It was not until two or three weeks before school was to end for the summer. Our sixth grade teacher gave the class a writing assignment; the assignment had to do with dreams, and I went into a bad mad spell. However, after talking to my grandmother I settled down somewhat, but I never forgave that teacher for giving that assignment; I knew that I had no dream to remember, and I did not want to tell some dream that sounded like everyone else's, and I did not want to lie about an entire dream. This dream took so long to remember; in fact, it took one interview after another, one story after another; some dream stories that made no sense what so ever, and some stories that you knew that they were not true. Some how I knew that there was some truth to my dream; because of the individuals that were in my dream, I knew almost all of the individuals in my dream, and I deserved to know my dream. It was not until I started to interview many of the adults, some that you will read about, and some you will not, unless I have time to use their dream story. The stories that I did use was because their stories were fantastic, true and fantastic. I also went through some personal dream experiences, and it took all additional dreams on my part just to get this bizarre and yet evasive dream to surface. When the assignment became the teacher was extremely happy the way her class came through so well for her; the class had finished on time, and unbelievably I to finished my dream story, perhaps not the entire story, but enough of it to get my teacher's attention. Everyone, and I mean everyone in the class received B's and B+ on their dream stories, and a comment from the teacher that they did very well on their stories, and that she was awesomely proud of each of her students. I was totally at a loss, when the teacher did not return my paper to me, and then had the nerve to ask me to stay in after the school bell rang for dismissal. I did not know what to expect from her; she asked me to sit down, which I nervously did, and then she looked me straight in the eye and handed me my paper. I did not know what to say but thank you; as I was ready to get up from the chair and leave, she asked me to wait just one more minute. Shorty, I would like it if you would read me the comment that I put on the top of your paper, and Shorty, I meant every word of it. This is what the teacher wrote on the top of my paper; there was a large A+ at the top left hand of my paper. However, under the A+, there was a note; the note said this, "Shorty, you describe this dream story with such rich, unfolding detail that it becomes a joy to read. You are an excellent writer-wordsmith-poet, with a true gift. I felt great that the teacher would do this for me, after all that I mentally thought about her for giving that writing assignment. The thing about it is that the dream story was by no ways finished, there was so much more that I remembered that there was not enough time for me to finish. However, what I did write earned me an A+, and my mom, dad, and grandparents were very proud of me. Everyone took their turn at reading my story, and of course, they all agreed with the teacher, but of course they would, and I happened to be the son and the grandson who wrote the paper. Two voices spoke out, Grandmother, and of course, Grandfather had to agree with her. Grandmother, looked at me and said, "Shorty, there is a lot more to this story, now is that not true, and some day you must finish it." My reply to Grandmother, "Grandmother, I promise, I will finish that story just for you." Yes, the story will soon be finished. In December of 2008, the story was finally finished.
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