The Most Beautiful Story – I

            The first memory Harrison still vividly remembers is when he was nine years old.  Mrs. Carrington was his teacher and reminded him so much of his own mother that he slipped up one day and called her mom.  The other students laughed.  He never really recovered from that embarrassment.  At least, not for the rest of the day which for a nine-year-old, was an eternity. 

            Fortunately for him, Mrs. Carrington did actually remind him of his own mother because of her tender heart, she allowed him to stay in the classroom during recess.  On the pretense of helping her get the classroom in order but as he reflected on it in his older years it was to provide a safe place for him to avoid further teasing.  The small recess reprieve only intensified the teasing he received on his walk home after school. 

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Using a prompt

It’s that time of year again. Every year about this time I hit a writing block. Nothing good ever comes out of late winter for me. No ideas. Nothing. I’m serious, look at my past years’ posts in February (which is when I’m writing this). A lot of years I complain the well has dried up and I should throw in the towel. But I haven’t yet. I keep going.

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