Fallen Comrades…

“I will be out of the office from 10/02/2011 to begin my treatment and will not be responding to emails, I am unsure of my return date at present.”

I recieved the email in response to one I had sent. I was sent through the work network and I thought to myself that I had better resend the message once I got home.

I never did, there was little point.

“I am unsure of my return date at present.” He had written without knowing the true weight of the sentence.

I never knew the man well at all, I only spoke to him via emails and then only seldomly. This too made little difference, some people you don’t feel you need a hundred years to get to know; some people are just there like exibits in museums for you to walk around and peer at until you get their purpose.

His name was Bob, a name I always liked, and he seemed like a good man. No angel I’m sure, he was a man after all and few of us could have angelic aspirations, but there seemed little guile in him and what I read of his work portrayed a simplicity that hinted at wisdom.

Perhaps my assumtions are wrong, perhaps I have no right to comment.

Perhaps I will anyway.

He was a writer you see, and that builds a kinship that is as strong as any. His chosen field was childrens stories and that automatically puts him in a higher bracket than most.

Why you may ask?

Well, because those who write childrens stories have few, if any, pretentions and their chosen audience are some of the most demanding readers in the world. Children have none of the pretentions of sophistication that we adults like to hide behind. Children like what they like and will happily tell you, with the utter lack of regard for feelings that only children can have, if they don’t enjoy what they read.

Thats an arena that even the most sturdy gladiator would not step into; but Bob did, with so many others; and they do it without sword or shield. They do it simply because there is love for what they do.

So this is a little tribute to Bob, and to those people who write and create for the pure joy of creation: something childlike and pure, perfect and true; something that builds the future through the imaginations of today.

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