A Christmas Wish

Saturday was always a good day to call my dad. He was usually in his big chair watching football, but he never seemed to mind that I interrupted his game. We would talk about his workouts at the gym, the recent happenings at his church, about his friends, and he always made me laugh. Dad would ask, "How are the children?" He loved every single one of those babies that my brothers and I gave him. Before we hung up, he would always say, "Tell the kiddies hello. Give them a big hug from me."  

Last Saturday, before goodbye, he said, "Well, I'll talk to you on Christmas."  That was something we could always count on, our Christmas Day chat.

Sleep has always eluded me, but the last couple of days it has been worse. I stare at the dark ceiling, and check the red light of the digital clock. It doesn't seem to change much. I wander into the living room, and set my computer on my lap. I try to read, or even write.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've been a light sleeper. During the middle of the night, I would awaken to the soft glow of light from the kitchen shining into the hallway, and the sound of the fridge opening and closing, and the rustling of a bag of cookies.  I would sit bolt upright in bed, and scramble out of the covers and off to the kitchen.  SNACK TIME WITH DADDY!

Daddy would get another cup from the cabinet and pour me a glass of milk. He would slide the cookie package between us so I could help myself to them. We had Chips Ahoy Chocolate Chip Cookies, or Oreos, or my favorite, Keebler Wedding Cookies, small round chocolate chip cookies covered in a thick coating of powdered sugar. I'm sure he would've preferred to have this quiet time to himself, but he always welcomed me to his midnight snack moment. My dad was so awesome. He worked hard, and was gone from home often, showing real estate or going to meetings for his town or business, so I cherished these special times that were just the two of us. When we were done, I would give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and scoot back to my bedroom. "Good night, Princess." I've always been his Princess. Princess Summerfall Winterspring.  

Last night's snack at two in the morning wasn't much fun. I drank my Kava tea, hoping it would settle my brain down long enough to sleep. I haven't had much of an appetite, but when I saw a box of See's chocolates opened on the counter, I popped one in my mouth on my way to bed. Everyone knows See's makes excellent chocolates, but even that piece of candy didn't taste good yesterday. I might as well have eaten sand lately for all of the good food has done me.

Now I realize that Daddy couldn't have known it might be harder to follow through on his comment, which I keep calling a promise, about talking to me on Christmas Day. It would just mean the world to me if he would find a way to do that. You see, my Dad had a heart attack Sunday afternoon, and for all of the help his sweet wife and friends tried to give him, it couldn't change the fact that he was gone.

I've tried to hear him, to practice for Christmas. I sit really still, and sometimes I think if he could talk to me, the words I would hear are, "Don't be sad, Princess." 

It's so hard, Dad. It's just so hard. We all thought you'd live forever, as foolish as that sounds to say. We always thought there'd be more time. More time for visits to Virginia, more time for long-distance phone calls, more time to tell you how awesome you are...how funny you are...how loved you are. And now our time is up. We had our chances, and we all hope you know just how grateful we are to have had you in our lives.

On Christmas Day, I'm going to try to be as still and quiet as I can. I'll give you every opportunity to make good on your promise. Some things don't need to be spoken; I know that. In my heart, I know that you would tell us all, "Don't be sad.  Be happy.  It's Christmas. Love the kiddies for me. Give everyone a hug. Focus on the good times. We had a lot of those, didn't we? I love you." His words would be full of life and love. And maybe they will only come in the form of thoughts, but just in case, I'll be listening, Dad. I'm all ears. Hearing your voice one more time would be the most wonderful gift of all.

*Life Ain't Fair, and Other Lessons My Father Taught Me

When I was a baby, my father called me "Princess Summerfall Winterspring." Never mind that I have never in my life seen Howdy Doody; I learned early on that I was named after a fictional Indian princess from a popular TV show that ran from 1947 until just before I was born in 1960.  

Princesses have doting fathers, and have the entire kingdom at their disposal, right? So it should come as no surprise that I had certain expectations of how life should be. I'm embarrassed to admit that I fell into the awful habit of little tyrants around the globe when I would wail, "But that's not FAIR!"

"That's not fair!" seems to be the battle-cry of children everywhere. I said it. My kids said it. My students said it. Yeah, well, "life ain't fair."  My father must have said that to me more times than he cares to count; he certainly said it more times than I care to count!

For me, there were so many inequitable tragedies observed in my relatively charmed life. EVERYBODY wore Levi's 501s in high school, except me. EVERYBODY had Docksider shoes, except me. NO ONE ELSE had to do chores for three cents each. I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO who had to wear a coat when it was 50 degrees outside because my mother was cold. NONE OF MY FRIENDS had to put up with the things I did.  Uh-huh.  

He always smiles before making
his point.

Sometimes my whining worked. Eventually. My poor parents. I must've seemed so ungrateful. More often than not, my father gave me the infamous Gazelle Lecture. I can still see him, leaning forward in his chair, pushing his glasses higher above his nose, getting that serious look, blinking his eyes several times as he was getting ready to make his point.

"Princess, let me tell you something."  
Oh, brother.  Here it comes. This is the part where I regret bringing up my current petty complaint.  

"You might as well learn this now.  There are beautiful gazelles on the plains of Africa.  Fierce lions hunt them down, and eat them. Well, guess what?" He would clear his throat. "Life ain't fair."

Well, that was graphic. And totally unnecessary; especially about the fortieth time I heard it. All he had to do later in life was clear his throat, and adjust his glasses. I KNOW! I KNOW! Please don't make me hear it again.  "Life ain't fair." I got it!

So, of course, being the wise adult I am, I felt compelled to share this little gem of a story with my own children, and all of my students. Seriously, as an adult, it gets so old hearing that trite complaint. Yes, I have channeled my father's words through my own mouth.

"We're having inside recess today because it's four degrees outside," I would announce on a wintry school day before leaving Room 2 for the cafeteria.  

A collective groan would erupt from the group, and someone would inevitably wail, "But that's not FAIR."  I would glare at the offender, with the teacher stare and sphincter face that became my trademark over the years, and they would know what was coming. 

"Well, guess what?" I would ask.

"Life ain't fair," they would chorus. I would smile. Mission accomplished. Dad would be proud.

My own children know Granddaddy's Gazelle story well. It's perfect; short and to the point. I'm grateful to have it in my Adult Survival Arsenal.  I have become my parents.  Perfect.

This morning, the vision of my father loomed before me as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, tweezers poised and at the ready, searching for a stray whisker on my chin. It's so frustrating that the worse my eyesight becomes, the more of the blasted hairs I can feel emerging from my skin. 

"It's just so unfair," I whine to myself. And my father reminds me again, in my mind, that I might as well learn it now, if I haven't already that...GUESS WHAT?  LIFE. JUST. AIN'T. FAIR.  

Thanks, Dad, for that lesson, and countless others. Thankfully, most of the lessons I've learned actually make me smile. Don't give up. Listen to your intuition. Follow your heart.  Render service. The one that seems to come in handy the most, though, is the one about those poor, pathetic, graceful gazelles. I think I've finally got it, Daddy!

P. S.  Dad, I meant to thank you again for the Levi's and the Docksider's.  We couldn't have the Princess being the only one not following the cool crowd in the kingdom of high school.  Life may not be fair, but dads always try to please their princesses. You did a great job of that.

Princess Summer-Fall-Winter-Spring loves you, Dad!