Post by whisper on Oct 4, 2009 10:27:20 GMT -8
I know. I've been away for a long time. Almost a year, I think. I'm not really sure why, writing just didn't take a central place in my life for a while. I was busy and I was unhappy with many things. I guess it didn't occur to me that maybe the reason I was unhappy with them was because I wasn't writing about them anymore. So, what has changed? Well, my Creative Writing teacher threatened to fail me if I didn't take independent studies with him this year and so here I am, three independent studies over an entire school year, and writing again.
And also applying to colleges. Scary, huh? I have about 17 essays to write for supplements and what not, and decided to start with the easiest:
"Describe a person who has had a major influence on you and explain that influence."
615 piggy-back rides, 3,292 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, 877 story times, 5,110 good-night kisses—
Is this the epitome of fourteen years of a relationship? Are these materials the only cost, the debt that has been built up like a bar tab? Do I add dollar signs to these numbers, so that I can pay up and we’ll be even? Do these numbers multiply and divide and raise to the power of n, so that the solution can be legitimate?
Daddy thought so.
Because 615 piggy-back rides, 3,292 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, 877 story times, and 5,110 good-night kisses all added up to one thing: one goodbye.
One goodbye and Daddy was gone. Daddy no longer existed; my father took over an empty shell of what used to be and Daddy’s girl was left alone in the darkness: my greatest childhood fear. The moment he chose the path that took him—and us—to where we are now, Daddy was but a memory of happier times and only my father remained; a cold, mean shadow of the man he had once been.
Daddy was a man I respected. He knew so many things, had an answer for all questions. He was a playmate, a comforter, a teacher, a master chef, an expert bug killer, an ice-cream snatcher, a terrible dancer, a horrific singer, and most importantly, he was my Daddy. He was there to put a band-aid on my cuts and bruises. He was there to zip my jacket, tie my sneakers, hold my hand, and walk me to the bus stop. He was there to help with math problems, think of ideas for essays, study Middle Eastern maps, and memorize vocabulary. He was there to carve pumpkins, and stuff stockings, and hide eggs around the house.
He was my favorite person in the whole world, and he changed. He became a different man, with a different life and a different family, with different priorities. He became only my father, and he’ll never be anything more.
People say divorce is hard. They talk about it, write college essays about it, they pity themselves for this misfortune and they want other people to know how they suffer. My parents’ divorce was no big deal. Not a single voice raised in anger, not a single dispute over property or finances. The divorce in all its mechanical attributes was perfection; the successful divorce.
I don’t care. In all honesty, it makes no difference to me whether I have to drive ten minutes out of my way to spend every other weekend at a different house. Given time, I’ve even come to accept the fact that I do indeed have a step-mother and two step-siblings, despite my best efforts to pretend they weren’t real. It’s not the changes in my lifestyle that I can’t move past, can’t get over, and can’t forgive.
It’s the changes that occurred in the one person that meant the world to me.
Without Daddy, the world was a scary place. For a long time, I was lost and it felt like nothing could bring me back. And even though I hate my father for making Daddy disappear, in the end, it’s my father who taught me the most important lesson: that I am who I make myself to be. It isn’t other people who tell me the kind of person I am, the kind of life I will lead. Those people won’t always be there. I am important; my ideas, my voice, my strength will get me where I want to be. By leaving, Daddy made me strong. He made me into the person I am today; a person who can zip her own zipper and walk alone to the bus stop.
A person who can turn on a light when she gets afraid of the dark; maybe even a person who isn’t so afraid anymore
And also applying to colleges. Scary, huh? I have about 17 essays to write for supplements and what not, and decided to start with the easiest:
"Describe a person who has had a major influence on you and explain that influence."
615 piggy-back rides, 3,292 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, 877 story times, 5,110 good-night kisses—
Is this the epitome of fourteen years of a relationship? Are these materials the only cost, the debt that has been built up like a bar tab? Do I add dollar signs to these numbers, so that I can pay up and we’ll be even? Do these numbers multiply and divide and raise to the power of n, so that the solution can be legitimate?
Daddy thought so.
Because 615 piggy-back rides, 3,292 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, 877 story times, and 5,110 good-night kisses all added up to one thing: one goodbye.
One goodbye and Daddy was gone. Daddy no longer existed; my father took over an empty shell of what used to be and Daddy’s girl was left alone in the darkness: my greatest childhood fear. The moment he chose the path that took him—and us—to where we are now, Daddy was but a memory of happier times and only my father remained; a cold, mean shadow of the man he had once been.
Daddy was a man I respected. He knew so many things, had an answer for all questions. He was a playmate, a comforter, a teacher, a master chef, an expert bug killer, an ice-cream snatcher, a terrible dancer, a horrific singer, and most importantly, he was my Daddy. He was there to put a band-aid on my cuts and bruises. He was there to zip my jacket, tie my sneakers, hold my hand, and walk me to the bus stop. He was there to help with math problems, think of ideas for essays, study Middle Eastern maps, and memorize vocabulary. He was there to carve pumpkins, and stuff stockings, and hide eggs around the house.
He was my favorite person in the whole world, and he changed. He became a different man, with a different life and a different family, with different priorities. He became only my father, and he’ll never be anything more.
People say divorce is hard. They talk about it, write college essays about it, they pity themselves for this misfortune and they want other people to know how they suffer. My parents’ divorce was no big deal. Not a single voice raised in anger, not a single dispute over property or finances. The divorce in all its mechanical attributes was perfection; the successful divorce.
I don’t care. In all honesty, it makes no difference to me whether I have to drive ten minutes out of my way to spend every other weekend at a different house. Given time, I’ve even come to accept the fact that I do indeed have a step-mother and two step-siblings, despite my best efforts to pretend they weren’t real. It’s not the changes in my lifestyle that I can’t move past, can’t get over, and can’t forgive.
It’s the changes that occurred in the one person that meant the world to me.
Without Daddy, the world was a scary place. For a long time, I was lost and it felt like nothing could bring me back. And even though I hate my father for making Daddy disappear, in the end, it’s my father who taught me the most important lesson: that I am who I make myself to be. It isn’t other people who tell me the kind of person I am, the kind of life I will lead. Those people won’t always be there. I am important; my ideas, my voice, my strength will get me where I want to be. By leaving, Daddy made me strong. He made me into the person I am today; a person who can zip her own zipper and walk alone to the bus stop.
A person who can turn on a light when she gets afraid of the dark; maybe even a person who isn’t so afraid anymore
Vulcan, I did get into my college! My creative writing teacher wrote a wonderful recommendation that probably would've gotten me into any school haha
