My Inspiration or Motivating Discouragement

I'll just say it. My seven-year-old son is a pessimist. He's the first one in the family to speak up with a sobering dose of reality. I know that I can always turn to him when I want to know if I'm too old, too short, too heavy, too ugly, or too slow to accomplish something. "Mommy, I really don't think you'll be able to do that."

For example, he recently asked me if I was ever going to have another baby. When I told him emphatically no, he said, "Well, you're probably too old to have a baby anyway." How could I argue with that when I am too old to consider having another child?

But, recently, I found his discouragement to be quite motivating. He asked, "When you were young, what did you dream of being?" When I told him that I had dreamed of being a writer, he was dumbfounded. "But why?!?" Because I wanted to write books. "But, who would read them?" Insert a large defeated sigh here.

After a month or so, he brought up the subject again, but with an even more negative spin. "Mommy, what was that dream you had...the one that never came true?"

Now, just digest those words for a moment. I know I did. So, here I sit, writing, while lines from Langston Hughes' A Dream Deferred play through my head.

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

So, I've started this blog to realize my dream of being a writer. I do hope that someone out there reads this and might make a kind comment that will stroke this haggard mom's ego.