Dear Dad.....

Well I told you I might share with you some of the writings from my writing workshop. I've decided to get brave and do just that. This one is actually one I wrote at the summer session. The way the class works is that they give us a prompt and a few examples of the way other people wrote , given that prompt. We write for an hour, then each read to the class what we wrote and are critiqued. Since most of us are just starting out and need lots of encouragement, they ask that the critiques all be good. I am truly happy on those Tuesday nights. I can let my mind wander to any place it wants-- near or far, pretend or real, adult or child, happy or sad.....and I often surprise myself at what comes out.

And so my attempt at writing....

PROMPT: POINT OF VIEW
WRITE A STORY ADDRESSED TO SOMEONE USING SOMETHING OF A PERSPECTIVE OTHER THAN YOUR OWN: IE. A LETTER OR A DIARY WRITTEN BY SOMEONE ELSE.


If only it would work he thought…..

Cyrus unfolded the letter one more time and as he lay in bed he read ….

Dear Dad,

I know that life is not easy for you now and I know that I can’t do much even though I’m not that far away, but hear me out—try to see things a different way. I just know it will help—I promise.

When you get up in the morning, lie for a minute in bed and stretch every muscle from the tips of your fingers to the curl of your toes. Remember when I was little you use to tell me that it’s how I’d grow taller and my whole body would know it was time to get up and enjoy the beautiful day…..and as you set on the edge of the bed….smile—even if you don’t feel like smiling. Mother used to say “as the corners of your mouth goes so goes your day”.

I love you Dad.

When you get up, before you brush your teeth or turn on the water to wash your face or before you let any of the many sounds that will fill your day, begin to creep in—listen for the tiny bird outside the window singing his sweet song—so happy to be alive, even if he has to search for food and find a safe warm spot in a storm.

Brush your teeth and bathe every day. When you’re clean, you’ll feel better and wasn’t it you that always said “cleanliness is next to godliness”.

When you look out the window, look past the things you don’t like to see—past the gate to where the trees and flowers are—remember how beautiful the blue bonnets are this time of year—remember you use to tell me God had laid out a blue carpet across the meadow. Let your mind travel on down the path beyond our old house to the little creek where you used to take Carrie Ann and I fishing—remember the day she tumbled head over heels down the bank and into the water trying to get the worm that fell off her hook—remember Dad—we laughed so hard I almost peed my pants. Try to remember that laughter Dad—even when you feel low.

Dad, when you go down to get your meals and they serve something you don’t like—try to make believe it’s Mother’s pot roast—she cooked it with garlic and onions slow all Sunday afternoon. Remember how the aroma would fill the house and we couldn’t wait till dinner—pretend the mash potatoes with the butter melting and the gravy are steaming on the table—let the thought of those smells fill your mind and be thankful they cook meals.

When you walk in the court yard be friendly—say hello—pass your smile on to someone new—remember there are other people there as lonely and scared as you are….

Dad, remember I love you.

Join in and exercise if they’ll let you. Try to stay strong and healthy—go to church services and other activities they offer.

Write Dad, you used to love to write. I’ll bring you new writing paper on my next visit.

You used to always tell me to see the glass as half full instead of half empty and to see the sunny side of life—that every cloud has a silver lining.

I know it’s tough Dad being there all alone and since Mother passed it’s even harder. I’ll try to come and visit more often.

And when your day is done and you lay your weary head on the bed you don’t find so comfortable, lay slowly so you can sink into the feathery cushion of the soft mattress and cloud like pillow that you conjure in your mind.

Thank God for giving you another day—remember you used to tell me Dad, that sometimes life doesn’t seem fair and the cross we have to bear is heavy. But we must overcome our adversities—think positive—and sometimes we have to make believe to just get us through.

Please try these things Dad….

And Dad, remember I love you and I’ll see you soon.

Cyrus put down the letter….wiped the tear that rolled from the corner of his eye—stretched from the tips of his fingers to the curl of his toes—set on the edge of the bed and tried to turn the corners of his mouth upward—walked slowly to the tiny window of his cell…..and tried to see past the bars….past the barbed-wire gates….down the path that led away from the prison….

And to his great surprise, somewhere off in the distance he heard the sweet morning song of a bird.