The Littlest Ones

Helena Ducusin
Aug 31, 2018 · 3 min read

Growing up, I loved reading. My mom likes to say I have been reading since birth; she has this picture of me from when I was about four months old, holding one of those fabric picture books. While saying ‘since birth’ may be pushing it a little, I did read anything I could get my hands on. Our trips to the library were frequent and involved collecting stacks of books so tall I couldn’t see above them when carried. She began reading Harry Potter to me when I was in kindergarten, and I continued to read them on my own as soon as I could comprehend the majority of the words. Accompanying my love of reading was a love for writing. I massively enjoyed writing assignments in school and would write stories in my free time. Thinking back on my experiences as a writer, the most influential memory occurred on my eighth birthday.

Throughout my childhood, my parents had a rule that my siblings and I could each have a birthday party every other year. I hosted slumber parties, dinners at the Old Spaghetti Factory, and even a Wizard of Oz themed birthday bash. The year I turned eight, I desired a truly unique celebration of life; I decided to transform a story I had written into a play, directed by my mother and performed by my friends. The story in particular had been assigned by my second-grade teacher — an original fairy tale including a protagonist, antagonist, and traditional fairy tale plot structure.

I chose to venture into the unusual, and centered my story around the journey of three infants with magical powers countered by three evil witches and assisted by two talking animals. Titled “The Littlest Ones”, the tale tracked their adventure through an enchanted forest and various encounters with obstacles, progressing to an ultimate battle scene with the witches and followed by conflict resolution and a “happily ever after”. Thinking back, I’m impressed by the creativity and literary competency of my seven-year-old self.

With some guidance from my mom, I adapted this story into a stage production — except the stage was not a real stage, but my living room. No spotlights or curtains in a massive auditorium. Just a carpeted, naturally lit space with folding chairs for our small audience of proud parents.

A group of my friends came over, we held auditions, and I watched my story transform into reality right before my eyes. I remember the excitement and giddiness we all felt immediately before our opening (and closing) performance. I didn’t think much of it back then, but it was one of the first times I encountered tangible joy and connection to writing. With sheer commitment and determination, thoughts and ideas from inside my head were somehow shaped into this palpable experience, interpreted differently by each individual who witnessed it.

Though my eighth birthday did not spark a burning passion to become a playwright or actress, it did provide me with a pure, joyful memory connected to the act of writing. Since then, writing has become a critical tool for communication, an outlet for stress, and a method for sorting out my thoughts. At the current moment, I do not know exactly what my future with writing will hold, but I know I will always be writing in some form or another.

Helena Ducusin

Written by

Putting thought to paper and hoping it’ll be coherent.