Headwaters Wordsmithing

Writing for the actor, singer, and reader.

Birthed in the Northwoods of Wisconsin,  Headwaters Wordsmithing creates screenplays, lyrics, and books with an emphasis on faith in God...and a minor emphasis on coffee.  Make yourself at home.

Blast from the Past: "The Autograph"

It's presently dark, the dawn still a couple of hours away.

I'm up, the other 2/3 of the family will be rolling out shortly.  Today we're gonna go to the City and see The DAGU & The SIL (Son-In-Law).

Things will be a bit hectic for the weekend and I really want to post something.  All 5 of you take the time to visit and there oughta be at least a snack or something to munch on.

So I again revert to that homemade bastion of brevity - leftovers.  Leftovers are quick, can be plopped on tables, and presented without flourish.  But, hey...you guys are special and I appreciate your visits, so let's try some flourish.



Flourish is a subjective thing.

How 'bout a little background into the making of this leftover?  That might help.  Maybe.

When this was written The DAGU (Daughter All Grown Up) and the Fiance (who are now husband & wife, expecting their 1st, and the reason for the City trip) were coming to the Little-House-On-The-Corner for Easter.  Due to work, weather, and being young, they were running late.  Really late. That's where the story picks up - early Easter morning, a couple of years ago...


At a quarter after 3 on Easter morning, I opened the door to greet the DAGU and the Fiance.

Hugs and quiet greetings filled the Living/Dining/Family/Computer room of the Little-House-On-The-Corner.

"Here, Dad."  The DAGU's grin was laughing. I looked at the Fiance as I took the black cardboard box.  He was grinning, too.

Inside there was a Green Bay Packer football helmet.  A replica, its called.
It would fit a 3rd Grade PeeWee football player - if he was, indeed, a peewee.

It glistened as I turned it, shiny and new.
Nice, I thought, a nice gift from a DAGU who knows her dad's heart.

And then I saw the black scrawl across the left side of the helmet.


What's this
?, I asked.

Their smiles got bigger.

"That's where Coach McCarthy signed it, Dad!"

Suddenly the value and worth of this small helmet rocketed up the charts to  "My Preeeeeeciousss" status.

The Coach had signed this with his own Sharpee!
His own unique signature.

And then the DAGU fired up her smartphone to show me pictures of herself standing next to the Coach - and wearing his Super Bowl ring!

Ohhhhh my.

I looked down at the autographed helmet shining in my hands.
I felt like Sheldon when Penny gave him that autographed napkin from Leonard Nimoy.

("Big Bang Theory" reference.  It's okay if you don't get it.  Really.)

Ohhhhhhh wow.

It's now about 48 hours later.  The Kids have gone back to the City.  It's early-morning-dark and the house is quiet.

I take a pull of the Elixir of Knowledge.


Isn't it amazing what an autograph can do to an ordinary, nothing-special object?

A pull of the Elixir erodes the top of a thought.  Another healthy sip makes it visible.


We're something more than just "us" - because He touched us.

And He wrote His name on us with something more lasting than a Sharpee.

Something priceless and precious.

And red.

And now we're priceless.  And precious.

But it's not our own doing.

It's His touch and His autograph.


Autographs make for some pretty important stuff, eh?

There's Leonard Nimoy's napkin.
And Coach McCarthy's helmet.

And then there's you and me.

All content copyrighted by Dennis R. Doud. Website designed by Isaac Doud.