My fourth son, a senior in high school, asked me to read and edit his essay for his AP English class.  I think it is only fair to publish his original text before I possibly violate it with my own corrections. He is the first person to offer material for my blog. He was excited to hear I would be thrilled to publish his fine work.

I have a very cruel critic on this blog who has never offered material, but loves to leave comments about my deficiencies. I hope he/she reads this beautiful example of creative inspiration. I also wish he/she realizes it’s not easy to recover from identity annihilation. I want to be creative. But I also believe in the creativity of everyone else.

Bringing the public examples of art in any form was the soul purpose I began this blog almost three years ago. I hoped to find and encourage creative souls like me who need to be heard. Critics will always emerge, but the important thing is that we put our heart out for the world to see. It’s not about approval, it’s about offering. I encourage anyone who stumbles upon this blog to offer up what their creative spirit longs to give. My son did that in the following essay. Therefore, it is only right that I offer it to the public to read.

I have amazing children. If there is any consolation for my small life, it has been to help produce miracles. All my children are superlative. My fourth son is probably the smartest of us all. He wrote this essay with little preparation and even less time before the due date. I think it is wonderful. I hope you are taken in…

 

 

 

 

Papa came home from work today super angry. He was all red, and he was stomping around, and he was saying bad words quietly. He saw me standing in the hallway, and stared at me for a while. He started to cry. He came and picked me up, careful not to wrinkle my dress, and gave me a kiss as he went to find Arthur. He picked up Arthur too, and brought us to his room. We sat down on his bed, and he gave us a big hug.

“I’ll never neglect you, my little munchkins. I love you, ok? Don’t let anybody say otherwise.”

“Ok, papa” we chimed.

After Papa lost his job, we had to move to another state. It took us an entire week to drive there. Papa was very picky about his job, and he said it was because he wanted to spend as much time with us as possible. Anyways, he found a job as an application developer for some big music producer, and he works 4 hours a day, 4 days a week. That doesn’t seem like much, but Papa gets paid a lot of money every hour due to his unique intelligence and efficiency at the workplace.

The babysitter got up to leave as she heard Papa pull up in the driveway, and said goodbye to me and my brother. She said something to Papa, and he didn’t respond, he just walked past her. Rude. He gave us microwave lasagna, brushed our teeth, tucked us in, kissed us goodnight, then went to bed.
I woke up in a cold sweat, after a horrifying nightmare of Papa and my brother dying. I turned my head fast, wide-eyed, and saw my brother. But I still wasn’t satisfied. I ran to Papa’s room, and saw he wasn’t in bed. I heard something in the closet, and ran to it.
“Papa!” I cried.

“H-Honey? I-Is that you?” he said, startled.

“Papa! Are you, are you dead Papa?” I questioned.

“No, Honey. I’m fine. Just give me a minute ok?”

“No, Papa! I want to see you right now!” I screamed, tears welling in my eyes.

“Just give me a minute Honey!” Papa yelled back.

“No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO!” I screamed.

“Papa.” I whimpered.
Papa came out of the closet, crouched down, and gave me a hug, “I’m sorry Honey. I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry,” he whispered. I held my Papa tight.

School is really easy. I skipped straight into the second grade, and my teacher said I should’ve gone even higher. However, my dad wanted me to be with kids of a similar age. Even so, most of my schoolmates tower over me. I don’t have any friends, at all. Except the teacher, who loves me to the point that the other kids get jealous and alienate me even more. Whenever I retaliate to their insults they either cry, get angry, or play the “I know you are but what am I” game. “Idiots, Santa isn’t real, and neither is the Easter Bunny,” I yell.  Almost every one of them are picked up by their moms. In fact, some laughed at me when it’s my Dad who picks me up. However, Papa noticed them taunting, got out of the car, talked to their Moms for a bit, and that never happened again.

Papa made posole today, my favorite. It’s a Mexican soup that has spicy broth, hominy, pork, cabbage, radishes, onions, cilantro, and a bunch of other delectable ingredients. My dad made it extra spicy per my request, and I relished every fiery bite. As he was wiping my runny nose, I pushed him away and cocked my head, “Papa, why don’t we have a Mommy?”

“Am I not good enough for you Sweetheart?” he joked.

“Papa, I’m serious!” I insisted.

“Not everybody has a mother Sweetheart, not everyone has a father either.”

“But why don’t we have a mother?”

