A Red Door


When I was a kid, I used to tell my parents I wanted to be a writer.

I told my mom when I was rich and famous, I’d buy her a yellow house with a red door.

I haven’t exactly achieved any major level of fame that I can tell. I’m not rich. So far, that yellow house is still just a dream.

A few months ago, I dropped by my mom’s work. I was taking her something or just swinging by to say hi. I can’t remember.

What I do remember was on my way out, she stopped me and said, “I’m really proud of you. Of you four kids, you’re the one who chased your dreams. You knew what you wanted and you went after it.”

Mom…I’m still going after that yellow house.

2 thoughts on “A Red Door”

  1. That’s great that you are still pursuing your dreams. I’m working on actually figuring out what my dreams are so I can pursue them. 🙂

  2. I love mother’s like that. I have one of them. I was 19 when I first started to write. I had a dinky typewriter. My mother bought me a Dell for Christmas. ~But I suspect it had a lot to do with how loud that freaking typewriter was~

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