A Tribute

    I would ask for a few minutes of your time today to introduce you to my father. Now, many of you know  this man, but I want to introduce you to the side of him that I know. This is the man who, when he was left with a 7 year old little girl, taught her to believe in the power of her own imagination by introducing her to Mr Longanecker....a giraffe that would only visit rooms that were clean and preferred to eat dried fruit and nuts from small dishes left by the door. This is the man who would allow me to listen to my favorite radio dramas by the hour while running errands without a word of complaint and in return had me listen to his talk shows (which I equal parts tuned out and complained about). This is the man that I want to give you a glimpse of today.
    My earliest memories of my father are crystal clear. I would wait impatiently for him to come home and then go out to his van and escort him to the house, demanding the honor of carrying his water jug. I am still convinced that no water tastes quite as good as that slightly warm water that smelled of wallpaper paste and aftershave. This is a tradition that I continued well into my teen years.
     He taught me the power of words and anytime I sit down to read one of the many books he read to me (Singing Wheels, Princess and Curdie, Narnia, and Derwood Inc to name just a few) I can still remember exactly where we were and I can hear his voice in my head. My age or school year had little to do with the books he chose to read to me or the books he chose for me to read. He didn't even mind when I asked him to go back and reread our favorite parts again and again (the restaurant fight scene in How Sleep the Brave for one). Not only did he require me to read profusely, he always wanted me to summarize everything (and I do mean everything!). I learned quickly to read for understanding and to be able to tell "in my own words" what I had just read. He even encouraged me to read aloud to him...a process I'm sure was tedious for him, though he never complained.
    I learned early the value of hard work and the benefits of working first and playing later. I  accompanied him to hundreds of job sites and I spent half of my time chatting with customers and half of it curled up reading in the corner of the room. But on many occasions, he would teach me the skill it took to remove wallpaper, completely smooth a wall, paste a strip of wallpaper and hang it neatly on the wall. And then the covering of the switch-plates. I don't know what you know about wallpaper-hanging, but if you know my father at all, you know that precision is his middle name. To cover a switch-plate properly, the piece of wallpaper needed to fit identically to its surroundings. Yes, there were many times I would cut giant pieces out of the paper instead of taking the time to make sure it was perfect. And my dad would either patiently have me redo it or he would allow me to go back to my book and he would do it himself. Either way, he taught me about the love and patience it takes to bring a 10 year old to work with you.
    He encouraged me to ask as many questions as I could and, while others frequently got annoyed with my inquisitive self, he never showed signs of irritation over my million and one questions. Many of my old notebooks have scribbled questions and his handwriting patiently answering my question in the middle of some public event. He asked me questions, demanding that I think through my answers and respond intelligently. He listened and encouraged my ramblings and debates (though the day that I mentioned our 13th president "Mallard Filbert" I think he laughed for ten minutes straight).
    He didn't believe a child's age should exclude them from a more complicated conversation. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was never allowed to leave the supper table until the conversation was over. And coming from a talkative family with five older brothers in their teens at the time, this was not a small wait. Many times I would sit and color and listen to the discussions of religion or politics. When I was young, my opinion was not always asked for, but if I were to offer it he listened with respect and had my brothers do the same. In this way, he taught me to formulate my thoughts and opinions and to be able to defend myself if needed.
    He taught me the value of art, history, architecture, antiques, and the outdoors. The other day I described a color as "Williamsburg Blue", a direct result of my childhood spent exploring historic landmarks and admiring various homes. Every family vacation was either to some sort of historic place or involved at least one trip to a history or science museum. I can't say I appreciated it at the time, but I am very thankful now how he spent the time teaching me to respect my country and the awesome things it has to offer. I hope to someday have at least half of his eye for the beauty in old homes, bottles, decorating, and glassware.
    He wasn't afraid to be silly or crazy. Random dance parties, silly voices while reading, singing 'Jingle Bell Rock' loudly in our kitchen, or leaping over chairs were not unusual. I remember one vacation where I had the hiccups; his attempt at scaring them out of me failed miserably, but left us both laughing hysterically. He taught me it was okay to go against the flow, to do your own thing, and occasionally sing loudly in public!
    When I was 20, I was preparing to head to Arkansas into my new adventure. The one thing that I couldn't figure out was my dad's apparent lack of "freaking out". I have always been his "baby" (on my 15th birthday he introduced me as such) and I couldn't understand why he wasn't making more of a fuss about me moving almost 1200 miles away. The words he said to me then are the best thing anyone has ever said to me: "When you were a young teenager (12-15), you wanted to be a dog breeder. This was not a popular career choice and many people tried to dissuade you. However, you stuck with it until you decided it wasn't what you wanted to do anymore. In that same way, I know that this is what you think you are called to do with your life and I am not going to stand in your way."
    I know this has taken up more than a moment of your time and I have barely even begun to share the wisdom and memories of my father with you.This September will bring 25 years of having the honor of calling this man my daddy (or "oh my father and oh the delight of my eyes" depending on the occasion!). Today is his birthday and I would ask that you would honor him by going to his Facebook wall or calling him or texting him or emailing him and wishing him a happy birthday.
    Happy Birthday Daddy. I love you.
Love,
Your baby girl

