A little bit sentimental
Living at home for the first time in almost 3 years has lead to the inevitable and much needed sorting process. Sorting through clothes, books, old keepsakes, etc. And perhaps because tomorrow is Father's Day, or because I've recently relived my Cornell acceptance through a distant cousin, when I came across my college essay I reread it and was moved.
Sometimes I get the feeling I've regressed in my writing and ability to express myself while sounding intelligent. But maybe its actually the fact that it was easier to sound smart by plugging in words without the real thought behind them. Whatever the case, I think that there are certain moments when you actually have something important to convey that the words and expressions flow freely, allowing you to create something really great. November 2004, Senior year of high school, 3rd block in the yearbook office was my moment and here is my something:
It’s 6:30 on a brisk September evening. A hustle and bustle of little girls, all rushing inside to see their friends at their weekly Girl Scout meeting and the mothers lagging behind them, can be seen at the local elementary school. Once in the cafetorium, the girls scatter and the women congregate to share stories. One lone father observes from a distance. He patiently watches as the group begins to settle down. The squirming pack of girls gather in a horseshoe. The leader quiets them, and business is addressed. One mother tells her daughter to stop fidgeting; another shushes two conversing scouts. The sole father listens intently, quietly confident all the while.
The group disperses and girls dart in every direction, eventually finding their way over to the new meeting grounds. The remaining mothers assemble and seat themselves in the folding chairs. The leader takes a count. Sixteen girls, fifteen mothers. Ah, yes, and one father. Thus, the Cookie Kickoff begins. A box of Thin Mints and Shortbread Cookies are passed around for all to taste and sets the mood. Sixteen eight-year-olds giggle endlessly and brag about their anticipated sales for the year. Fifteen mothers discuss their favorite cookies. One father watches and waits. The group is brought to order and a question raised: Who will be the Cookie Mom of the year? Fifteen women glance at one another. No one raises her hand to volunteer. The lone father steps forward and the whole room stops. “I will,” he states with no hesitation in his voice.
Flabbergasted, everyone stares wide-eyed. Shortly, the murmur of comments flood in. The girls turn and stare at the man’s child. “But it’s called ‘Cookie Mom’…” “How can he do this and raise two kids?” “He can’t be serious!” But it has been decided. The troop will have its first ever Cookie Dad.
Not sure whether to be excited or upset, she sits silent and embarrassed through the details and arrangements being made. It is not the first time she has wished to be like all the other girls. A normal life, with two parents is her greatest desire. She is far too naive and far too young to realize how lucky she really is.
Now, a stepmother, three more siblings, and just shy of a decade later, I look back and wonder how I could have taken such a father for granted. How ashamed I am to think that I was embarrassed by him! He instead should have been—and now is—admired for what he has done to create a loving environment for his family.
Time and time again, family friends have told me that “It takes a certain type of man to raise two kids single-handedly” and that “he’s done a great job” as well. Only now, years later, can I begin to understand how greatly his example has moved me. His kind, caring, and sacrificing love have shattered the stereotypical image of “masculine.” Instead, his example has created one in which the man is not afraid to go above and beyond his duty as a father. In turn, the ideal father can morph from bread winner, to chauffer, soccer coach, or cook in the blink of an eye. At least the world can rest at ease, knowing that one man has accomplished all this. And that one man, I’m proud to proclaim, is my father.
Sometimes I get the feeling I've regressed in my writing and ability to express myself while sounding intelligent. But maybe its actually the fact that it was easier to sound smart by plugging in words without the real thought behind them. Whatever the case, I think that there are certain moments when you actually have something important to convey that the words and expressions flow freely, allowing you to create something really great. November 2004, Senior year of high school, 3rd block in the yearbook office was my moment and here is my something:
It’s 6:30 on a brisk September evening. A hustle and bustle of little girls, all rushing inside to see their friends at their weekly Girl Scout meeting and the mothers lagging behind them, can be seen at the local elementary school. Once in the cafetorium, the girls scatter and the women congregate to share stories. One lone father observes from a distance. He patiently watches as the group begins to settle down. The squirming pack of girls gather in a horseshoe. The leader quiets them, and business is addressed. One mother tells her daughter to stop fidgeting; another shushes two conversing scouts. The sole father listens intently, quietly confident all the while.
The group disperses and girls dart in every direction, eventually finding their way over to the new meeting grounds. The remaining mothers assemble and seat themselves in the folding chairs. The leader takes a count. Sixteen girls, fifteen mothers. Ah, yes, and one father. Thus, the Cookie Kickoff begins. A box of Thin Mints and Shortbread Cookies are passed around for all to taste and sets the mood. Sixteen eight-year-olds giggle endlessly and brag about their anticipated sales for the year. Fifteen mothers discuss their favorite cookies. One father watches and waits. The group is brought to order and a question raised: Who will be the Cookie Mom of the year? Fifteen women glance at one another. No one raises her hand to volunteer. The lone father steps forward and the whole room stops. “I will,” he states with no hesitation in his voice.
Flabbergasted, everyone stares wide-eyed. Shortly, the murmur of comments flood in. The girls turn and stare at the man’s child. “But it’s called ‘Cookie Mom’…” “How can he do this and raise two kids?” “He can’t be serious!” But it has been decided. The troop will have its first ever Cookie Dad.
Not sure whether to be excited or upset, she sits silent and embarrassed through the details and arrangements being made. It is not the first time she has wished to be like all the other girls. A normal life, with two parents is her greatest desire. She is far too naive and far too young to realize how lucky she really is.
Now, a stepmother, three more siblings, and just shy of a decade later, I look back and wonder how I could have taken such a father for granted. How ashamed I am to think that I was embarrassed by him! He instead should have been—and now is—admired for what he has done to create a loving environment for his family.
Time and time again, family friends have told me that “It takes a certain type of man to raise two kids single-handedly” and that “he’s done a great job” as well. Only now, years later, can I begin to understand how greatly his example has moved me. His kind, caring, and sacrificing love have shattered the stereotypical image of “masculine.” Instead, his example has created one in which the man is not afraid to go above and beyond his duty as a father. In turn, the ideal father can morph from bread winner, to chauffer, soccer coach, or cook in the blink of an eye. At least the world can rest at ease, knowing that one man has accomplished all this. And that one man, I’m proud to proclaim, is my father.
posted by Lindsey at
9:23 PM
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