Portrait of the Writer as a Young Girl

When I was a young child, I’d often fantasize that my parents were not really Asian immigrants who busted their asses to provide an idyllic upbringing for me and my younger brother. Instead, I had visions that I was simply a misplaced member of an obscure royal family and that, at any moment, my real family would find me and I would rightfully assume my title as the Crown Prince of Cashmeria.

I never mentioned this to the couple who considered themselves “my real parents” because I didn’t want to hurt their feelings. However, my mother must have innately picked up on it because from a very young age, my family nickname was “The Prince.” Naturally, this only confirmed my suspicions that I HAD been switched from birth at the hospital.

By the time I reached my teens, I deduced that my royal parents were having difficulties locating me so I set out upon the world to make my own fortune.

Every empire must start somewhere and mine began by working the night shift as a busboy at Bobby Rubino’s Place for Ribs.

For those of you who don't know of that fine dining establishment, Bobby Rubino’s is like the wife of T.G.I. Fridays that always has bruises on her face and claims she's just "clumsy.”

Located on a desolate highway in suburban New Jersey, the restaurant was a magnet for pot-bellied salesmen, lonely housewives, cops, and refrigerator repairmen. Every night, at the end of my shift, I would bicycle home reeking of cheap barbecue sauce, collared greens, and desperation. Did I mention that I was only fifteen years old?

The sole highlight of my employment there was the night Eddie Murphy came to visit “the premiere place for ribs and BBQ.”

Let’s remember that back in 1985, Eddie Murphy was enjoying an unprecedented run of success that has rarely been repeated in Hollywood. Still shy of his 26^th birthday, he was already coming high off the heels of “Saturday Night Live,” “48 Hours," and “Trading Places.”

Yes, Eddie ultimately embarrassed himself by releasing the Rick James-produced single “Party All The Time” and had yet to deploy his star power to write, direct and produce his dream project, the ill-begotten comedy-drama crime period pic known as “Harlem Nights.” And sure, it was years later that his drunken one-night stand resulted in a positive paternity test with Spice Girl Melanie B and he got arrested for soliciting a transvesite prostitute. However, at that precise moment back in 1985, Eddie Murphy was the fucking MAN! Has anyone ever had the remarkable 5-year-run that he had back in the mid-80’s? At the moment, the only ones who come to mind are Wayne Gretzky, Elle MacPherson, and Notorious B.I.G.

As soon as Eddie Murphy walked into our rib joint, he started throwing hundred-dollar bills in the air like confetti at a parade.

Clearing the Murphy entourage’s greasy plates and doling out pre-packaged lukewarm Wet Naps, I netted about $500 that night. For a fifteen-year-old wanna-be-tycoon, this was a veritable fortune.  A brave new world had suddenly opened up before my very eyes and I astutely realized that there were easier ways to make a buck.

By the time I arrived on the west coast as a naïve but ambitious college freshman at Berkeley, I was determined to earn enough money whereby I could effortlessly afford ski weekends in Squaw Valley, oysters in Point Reyes, and Bloody Marys at Sam’s Café. Essentially, I wanted to be a Marin County housewife.

A brief summary of jobs that I had in college:

(1) Watching coma patients and recording any changes in their status.

(2) Tending gardens as an assistant to a landscape architect. I was quickly revealed as a city slicker upon clearing weeds by hand and excitedly yelling, “Holy crap, escargots!” Up until then, I had previously believed that snails originated solely from the scenic waters of Bourgogne and were indigenous in the U.S. only on the plates of wealthy Park Avenue matrons dining at La Cote Basque. Have I mentioned that I was the Fresh Prince?

(3) Crawling through empty dormitories at the end of every semester to scavenge discarded text books that could be re-sold to the student bookstore.

Eventually I got a highly-lucrative job teaching tennis to housewives at a country club. While my peers were making $5.00/hour toiling at the library or making avocado-and-sprouts sandwiches at Café Med, I was booking a relatively cushy $35/hour working on my tan and cooing the phrase “lightly grab the racquet and shake hands with it gently.” Could life get any better?

After leaving college, I moved to Washington, DC where, after several fruitless job endeavors, I found work doing something I truly enjoyed...writing.

I loved writing for a living. Not only was it intellectually stimulating but I also found that I enjoyed the solitude of the work. Whether penning lifestyle pieces for local magazines or dissecting government policy for think tank journals, I felt as if I had found my true calling. Yes, I thought to myself. This is the life for me.

After several arduous and back-breaking years, I began thinking that maybe it wasn't the life for me. As anyone who has spent any time as a freelance writer knows, it's incredibly stressful trying to figure out where or when your next paycheck is coming. It's disheartening to spend two weeks writing a piece only to be paid less than one might have received working at a fast-food restaurant. Writing requires such an indomitable spirit and a steadfast dedication to craft that I sometimes believe that the low wages exist solely to weed out the disingenuous.

