Books and Writing

Manny wrote, a lot. Sometimes he was so articulate his writing served as that proverbial window. Sometimes you had to work hard and with imagination to extract the meaning from between the sparse lines. Always with messy handwriting.

You know, once a teacher suggested to me that I might like to keep him home on NAPLAN day. When I questioned her, it wasn't that he couldn't do the test, it was that the marker might struggle to read what he'd written, thus marking him wrong.

I sometimes wrote letters to him. Usually little notes, hidden in lunchboxes, tucked into school diaries, under his pillow. Sometimes they were long, trying every way I could to tell him how much I loved him, particularly after a stupid row, or a teenage slump. I created birthday books that I invited family members to fill with 'Reasons why Manny is Awesome'. I wrote Santa letters and Easterbunny clues, my favourite being the Tooth Fairy's crazy adventures with his super powered teeth. I wish I'd written down the Tweet stories, there were surely hundreds of those. Forgotten.

He wrote for me too.

Probably some were forced (school Mothers Day cards) or (write a letter home telling Mum how great this trip is). But most were heart felt missives filled with fierce, sweet boyish love. A million little 'I love you's scrawled on PostIts or ripped out notes. Often a funny little picture or heart too, usually on my pillow or stuck to the bathroom mirror. But some of them would be heartfelt apologies, for some rudeness or surly attitude. Once he implored me to deny him an upcoming treat, he didn't deserve it he said. He was tough on himself, much tougher than anyone else. The beginnings of that monster that tormented him and wouldn't let him be.

So, I have decided to create a literary award as part of the Hunter Writers Centre's 'Grieve Project'. The Emanuel Arcaro Memorial Award. It's a modest little award, just like Manny was a modest man.

I love you so much my little man.