By Amir Said
I was one paragraph into a new spec-script that I'm writing, when I called my son (Amir) to come check it out. After briefing him on the initial scope of the story, he went back to watching Sport Center, and I wheeled around back into my spec-script.
No fewer than 5 Sport Center commercial breaks later, I was done with the entire breakdown of the story. At this point, I called for Amir to come back so I could go over the story with him. He came back, grabbed his chair, and rolled up next to my desk. Then I divulged the full story to him. As I read component after component, critical detail after critical detail, the light in Amir's glowed. Amir was born with this light in his eyes. It's a subtle brightness that is as easily warm and engaging as it is rigidly stern and cold. Indeed, the light in Amir's eyes is beautiful. But in the 12 years that I've thus been blessed to know my son, I have never seen the light in his eyes illuminate the way they did earlier this morning. As I read out loud my spec-script to Amir, the light in Amir's eyes expanded and graced his entire face. With each layer of detail that I announced about the story, the sheen of Amir's light shined ever so crisp; and the smile on his face erupted, widening deeper as I continued to read to him. At that moment, I witnessed Amir realize that he too is a writer...
Amir Ali Said (my son)