Bears, oh my

Have I put this photo in my LJ before? No matter. I’ve been inspired by a brilliant writer, Mark Harris, who just sent Tim and me a copy of the children’s book Corduroy, which Mark calls “the most compelling love story ever.” He’s right.

The photo below is Dr. Neil. Dr. Neil is the brown and…er…dirty bear. He was a gift to me when I was three years old and in the hospital. He came from my Uncle Gerald, who was the first person who ever called me “a writer.”

Uncle Gerald was a writer. He was a frequent contributor to a newspaper column. He wrote essays and poems. He wrote wonderful letters. He encouraged me to write letters to him, pored over them for any evidence that I had talent with words, and encouraged me in every way possible. NEVER doubt the positive effect and influence your praise can have on a child, because Uncle Gerald changed and shaped my life. Along with my parents, he taught me to call myself a writer long before I had the right. (So, Mark, if you’re reading this? Any encouragement you feel you’ve gotten from me? There’s a direct line back to Uncle Gerald.)

Uncle Gerald died when I was sixteen. But he’s alive to me every time I write. I owe him so much. And when I look at Dr. Neil, I smile at the memory of this man who, even with three children of his own and dozens more nieces and nephews, took the time to show one little girl that he loved her and wanted her to get well.

In this photo, Dr. Neil has a friend on his lap. That friend is Oscar, the battered, barely there bear of my San Diego friend Steve (the one who visited us last fall). But Oscar’s story is Steve’s to tell.


Dr. Neil, named for the man who got me well, and Dr. Neil’s friend Oscar.

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