to wonder what would even spur a kindergarten teacher to even want to spend a Sunday with one of her students?

My favourite teacher though, was Miss Jacobs in grade two, who later became Mrs. Hood. I never questioned why she had taken such a shining to me either but I idolized her and I remember making her so many cards with my crayons, always putting a shining sun on every one of them. I’d like to think she saw some kind of an artistic talent in me and perhaps she was aware of my fears and nervousness. Perhaps she knew the instability I resided in. I never forgot her kindness.

I loved school and I loved reading and being read fascinating stories by my teachers. It never really dawned on me until I got a bit older and moved out on my own that there were never any books in my home, save for the odd trashy novel by my mother’s nightstand. Oh, but I loved to write. I made my little cards for everyone to convey my affection for them. Valentine’s day was the most exciting day of the year for me because I got to make so many cards and gave them freely to all my classmates. It was so thrilling for me to receive some back as well.

From making cards to journaling on scraps of paper, which I kept hidden from everyone, it became my secret time where I could pen my thoughts and not have to be afraid I would get in trouble for speaking my opinions. The funny thing I remember about my paternal grandmother who never gave me any love or encouragement growing up is rather odd because for all of the emotional distance, she used to tell me I should be a journalist when I grew up. Perhaps someone was paying attention? Certainly there must have been something she saw in me to repeat it several times to me throughout my childhood. Heck, I didn’t even know what a journalist was at seven years old.

In school I loved reading and when I moved away from home I became a voracious reader. I continued to journal and used writing as a way to speak up for how I was feeling, even though I never sent any of my writing to anyone, whomever it may have been written to. Writing my feelings had given me a vehicle to unload a burden from myself. I may have missed a lot in childhood as I spent much of it worrying about the ongoing status of my parent’s relationship and the discord I lived with, but eventually I found my way and many times it was writing which kept me sane. I haven’t stopped writing since.

©D.G.Kaye 2014

23 thoughts on “Nobody Read Me #Fairytales

  1. I can read a lot of me in your words. In our neighbourhood there were three women who operated a kindergarten out of a house. It must have been government funded because I can’t imagine my parents being able to afford to send me there a few times a week. With ten kids at home, a mother running the household and my father jumping from one job to another as he lost them when they found him drinking on the job, it was a chore just to keep us fed and the bills paid. But I remember those three ladies and the books they read. My last day of kindergarten I recall racing down to the centre to say goodbye to the women. They gave me a book (In a People’s House by Dr. Seuss). They all signed it. I’ve read it many times since 1972, and I still have it.

    My older siblings liked to read, as did my mother, so there seemed to be a lot of books around. My oldest brother (17 years older) loved westerns, so I’ve read a lot of them.

    I also scribbled on paper and created little journals with my thoughts. Things were often hectic in the household and in my writing I found quiet time, a place–like you–to record my thoughts where no one could see them. I would encourage everyone to keep a journal, particularly is life is tough. Having a place to put down on paper your opinions and thoughts I found made me not have to think about them so much. I think sometimes we dwell on them because we don’t want to forget. By recording them we are free to push it out of our thoughts because the journal remembers for us.


    1. Wow Di, thanks for sharing your story. But isn’t it interesting that we used the journals for the same purpose? It makes me wonder just how many of us wrote for escape or sanity! 🙂


      1. I actually have a friend who has been writing a diary/journal since she was 12, I don’t know how many she’s got now but no aspirations to be a writer, but she is an artist (painting). Perhaps journaling is the beginning stages of some sort of creativity?


  2. Thanks for sharing, love the way you tell it …. and I see some of me in your words. Was a very lonely child – gown up with my grandparents that both was over 60 when they took care of my and my grandfather passed away when I was 8. So long I can remember I lived in my fantasy world – made up stories, very believable, to make my days more exciting. It was bad that they took me to a doctor ..
    Because I had nobody to talk to … and so soon I was able to write and read, I start writ in letters to people that I had heard on the radio, no TV in those days. I wrote about everything – to life my burden … to share my happiness, but I had great days too. I wrote and I wrote – and when the letters was finished I just tore into them apart and I felt free. I have been written those letters from time to time, as an adult to, just to get things out of my system and it has really helped me.
    Today I wished I had saved some of those letters I wrote as a child.


    1. Thanks for sharing your personal story Viv! It is nice to know that using the method of writing but not sending just to unburden ourselves was also used by you. I am willing to bet there are many others who use this therapeutic method. And yes, wouldn’t it be interesting to look back at those pages we wrote now! 🙂


      1. A friend of mine gave back some letters that I wrote in 1979 when spending time in China, it very really exciting and fun to read them. So I think I would had enjoyed to read some of the letters from my youth.


  3. I was swept off my feet in 4th grade when my story and drawing about a girl and her pony were published on the front page of the Mexico, MO Ledger. I felt like a movie star. I hope you still have a few of your cards. I have very little from my childhood–my mom got rid of stuff–but I do have a copy of the newspaper story. Interesting post, Debby. Thanks.


    1. Thanks Elaine. I wish I still had some cards. My grandmother actually kept all the cards I made but they seemed to parish. Isn’t hindsight always 20/20?


  4. Hello DG…
    I enjoyed the way you tell us about the main causes of why you write…
    As far as I know for your own words & book you have had a tough childhood.
    But somehow all those experiences have led you to discover that writing can be not only a passion but a way to let your inner self set free from the burdens of past…
    Inspiring & touching, as ever, my friend.

    Hugs, Aquileana 🙂


    1. Thanks so much Aq and thanks for ‘getting me’ ,you know from freading my book where it stems from. Writing was a savior for me. xo 🙂


      1. I am close to the end dear DG … I think I´ll finish it today or tomorrow. So I will catch up with you soon to tell you about the further review.
        By the way; I am absolutely loving your book…
        Hope you have a great weekend!

        Aquileana 🙂


  5. Debbie,
    I loved this… the more I know about you… the more fascintated I am. My cousin who was 2 years younger than me… had a pretty horrible childhood. I never really knew about it. She decided to never have kids because she didn’t want to mess them up. Her kids were her travels. She is an amazing person and ended up marrying a little over a decade ago and became an amazing step mama… especially to the littler ones.
    I think that it takes special people to work with disabled, and the ill, and the elderly and children… not that any have flaws at all… but all take a special kind of person to have a heart to do what they do… the ones who do it from the heart (not just for the career or money) must have a six sense and just like the nurse who can sense the need to sit with someone dying… or the one who takes time playing cards with Mr. Haddington… may see that little girl with the lonely eyes or the young boy with the sad face… that needs special memories that they know their moms may not be able to provide for whatever reasons.
    i would love to send your book to an old friend whose mother sounds identical to yours! But just don’t want to open that door again (if ya know what I mean) but he was the kid with story no one would ever believe!!! It was so sad. And sometimes it helps to know that you are not alone in this world and someone else understands. I guess in the same way… without those wonderful women in your life, ever having to explain why… they gave you the memories you talk about today. And because I am your friend now. I am grateful to them.


    1. Oh Di, you sure do know how to tug at my hearstrings. xo I love your take on my writing every bit as much as I love reading your writings. I am blessed to have your friendship and your deep understanding of my writing. Thank you. 🙂


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