Harlan Ellison, in an interview published in Writer's Digest, once said that anyone can become a writer. The trick is not in becoming a writer, it is in staying a writer. Day after week after month after year.

Ultimately I chose to abandon writing as a career because I not only had doubts about my ability but also because I found my personality ill-suited for the personal sacrifices required to pursue the craft. After all, I wasn't nicknamed the Prince for nothing. If I could pursue another career, make enough money to eat sushi every night and travel the world, yet still pursue writing as a hobby that was probably good enough for me. Once I came to that realization, I never looked back.

Until today.

Tonight, as I was getting the Peanut ready for bed, we sat down and I asked her what she wanted to do for a living when she grew up.

"I think I want to be a writer when I get older, Daddy. Or maybe an artist."

"Well, kiddo. You know that you're immensely talented and you can be anything you want to be when you grow up."

"How about you, Daddy? Would you want to be a writer too? Wouldn't it be great if we could both be writers together?"

"Maybe, sweetie. Right now, I'm more focused on working so that we have a roof over our heads and food on our table. Maybe someday, we'll both be writers and we can write in the same room together."

"I'd like that, Daddy. I'd like that a lot."

Shortly thereafter she fell asleep and I was left feeling an enormous sense of pride. In some ways, I felt like one of those soccer/football/hockey dads who never quite get over their glory days and wish nothing more than having their child fulfill all of their own dreams and fantasies. But really, it was something more than that. It was this incredible feeling that this little kid whose diapers you changed and whose boogers you wiped suddenly, for the first time, has her own set of dreams and fantasies.

Recently, the Peanut wrote a poem about love that moved me beyond belief.

I'm speechless.

She's SEVEN.

Clearly, she's already a better poet that I have ever been.

I'm not posting this as one of those overly proud parents boasting "Look and see what my progeny has done!" I'm posting it because as an adult, one always forgets the depth of emotion of which little children are capable. I'm posting it because I'm a little at a loss on how to best foster her talents and dreams of being a writer. And I'm posting it because I continue to be in awe of the constant surprises that come with parenthood.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to the day when the Peanut's first book is published and I can start pimping out her Amazon page to all of you. 

Maybe then, I can finally retire to the good life.

You know, until my "real" parents find me...

Comments

[Jessica]

Beautiful. The Peanut has clearly inherited your talents.

[JMom]

But you have fostered her talents!

[Dadcation]

I, for one, would love to see you do more writing. How about starting with a short story?

[Lana]

Lost dreams of royalty, Jersey rib joints, 1985 Eddie Murphy, escargot, writing as a career, and the creative juices of a young child. All in one post. This is why I love your writing. Thanks, MD

[Vivian - vxdollface]

Well done on raising her to be so well versed! Can't believe she's only seven! Looking forward to Peanut's future book ;)

[mia]

Holy crap, Peanut is so articulate. Um, when I was seven, I wrote poems that rhymed cat with mat and flat.

[Amy]

Yes! Please shamelessly promote Peanut's chef d'oeuvres to us when it is time! Great writing! Do you think it is hereditary?

[Jenna]

The Peanut has real talent. That poem is simply amazing. Practically brings a tear to my eye.

[sarah]

your 7 year old baby girl wrote that?!

are you telling me that YOU just don't have 7 year old handwriting? amazing.

also?

"...anyone can become a writer. The trick is not in becoming a writer, it is in staying a writer. Day after week after month after year."

thanks for that. i needed to read that right now.

[Gayle]

She's amazing! Before a weekly meeting, my boss (or anyone who so desires) reads a poem to start the meeting. I would love to read this one to them, if you and Peanut would agree. I work in palliative care for cancer patients and Peanut's poem speaks to me and my work on many levels.

[LOD]

Lovely poem, lovely girl.

Ghostbusters?

[snickollet]

Maddie (age 5), who was having difficulty getting to sleep tonight, happened to wander into my room while I was reading this post. I asked her if she wanted to read a poem written by a seven-year-old girl, and we read Peanut's poem together.

After we read it, Maddie just nodded, and said, "I like the line about the stars in my heart, and the part about things rising high in the night." And she wandered back to bed and fell asleep.

Beautiful. Rise up high to the night, Peanut.

[Jayanti]

peanut is a very smart n sensitive young girl. you have raised a wonderful girl. love the poem written by her. it brings tears to my eyes. God Bless.

you must write more often MD.

[Marlene]

"I'm posting this because as an adult, one always forgets the depth of emotion of which little children are capable."

As someone who teaches kindergarten, I can tell you that this is the one thing that continues to surprise and amaze me on a daily basis. The Peanut is incredibly gifted. I think you're already fostering her talent. Keep up the great work.

[Rose]

Please write more!

