I can remember the day my Grandma took this picture. I was sitting on the window seat, waiting for my Daddy to come home from the Navy, intently watching the street below. I could see the whole street from this window, past the front gate, through the lilacs and along Mr. Harrison's fence, to the corner of Main Street.
My Daddy had been gone so long I couldn't remember his face very well. I had a set of pictures beside my bed, one that showed Daddy in his Navy uniform, so tall and handsome, like a movie star. The other one was of my parents on their wedding day. They looked like they stepped out of a fairy tale. Daddy wore his Navy uniform and Mommy wore a long white gown, all lacey, with a long veil.
I came in from playing one day to find my mother crying tears of joy as she told me my daddy was coming home. This made me cry, too, until Mommy said, "OK, enough of this silliness, young lady. Since your Daddy is coming home in a week, we need to get our house in order. Sukey, we both need new dresses for Daddy's homecoming. We'll have to go shopping."
During the next few days our house was all mixed up. Some men came over to move my parent's bedroom furniture into the downstairs bedroom. Grandpa built a slide up to the front door. I thought it was for me to roller skate on but my mother said it was a ramp for a chair Daddy was bringing home. Tears came into her eyes, as she spoke. I wondered what kind of chair needed a ramp.
Quickly the week went by and it was Daddy's homecoming day. Mommy left early to meet Daddy's train. When she was gone, Grandma helped me put on my new dress, matching socks, and shiny black shoes. She fixed my hair with pretty barrettes and I went upstairs to wait.
There she was, I could see my mother walking around the corner. There was no one with her, no one on the street at all, except an old man in a wheel chair. I ran down the stairs, out the door and into the street before my Grandma could stop me. I got to my mother and threw myself into her arms, sobbing. "Mommy, where is my Daddy? Why didn't he come home?" I couldn't stop crying, I thought my heart was breaking.
"Honey, I'm here. Sukey, I am home." I heard my father's voice from behind me. I turned around to see my Daddy in that wheelchair, not an old man, at all. My sobs choked up in my throat and suddenly I was shy. But my Daddy didn't mind my shyness. He held his arms out to me and I stepped into them. He hugged me tight and swung me up onto his lap. Now, I remembered my Daddy. He always made me feel safe.
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This story was written in response to a challenge for the group Easel Musings, the prompt was the picture shown, which is Waiting for Daddy by Merryl Jaye. If you like this story you might like some of my other writings and you can find them at http://aries18.gather.com/. If you think you might enjoy this kind of challenge please join us at http://easel.gather.com/. We have a great group owner, Reena, who makes this so much fun! We'd love to have you join us.
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Comments: 51
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Last week I read a story just like this. A child waiting for her father to get off the Navy ship in a wheelchair, trying to understand the event. It was actually corny. We need to be careful writing from a child's point of view because we too often endow the child with our awareness thus she sounds stupid, not young.
I guess now a new standard story exists. "Child's point of view: Dad comes home for the Navy in a wheelchair."
I don't get your theme. You're all over the map. I ask: What's the point?
I love the last line: "He always made me feel safe." which would be a great point to the story providing we built up to it with snippets of feeling unsafe with him away.
I think, Wanda, you're not clear what your theme is, and you drop in stuff that's not tired together.
I do like the photograph of him standing tall but that doesn't get developed (gee, no pun there, huh?)
A theme, Wanda, a point that jumps off the page and grabs the reader. For example, a song with a similar theme written by M. Tillis sung by Kenny Rogers: Ruby.
You've painted up your lips and rolled and curled your tinted hair
Ruby, are you contemplating going out some where?
The shadow on the wall tells me, the sun is going down
Oh, Ruby, don't take your love to town
It wasn't me who started that old crazy Asian war,
But I was proud to go and do my patriotic choir
And yes, it's true that I am not the man I used to be
Oh, Ruby, I still need some company
It's hard to love a man whose legs are bent and paralyzed
And the wants and the needs of a woman your age, Ruby, I realize
But it won't be long, I've heard them say, until I'm not around
Oh, Ruby, don't take your love to town
She's leaving now, 'cause I just heard the slamming of the door
The way I know I've heard it slam a hundred times before
And if I could move, I'd get my gun and put her in the ground
Oh, Ruby, don't take your love to town
Oh, Ruby, for God's sake turn around
Personally, I'd not write this story, but it I did write: Dad-comes-home-from-the-Navy-in-a-wheel-chair, I'd step into the child, her dreams and expectations. Walked down the isle at the wedding, first dance. The love of skiing together, hiking in the woods in the spring, with a little tale about discovering a bird's nest with baby birds and Dad talking about how the Daddy bird teaches the baby birds to fly by showing them. Pointing to a mountain and Dad saying: "Some day we'll climb that together!"
Dreams crushed -- like his legs. That's the angle I'd write, I think.
I have a 'loss of war,' story: Remembering the fourth if you care to have a look.
Now, on the artwork. If I had the time, I'd write this:
I died (fill in the way best to suit the theme - run over by bus, drown in a bathtub, heart defect at the age of five -- I like that one, the irony). Maybe a quick paragraph with vague details of the actual death. Now, an angel tells me to sit by the window and in time, God will come.
Let's make the girl live in poverty, which is why the heart defect was never detected or maybe it was and they couldn't get it fixed. As she waits for God, she muses about how mean God is to do this to her, blah blah blah, and maybe she has other issues about imperfect things in the temporal. Real Godot kinda stuff.
Then:
Through the window, she sees the gate open and Dad walks through.
I love this theme, which I first read back in the sixties, the story of a dog dying, told to wait at the door for God to come for him -- his owner comes through the door.
What I like about this is its quietness. The reader figures out early Daddy's not coming home the same as when he left, and begins to worry about Sukey's reaction, but she is, in the end, a loving, trusting child who's really just glad to have her dad home.
A nice piece, Wanda!
But, here's a page view for you my friend.
This piece is absolutely wonderful. Thanks for sharing such a sweet viewpoint with your character and with us.
Karl, I really appreciate your comments, as I was all over the board with it as I was writing it. I started out in third person, went to first person, changed my whole idea about it twice and just was about to go berserk when the program ate it.
While I appreciate all the sweet comments I really think I shouldn't have submitted it as I wasn't happy with it either.
I am going to rework this piece, so see if I can resurrect it into something better. When I have a better draft I will submit that one for another look.
I really appreciate you all taking the time to comment and for any help offered.
Elsie, I know what you mean! It's hard enough to vote for 7 stories in Drabble group. Oh well, I guess I asked for it. ;o)
"Jesus saves and so should you." Randy Joyce Locke
Years ago, I lost hours of work to a computer crash. I save often. WORD has auto recovery but I don't trust it.
Congrats on your win.
http://friendsofdanh.gather.com.
Our goal is to help you further your exposure and to support other gather members.