Give A Little Love... And Get A Whole Lot More

I'm going to start by saying I wish I had taken notes. I'm still new at this blogging thing, so keeping track of everything that happens, and taking pictures too, is foreign to me. If anyone wants to follow me around taking notes and pictures of my adventures, please contact me. The pay sucks, and I'm kind of mean, but I'll drag you to cool places and make you laugh.

Moving on...

Valentine's Day. There are so many things, good or bad,that can be said about this holiday, but this post isn't about any of that.

This post is about a room full of random people in an old brick building reading words that caused a stir.

"Give A Little Love a night of poetry with Rachel Miner" was an event at Rapp's Saloon on Second Street in Santa Monica, CA, benefiting Random Acts and hosted by the folks at The Greater LA GISHWHES group.

I brought my son Isaac along (he'll be 9 in March) because he likes Rachel and because I thought it would be a good experience for him to spend time with cool people and hear some poetry. He didn't want to go, but in fairness, he never wants to go anywhere. Tough noodles, kid, you're getting some culture for Valentine's Day.

We stopped at Target to get a few gift cards to donate at the event. I learned my lesson at the last event about donating large quantities of items and then trying to lug them to the event site after barely finding parking. No weightlifting for me this time, thanks.

I wasn't sure what to expect with this 'open mic' event, but I should have known that it would be casual, because Rachel is just awesome like that. It was very laid back and informal. A few chairs, a few cushions on the floor, a snack table, and a valentine creation station. The idea was to make a valentine and then everyone would get to take one home at the end of the evening.

Well, my son wasn't having any of that. He took one look at all the heart shapes, stamps, stickers, and glittery letters, and it was on. He made one valentine for Rachel, made a second one, and then made a third one before he finally wandered back to sit with me for the readings.

Rachel read several of her own poems from her youth. They ran the gambit from angsty and confrontational to thought provoking and inspiring. A real pleasure to hear. Someone read Misha Collins' Watermelon poem... disturbingly well. A fart poem helped to lighten the mood at one point. We also had a poem about, and I'm going to butcher this, Chinese female ninja superheroes? It was cute.

Isaac asked me if I had brought a poem to read. I had submitted one, and a printed copy had been provided to me when I asked if it had been received. I told him I had one, but I was going to wait to read it.

Piece after piece was read, and each time my son looked over with that "How about now?" face that he gets when he's impatient. Finally, I couldn't put it off any longer and I volunteered to read my piece.

I explained that I had written this for the cast of Supernatural after their own acts had inspired me to start Random Fandom Life. I took a breath and read. Everyone was very kind in response, and one person requested that I put the poem on the internet so they could steal it. I was flattered. (Still am, actually.)

We had Shakespeare, Maya Angelou, and a great poem from a female poet whose name sounded Russian, maybe?

There was a brand new author among us named Anna who had just published her own book which she read from.

The lovely Jane (@janieloves6 on Twitter) read an incredibly moving piece written by one of her daughters.

Another woman asked someone to read a Rainbow Bridge story. A gentleman volunteered and managed to make it the whole way through. I tried not to cry. I failed. I wasn't the only one.

It was fascinating to hear the selections people chose. I was inspired by those people who got up and read like it was as easy as breathing.

But more so than anything else, I was caught off guard by how proud I felt of those people who were obviously terrified of speaking in front of even such a small gathering of people, but did it anyway and lived to tell the tale. I was proud because they were me and I was them and together we were a room full of random people in an old brick building reading words that caused a stir.

And for the person that wanted to steal my poem, I have placed it below with the caveat that you can't steal it (not that you were really going to anyway), but you are more than welcome to share it.

Awesome
by Kearson Winchester

You can't see me, but I see you.

On my TV, on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram

I see you.

I see you pouring out your heart in every word and glance.

I see you making the world a better place when you don't have to.

I see you reaching, pushing, driving.

I see you missing out, sacrificing, bleeding, crying.

I see you giving everything for me, for us, for all.

You can't see me, but I see you, doing your best.

And seeing you makes me more aware of me and all the things that I can be.

You inspire me to be the kind of person people will look to and say "You can't see me, but I see you."

You give me hope that some day we all can see, and be, awesome.