I was beginning to realize that I’d never seen him so upset before. With another part of my mind I was thinking that this would probably turn out to be one of those things kids go through and that I shouldn’t make it seem important by pushing it too hard. Still, I didn’t think it would do any harm to ask: “Doesn’t all this take a lot of time? Can you make a living at it?
He turned back to me and half leaned, half sat, on the kitchen table. “Everything takes time,” he said, “and— well, yes sure, I can make a living at it. But what I don’t seem to be able to make you understand is that it’s the only thing I want to do—”
“Well, Sonny,” I said gently, “you know people can’t always do exactly what they want to do—”
“No, I don’t know that,” said Sonny, surprising me. “I think people ought to do what they want to do, what else are they alive for?”
First off, this story is marvelous and it made me cry more than once. A sweet fact about me is that I absolutely love reading. I almost love reading more than writing. It takes me to places I've never been, and to a place overall that is away from the world and into my own. Back to the story, I wanted to put the whole thing on my blog, but I've read up to this part and I really feel like this is perfect. It's exactly how I feel about writing. Sonny's whole disposition on being a musician is exactly how I feel about being a writer. I really, really loved this.
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