Today I had coffee with a person who gave up!

A person who has written a great book but has received a few rejections for the manuscript.  In response he has shelved the book, decided not to write anymore and now feels like a failure.

I told him about a young kid I once knew many years ago in my hometown of Johannesburg in South Africa. This kid could not read very well but he loved books.

I think I remember him becoming obsessed with the original Winnie The Pooh book in grade 5. He friggin’ carried that book around with him everywhere he went.  The kid was a little ‘off center’ I must say.  A little ‘different’ perhaps. I remember him saying over and over that when he grew up he was going to write and draw books like the Winnie The Pooh book he loved so much.  And to tell you the truth, I believed him.

He drew comic strips, composed poems, wrote short stories and sent love letters all day long.  Kids made fun of him at school.  In fact they called him Willie at high school, short for William Shakespeare.  (That was not a compliment because a Willie is…well…you know what a Willie is.)

He became obsessed with writing and drawing books.  He started submitting books for publication in matric (his final year at high school).

No luck.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zero.

For twelve years he sent out submissions to publishers and got nothing but rejection after rejection.

When he was thirty-two years old a publisher finally said yes to one of his books.

Since then over 50 of his books have been published with a million and a half copies in print in 18 languages.  (A number of which are in this picture.)

That little boy who became obsessed with Winnie The Pooh. The kid who was called Willie at school and had over 400 manuscript rejections…

…That little kid was me.

I also told the person who ‘gave up’ about a kid named Alex who also wanted to be a writer and drawer of books like me.  I bet he would have written some great books because Alex had wonderful ideas and a fantastic imagination. Unfortunately his life was cut short when he was six years old by childhood cancer.  Alex and I drew and wrote little stories at the hospital together until the very end of his life.

I wish little Alex had lived to peruse the opportunities that so many people give up on like the guy I had coffee with today.

People ask me what I do to handle all the time I spend on planes, trains and in automobiles during the USO tour. I have a one word answer. Doodle!

After cancelled flights and having to fly back from Guam via, Tokyo, Hawaii, and Dallas, we are a bit wobbly but have finally returned from the first leg of our USO – With You All The Way – World Tour. We visited bases on Hawaii and Guam (which is in the western Pacific Ocean). We are off to Korea and Japan next week to start leg 2.

Last week I was reminded of the power of friendship during our final day in Hawaii. After our presentation a young boy came up to me and thanked me profusely for coming to his school and helping them with their feelings. He was fighting back tears so hard he was trembling.

“I really miss my dad,” he said, his bottom lip quivering. “He’s been deployed so many times. And he’s gone again. I’m scared he may get hurt or…or …(deep painful sigh)… or he may never come back.”

A lone tear escaped, without permission, from his welling eyes.

“It just hurts so much,” he said, quickly rubbing the tear from his cheek and glancing around to make sure none of his classmates had seen him cry. “It really hurts.”

I crouched down and looked directly into his eyes and said, “I’m proud of you man. It takes a brave person to express their real feelings, like you’re doing right now, especially in front of friends and classmates. It takes a lot of courage. Seriously.”

He cocked his head. “For real?”

“I sometime cry when I’m hurting,” I said. “And I’m a grown man, dude.”

“You do?”

“Uh huh.” I replied.

And then the tears came. Oh my goodness. Big painful tears spilled from the little guys eyes and rolled down his ruddy cheeks framed by his long, tousled, hair.

You could instantly see the relief on his face. Such relief. It was amazing.

Then something remarkable happened.

His buddy (a River Phoenix look-alike) who was standing next to him, put his arm around the boy and said, “It’s okay. You helped me when my dad was gone. I’ll help you. Okay?”

The crying boy nodded.

“I’m with you all the way,” said the other boy, patting him on the back and putting his arm around him again. “I’m with you all the way.”

I said goodbye to the boys and went back to the stage to get my bag. I didn’t realize I was crying until a little girl, who was also in the presentation, handed me a crumpled up Kleenex and smiled, knowingly.

(Thanks Woody Englander for capturing the scene with your camera as the kids walked back to class and thanks, to my social work sidekick, Stephanie, for helping us make the first leg of our tour such a great success.)