An Almost Broken Love

Growing up, my parents always encouraged as much education that I wanted. No, I didn't always want to do homework or do school period, I knew that I needed it, so I wanted it. All through grade school and even through early high school, I was one of those nerdy guys that got straight A's. I turned my homework in on time and was, in other words, a teacher's pet. I had always loved math. I enjoyed the challenge of the problems, due to the almost overwhelming feeling that I did it right! I was always one of the perfectionist types. I dreamed for a while of becoming a high school math teacher. Then I was introduced to algebra and those plans changed very quickly, as did my love for math, so I looked to other subjects to label as my favorite. History was very much like math, I hated it; for some reason I had a trouble with numbers. When there is one question and two thousand dates to answer it with, I would get a little confused. I was always good at reading. I could read road signs and small books at age three, and hence I started kindergarten at age 4. I never understood why my parents held me back that extra year. I had been evaluated by an elementary school teacher at three and passed with flying colors, but I guess I was too young. My love for reading increased, right along with my skill, as I got older. I took a reading comprehension exam online, and at age twelve, I could read 483 words per minute. At that rate I would read anything I could get my hands on. My mother would often 'bust' me late at night, or early morning, still reading. It was like I couldn't put a book down. Late one night, while reading one of my mom's inspirational romance books that I had snuck past her and into my room, I decided I'd like to learn to write this stuff. So I surprisingly put the book down, picked up my notebook, and started writing. After about two weeks of fruitless attempt, I decided I wasn't cut out to write romantic fiction. My mom always told me I had a vivid imagination, and she encouraged me to use it in the proper times. I tended to use it for other mischievous purposes. Thinking that I wasn't cut out to be a writer, I was afraid that my dream might not come true. But, I decided to give it one last attempt. A children's story about a family of ducks was born. I showed it to my mom the next day and she was ecstatic, surprised that I wrote it. She then encouraged me to keep it up because she said that all talents were God-given and that it was wrong to not use them, and that she really liked my writing. Ever since she had told me that, that was all I did; write.

Ever since I was a toddler I had idolized my paternal grandfather. He was a great Christian and inspiration to our family. He had a great work ethic and he didn't mince words. He was a veteran of the Korean conflict and he used to play the clarinet in a band. Since it was from his era, they played more swing or otherwise known