He sighed, “I know you want an answer now Sweetheart, but I don’t think I can give you one until you are older, and you are just going to have to accept that.”

“But Pa-”

“No ‘but Papa,’ eat your soup now,” he interrupted. “It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

“Ugh.. fine. You did a good job on the spiciness Papa! It takes like lava!”

He looked at me and smiled, “That’s my girl.”

I went into my room, and thought about what Papa said. I knew everyone had to have a mother, even Papa, even my brother, even me. Where is she? Where is my Momma?
I couldn’t fall asleep, and late at night, I walked to Papa’s room to sleep in his bed. He wasn’t there, so I walked to the kitchen, to the bathroom, to the garage, sleuthing for him all around the house. All of the sudden, I thought of the closet. I crept up to it and put my ear against it. I heard Papa breathing inside. He was almost completely silent, save a couple mumbles every few minutes. He opened the door and sent me flying to the floor.

“Oh my God, Sweetheart, are you ok?” he said with a worried face.

“.. Papa, what were you doing in there?”

“My, you ask so many questions, don’t you? … I was.. I-” he bit his lip. “I was just relaxing ok?” he wavered.

“Hmpf” I stared menacingly at him.

“Hey, hey, don’t give me that look you rascal. Why are you awake anyway? It’s way past your bedtime! Go on now, go to sleep or you will be too tired to go to school.”

“… Papa, I can’t sleep, I want to sleep in your bed.”

“Okay Sweetheart, you can sleep in my bed, ok? Thank you for being so kind and not arguing.”

 

My Dad is so nice, and I love him to the moon and back, but he is a little weird. I talked about him to my classmates one day, and they said he probably does something I won’t repeat when he goes into that closet. No one goes to my house because they are scared of him, and some kids even tease me about it, calling me unspeakable names. In fact, the boy I like best even commented about my Dad. He said my Dad probably lays with me at night, whatever that means. I thought that was a dumb thing to say, but the boy’s friends thought it was quite funny. I tried not to look at my Dad when he came to pick me up. He opened the door for me, and I went around the car to open the other door for myself. He looked at me worriedly, but decided to give me some space. A couple of kids laughed and pointed as we drove away. Damn it. As soon as I got home I went to my room and lay face down on my bed, overwhelmed with shame. My Dad knocked at the door. Just what I didn’t need.

“Sweetheart are you alright?” he asked softly.

I lay silent.

“Sweetheart I’m coming in, alright?”“Go away Papa. I don’t want you right now!” I screamed, muffled by my pillow.

He let himself in and sat down on my bed, “Sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong, what can I do for you?”

“You can go away, just beat it.” I glared at him.

He tensed up and glared back, “Oh, Mrs. Sass, didn’t know you were coming over today. Well, I’d like my daughter back okay?”

“You’re not funny dad, you’re a freak. Now leave me alone!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

My dad’s expression became sad, and he left right away, closing the door behind him. I bawled my eyes out, leaving a large dark splotch on my pillow. Why did I say those mean things to him? He did nothing wrong. The only people at wrong are those assholes at school, and me. Why did I tell him to go away, when I actually need him more than ever? My papa’s every breath is put toward making my life better, and I called him a freak? He cooks me breakfast, lunch, and dinner, every single day. He tucks me in and kisses me goodnight, every single day. He drives me to school and back, every single day. He quit work multiple times, because his boss wouldn’t let him take as many days off as he wanted to spend with me and my brother. He teaches me about all the science, math, writing, and history that my eager mind can retain. He loves me.. So much.. And I threw it all in his face.

I walked to his room, and then to the closet.

“Come in,” he said before I could knock.

The door was unlocked. He was sitting on the floor looking at something. I sat next to him, and saw that it was a picture of a beautiful woman.

“Her name was Hope too.”

 

 

This was just a short essay off the top of my son’s head. He has witnessed a lot in his young life. He watched me tailspin and almost crash. All the while I tried to keep my kids’ life normal. Meals, shopping, laundry, etc., never were neglected as I wished to die every day. Your children cannot help but think they are to blame in someway, because why would you be unhappy when they were there to love you. And they did. I have the sweetest, most thoughtful and creatively generous children I have every encountered. Some of my kids have weathered their lives very well despite my collapse. There are some who suffered more. This little essay delves into the painful side of loss from a child’s perspective. I think it is a beautiful thing to know pain and triumph despite it. Perhaps I have more to learn from kids than they have from me.