A Tribute

     I grew up with two best friends. This is not unusual. What is unusual is that they were my nieces. This is a complicated concept to explain to people. Generally I leave out the fact that they are related to me when I mention them to people who don't know my family. That brings up all sorts of questions about my siblings and my family and we forget the original topic. But growing up with your best friends being related to you means that at every family reunion your best friends are going to be there also. It means boring weddings, long adult conversations, and ghastly food can be made a little bit better because you are hoarding mints, exploring church basements, and hiding food in places that you hope will never be discovered (like under tablecloths). My earliest memories involve arguing, playing, exploring, and discussing things with my two best friends. Our family discusses everything, every family reunion involves some sort of "discussion" about politics or religion...the more controversial the better. When I was five I tried to explain a complicated theological term to my 4 & 3 year old best friends. This was just a precursor for things to come. We grew up imitating the adults and yet determined to do our thing. We were each other's biggest fans and greatest critics. Together we conquered mountains (the woods behind their house and the attic in my house) and confronted our mortal enemies (their terrifying neighbors and the cows behind my house). We told ghost stories, yet jumped over the spot where we saw a mouse when we were toddlers. We shared our deepest secrets, stalked people, wrote volumes of letters, built forts, conducted church services, wrote stories, put on plays, and signed up my neighbor for random mailings. We survived multiple moves (sometimes across the country), arguments that threatened the very core of our friendship, and several attempts at blowing things up.
     I am a leader today because as the oldest of our pack they followed me, expecting me to come up with the crazy plans. I think things through today because any idea we came up with was discussed from every angle, every possibility was considered. I take risks today because they encouraged me to keep going, dared me to best my last idea, thought, or accomplishment. I am loyal today because I considered it my duty to protect them from any sort of (real or perceived) threat. I am creative today because they encouraged my ridiculous attempt at writing a "masterpiece". I can defend myself today because of our countless arguments. I am well-read today because we read and critiqued every book we could get our hands on. I am competitive today because we each strained to be the best at everything (writing, collecting books or CDs, or having the most amazing dollhouses). I can negotiate today because we traded much dollhouse furniture and then got mad because we each felt we didn't get the fair end of the deal.
      Our dynamics were not unique to us, yet they were because they were "us". Jenn and I argued constantly, both of us wanting to be the "mom", the "leader", the "teacher". Courtney was our liason, the voice of reason when my ideas and Jenn's excitement threatened life and limb.When we were separated for arguing when we were very young, Courtney went back and forth between Jenn and I until we were on speaking terms once more. Jenn and I laid on the couch pretending we had "every disease in the world", while commanding Courtney to get our drinks and toys. Jenn and I decided to send a newsletter to a thousand random people and when many of them became angry with us, Courtney was gracious enough not to say I told you so. Jenn and I found an epic place for a fort in the woods and when we tried to show Courtney, we couldn't find it (fourteen years later, she still doesn't believe us). Jenn and I decided to become "TV talk show hosts" and Courtney filmed our "shows" and later the three "movies" this idea spawned. More than once Courtney's level-headedness got Jenn and I out of scrapes all three of us created.
     When I was sixteen we decided that rather than have to choose who was going to be the maid of honor (and who was going to be a lowly bridesmaid) we would each have two maids of honor. Or rather, the first person would have two maids of honor, the second a matron and a maid, and the third two matrons. At this precise moment Jenn is saying "I do" thousands of miles away to a man I have never met. Eight years ago if you had told me this, I would not have thought this possible. I probably would have laughed if you had also mentioned that I wouldn't have seen her in over four years.

      Life takes you by surprise sometimes, sneaking up on you and announcing that you aren't the person that you expected to be or that you are on the last place on earth that you dreamed of. Sometimes you miss important things, things you swore you never would. But there is one thing that I know as well as I know my name and that is that no matter where I go or what I do, I have two best friends who live "somewhere" who will always be there. Friends who understand things like "Jon-jumping-jack-o-lantern:", "SP", "DF", "Waterworks" & "SW". Friends with whom you got in trouble, stole sugar packets from churches, and filled out 25 comment cards at Hardee's in one afternoon. Friends with whom you went through 'that awkward stage' with, came to your plays, made you pancakes at midnight and lectured you on boys (or more specifically how important it is to know how your significant other serves a casserole). And there is nothing in the world that I would exchange for the privilege of growing up with my two best friends.

"So Let Go & Jump In"

I have started and deleted and restarted and forgotten more blogs in the past ten years of my life - since blogging became a fad - than I care to recall. But something (the need to write?) continues to drag me back, sometimes kicking and screaming, but always ready to try once again the daunting task of committing my thoughts to...well, not to paper exactly, but something close. Writing my thoughts, feelings, experiences down and then sending them flying out for anyone and everyone to critique is not for the faint of heart. Once you state an opinion, it can be challenged. Once you express a dream, it can be argued with. But it has been over a year since I last tried to keep a steady online "diary" of sorts and I've learned a lot in the past year. So, perhaps it is time to jump on this merry-go-round again. To share my experiences and thoughts and feelings and dreams and expectations with the world. (Which if you think about it is very conceited, to think that your feelings and thoughts are of any interest at all to anyone else in the world. But we continue to do it and someone, somewhere is interested, which just feeds that pride and makes us more willing to write and pretty soon everyone cares about what you say and you are a billionaire, all because you decided to write down your personal feelings publicly. At least that has happened to a handful of people and we all hope we will be the next to be discovered.) I don't know if I will continue to keep up with this; I don't have a good track record of keeping up this sort of blog (minus my very long-lived Xanga blog). I don't know if anyone will read what I write. But I guess it doesn't hurt to try, and if nothing else at least it will be interesting for me to look back on in five years, to remember how at 24 I thought I knew what was up. The same way I look back at my posts from when I was 20. But isn't that how life goes? You can't learn until you make mistakes, you can't lose your pride until you realize you have absolutely nothing to be conceited about. I don't know if anything I've written is making sense to anyone at all, but that's cool to. I really don't mind. As Elie Wiesel said, "I write to understand as much as to be understood."