When Kat and I saw Ray Bradbury on Saturday, we gave him a Stegosaurus with two letters (one from each of us) wrapped on either side with red ribbon. Letters expressing warm wishes and our deepest love. I was so nervous about what to write, but as soon as I was past my nerves, the words flowed easily from my heart.

Dearest Ray,

Warmest birthday wishes! It is a pleasure to be able to celebrate the day of your birth with you, to honor the joy of being alive in your company. And even on your special day, it is you that comes to give us gifts: the gift of your wisdom, the gift of your works, the gift of your love. And so, I want to give back to you some of what you've given me--love.

Since the first time I met you thirteen years ago, in the public library of my youth where I first discovered the joy of books, I've been listening. I've watched as your eyes lit with the fire of life itself as you talked of your loves, of the need for all of us to follow the joys of our lives and celebrate each and every day the awe of truly being alive.

You were my Mr. Electrico. You pointed your finger at me, zapped me with the lightening of life itself, and commanded, "Love what you do! Do what you love!" You introduced me to the incredible talents of Jay Gerber, without a doubt the greatest actor I've ever seen take the stage. And together you've inspired me, or perhaps conspired, to force the metaphors from my mind and pour my love into ink and paper. With the same fervor you've shown me, I strive to mold into shape this one-act play that has bitten my leg and refuses to let go. Because after all these years of absorbing my loves, the metaphors have fermented into grand ideas, and I can no longer contain them.

And I want you to know that as I pour my love into this play, that every time my pen slides across the blank page, that every word that drips from its inkwell, is a direct result of the love you've shown me, your bastard son, conceived in the library stacks somewhere between Wells and Verne. I, like so many others, create with both the basic need of expression, and an intense desire to prove my love to the man who gave birth to who I am so many years ago.

You've been my hero, my mentor, my literary father. And one day I hope to fully prove my love to you. But for now I merely have this letter, to simply wish you the happiest of birthdays, the most joyous of celebrations. May the love you've given always return to you a hundred fold.

With Love,

John Walsh

Taking a piece of advice from a friend close to Ray, we both included our contact information with the letters. I didn't think too much of it.

And then my cell phone rang last night. And I had a voice mail.

What I heard made me burst out into the happiest tears a person could know.

Voice Mail (MP3)

"John Walsh, Ray Bradbury calling. Thank you for your wonderful letter. I love you very much. God bless you. Bye bye."

And I wept. For I knew then what I had somewhere always known.

Never, ever, for one second stop doing what you love. Never lose faith in it, never doubt for even a moment that your loves are the most important things ever in the world. "Love what you do! Do what you love!"

"An invasion of armies can be resisted, but not an idea whose time has come."
—Victor Hugo