[jae]

For somebody who claims to "love" writing, you sure don't write on here much. That's my way of saying keep up the good work! As a single dude, reading this blog makes me really look forward to becoming a parent.

[Derek]

You really should be writing for a living. I'd love to see you have your own column or publish a book of essays. I know I'd buy it!

[Lan]

i'm reading this thoughtful post and all i can think about is, Eddie Murphy was in Ghostbusters?

[Sora]

I too imagined that I was adopted by my immigrant parents as a child and fantasized about the day my more "American" ones would find me. I also wished that I was blonde. I don't feel so guilty anymore!

Your daughter's poem is so powerful. Think of what she will be writing in the years ahead! You've created an environment for her to be able to express herself fully through her writing. That's powerful too.

[Isabella]

One of my favorite posts that you've ever written!

[Felisa]

That is just too darling. The Peanut will be going places as a writer :)

[grace]

omg, i love this post. and this is only the second time i've commented here. she's a prodigy! get her an agent! stat!

[Pattie]

I loved pretty much everything about this post. It actually might be my new favorite of yours. :)

And, oh my stars -- the Peanut's poem blew me away. What a young talent she is.

[Linda V]

Stars begin to rise in my heart. Oh my. Well, she sure knows what love is like...to have and to lose.

Simply lovely.

I just watched Delirious again. Seriously. He certainly did have it, and I have the shame of really loving Party All The Time.

Lovely poem. Brought tears.

[Sara J.]

Your daughter has an incredibly creative mind and is an amazing writer. I look forward to great things from her.

[kathy]

It's kind of creepy that I had the same dreams of lost royalty! Clearly there's something in the second generation psyche that lends itself to illusions of grandeur. ;-) Great post and thanks for sharing.

[Janet]

She's a born writer. As are you. I look forward to reading more of both of you in the years ahead.

[Bonnie]

Good god! Peanut IS a little progeny! I'm excited to see how she hones her skills as a writer. If she doesn't become a writer, I'm pretty sure she'll be the first female Asian American president. The girl can negotiate!

[Molly]

Amazing. I'm in awe of the Peanut's depth of emotion and writing skills. She's a special girl. And you're a special dad.

[NatalieKimNYC]

First off, I also always thought I was DEFINITELY deserving of Donald Trump-like rich parents. Secondly, your daughter's poem is lovely. And you are definitely a special dad!!!!

[Angela]

This is amazing. I have been working with kids for a while and they never fail to surprise me. Continue to be awed by Peanut...

[kath]

And that PUNCTUATION! She ought to give lessons to my twenty-something law students.

[sukanya]

Totally agree with everyone else's comments. YOU SHOULD WRITE MORE!! Easier said than done coming from someone who aspires to write a novel one day, when I am old and grey.
I found your blog just a few days ago and I am completely hooked. As for Peanut, well what can I say....you are both lucky to have each other.
I can totally see her as a winning poet/author.
Good job MD.

[Karina]

Talent runs in the family. Foster it well. I look forward to seeing both your names on the best-sellers list some day!

[Ninja-turtles123]

First of all, just beautiful, and jaw-droppingly amazing stuff from the Peanut! She is a treasure. (whether or not she becomes a writer)

Second of all, what is holding you back? We only have one life, as you know, Prince.

[Jemima]

You both need to write a book!

[Wedding Photography]

This is a so moving. Your little one has really the talent. :) Hope to be reading her book in the nest 20 years. :)

[defendUSA]

That is really awesome!!

[sewa elf]

Nice article, thanks for the information.

[Dave]

Thanks for making my kid look like a dumb-ass. Bastard!

[Gina]

Please write more. I love your posts!

[Holmes]

That poem is gorgeous.

[Elaine]

Peanut is amazing! Please write more, I love your writing too.

[Mike]

Good blog today

[Grandmother]

In the 70's, I aspired to live in the Berkeley Hills with my two sons (childsplayx3 and @bjhenry) and their gay godfather and dance.

Being a Marin County housewife was never a plan B.

The 70's, now that was a wild decade, for hot stuff and bad girls.

[Jill]

That was a beautiful story. I hope that you will get to write with her. You two are great togather and over the years, I have seen how much she really is like you. Keep up the good work.

[Aika]

Beautiful! I bet she'll be a better writer when she grow up :)

[Rock-a-Bye Baby Gifts]

If it wasn't for the childish scrawl I would say that could be written by a very eloquent adult. Well done Peanut.

[anna]

It's been awhile since I commented, but I read this post some time ago and then forgot about it. However, I started teaching the 3rd graders at my school how to create their own books with a website called "Storybird" and they LOVE it. You should sign Peanut up. The illustrations are great and there's a social aspect in that people can leave comments for one another.

[timeshare get out]

Well done for a seven year old. Most of the now are intelligent that's why I know that they can do this poetry.