By Richard Mabey Jr.

This is a most sincere and earnest letter to all the young men out there, coming of age, mainly between those awkward years between being 17 to 21 years old. It is not meant to be chauvinist at all. But rather some kind and heart felt words from a 72 year old man, who now wishes someone had given him this advice of coming of age, back when he was 17.

To all the young men, coming of age, I know your pain. I know your struggles. I know the feeling of being pulled in a 101 directions, while still trying to remain true to your own calling, your own purpose, your own dreams.

In early September of 1970, I turned 17 and began my senior year at Boonton High School. I was a most sincere and dedicated student. I was the solid B student. I would get A’s in English and History classes, and C’s in Chemistry. I was head over heels in love with my girlfriend, Penny. I don’t think a boy could love a girl, more than I loved dear, sweet, kind Penny.

Penny’s Daddy was a plumber, he owned his own plumbing business. Mr. L. had two daughters. God had not given him a son. And, in many ways, I think he looked to me as being his adopted son. Mr. L. wanted me to take up the plumbing trade, to be his journeyman, to work for him. But plumbing just didn’t click for me. And, it created a subtle friction between Mr. L. and myself.

To all the young men out there, people will try to pull your heart and mind, in a certain direction. But you must always listen to your own heart, go out into the world to fulfill your dreams. And, without being crude or rude, stand your ground when people try to pull you into their dreams of what you should be.

In my senior year of high school, I was very active in my church, the First Reformed Church of Lincoln Park. I faithfully attended Sunday School, Youth Group and Church Services. My kind Minister, Reverend Duitsman wanted me to study to become a Minister. I prayed and prayed and prayed about it, but I knew deep in my heart, that God was calling me to a different path.

It was in the dawn of early September of 1970, that I began reading a book by the late great Thomas Wolfe, entitled, “Look Homeward, Angel.” I was in awe of Mr. Wolfe’s writing. His book touched my heart and strengthened my own calling from God, to put words down on paper, to move the human heart with words. Yet, it was to be a rough and winding road for me to find the courage to step out and define
myself as a writer.

You see, I was listening to other people, to whom I greatly respected and admired. They were well meaning in trying to pull me in a certain direction, to pursue a vocation that they thought would be best for me. I allowed their opinions to dampen the inner voice from God, calling me to be a writer.

My high school Guidance Counselor was guiding me to become a teacher. I was active in scouts and loved the great outdoors. The Camp Ranger at Camp Allamuchy tried to convince me to pursue a career as a Camp Ranger. My dear, beloved Mom would tell me that I would make a great doctor. My dear, sweet girlfriend would often tell me I should consider working for her Daddy. There were times, in my senior
year of high school, when my head would spin with all so many people, trying to pull me in all so many directions.

To all the young men out there, coming of age, I just cannot stress it enough, to thine own self be true.

Through all the people trying to lasso me into following careers, that they thought would be best for me, one man knew me better than I knew myself. And that man was my beloved father.

I started writing for the Lincoln Park Herald when I was 12 years old. It was a little, small town weekly newspaper. I wrote scout news, youth group happenings and about little events in my neighborhood. My father would often tell me that I had a gift for writing. That I should guard that gift. That my talent for writing, was a gift from God.

But something traumatic happened in my senior year of high school. My English Teacher assigned us to write about a person who had a profound effect upon our lives. I wrote a story about my late, paternal grandfather, Watson Mabey. I poured my heart out in writing that story. I must have done a dozen rewrites of that story. I thought for sure, I was going to get an A+ on that story.

I was devastated when the English Teacher handed me back my composition, with the grade of C- on it. To top it off, she wrote on the first page of my essay these words, “sloppy emotionalism.” I was crushed.

After school let out for the day, waiting for the school bus, I found a quiet place, a nook to be alone in the school and cried my eyes out. I told myself that I didn’t have the right stuff to be a writer.

To all the young men, coming of age, please do not ever allow anyone to dowse the flames of your dreams that burn brightly in your heart. My father told me to ignore my English Teacher’s tough grade of C-. My father reminded me that I had a gift from God, to be able to put words down on paper.

To all the young men, coming of age, never ever surrender your dreams to someone else’s cruel words.

Never surrender. Never give up the ship. Fight for your dreams. Hold steady to your dreams. Guard your calling from God. I cannot stress it enough, never give up! If you hit a thousand road blocks, if you fall down a hundred times, in pursuing your dreams, just stand up, proud and tall and march on toward fulfilling your dreams. Never surrender! Never give up!

Richard Mabey Jr. is a freelance writer. He has recently had two books published. He currently hosts a YouTube Channel entitled, “Richard Mabey Presents.” Richard may be contacted at richardmabeyjr@gmail.com.