For whatever reason, I wish for this to be mostly a stand alone entry. I would say to those of you who haven’t been longtime readers, or those who weren’t willing to pick through the archives (and I can’t say I blame you. I tried to do it once and almost decided to delete 99% of it) that it might help to read this entry first.
Anyway, I’ve been off work for a few days so I have been trying to tackle a portion of the paper that exists in my life. I started with the cleaning of the side of the desk that I share with Alex ,to the drawer I have in the file cabinet. I use this drawer frequently, mostly by opening it, shoving papers inside, and shutting the door. I did this the year my mom decided to give each of her children a copy of her new, updated will for Christmas. I glanced at the front page and then shoved it into the drawer.
Deep down in the archives of my years I came across a folded piece of paper. It gave me pause immediately. It appeared yellow with age and perhaps a slight bit stained by water. I have no idea how it came into my possession, no recollection of ever having read it before. It was written by my Dad.
“Tammy is eight years old. I am her dad home from work and very tired. She tells me of her day at school. How Sister, her teacher, has some prayers for her to learn. I hold her list as she recites. She reads from her book and I learn how Africans spend their day. I look on as she does her Math. We talk of our fishing trips and of her thrill at using my pole. I hope that next time she will catch a fish. We play a card game called Fish. I try to make sure she ends up with more books than me. She snuggles next to me nearly asleep. I feel good and not tired at all. Now it is time for her to go to bed. I watch her slowly slowly fall asleep. How beautiful she is to me and how great it is to be a Dad.
.4 (152/16 + 2 100) = .4 (9.5+1.32) =.4 (10.8) = 4.32
5 long sentences”
You see, Pammy Sue, it’s not always sad. But it’s always there inside me, somewhere.
Currently listening to: Beck “Nobody’s Fault But My Own”
' September 16th, 2008 at 08:45pm 5 comments
Gah, I’m at work and can’t listen to the Beck song and that makes me mad.
Those 2 entries you linked are 2 of my favorite…they are just so conflicted and raw and honest and real.
I read several what I guess you would call “fluff” journals and I enjoy them but your writing is on another level.
I appreciate so much that you let us have these glimpses.
<3
Hi Bonnie,
That Beck song is from his album “Mutations” It’s absolutely beautiful no matter which way you hear him sing it, stripped down with just an acoustic guitar or with a harmonium.
One person critiqued my writing by saying, “It serves no purpose other than to vent.” I can remember feeling stung by that for a moment until I realized that if I needed to vent then that’s a pretty big purpose. I am conflicted and raw and I think that comes through.I would rather be a bubbly, funny, fluff writer but I can’t fake it so here I am. I originally started this journal as something for myself and slowly found that a few others were responding, and they were grateful. Now my readers are in my thoughts as well, and it helps to not have this be so solitary.
I hope you’re having a good day at work. Thank you for commenting.
Tammy
P.S. I was so excited to find your journal!!!
I found your blog today through Life Laundry, so this was the first post I read. I was struck by the loveliness of your father’s word, then saddened when I read back through his/your story. Thanks for writing- I know how hard it is to articulate loss, but I think it helps people.
I’m glad you have this great piece written by your father. I would hold on to these words and never let them go.
It’s taken almost a week but I’ve finally gone through your archives. Thanks for letting me into your life.