Dear Dad, It's Me, Your Daughter- FEEDBACK PLEASE!!!
This is a piece I was thinking about entering into a contest at Writer's Digest, and I want you guys to evaluate it. It's going in the personal essay/memoir category and is basically a letter I've written to my late father.
Dear dad,
It’s me, your daughter. Man, I can’t believe it’s been five years since you went on your trip to heaven. How’ve you been? What’s it like up there? What’s God like? Does heaven have internet access? (We still don’t. Damn signal blind spots).
Things on the home front back here have a bit hectic. You’ve actually missed a lot. Ever since you left, mom had to go back to work. At first, she was a lunch lady at Christ Lutheran Church. You know, that church/school on Cleveland Rd. Actually. It might be Grace Lutheran Church, but I’m not sure. (I know there are two places around here that’s called Grace Lutheran Church and Christ Lutheran Church.) She quit that job for a job at Jordan’s as a COTA. Actually, she works at whatever nursing home she’s told to by Lakeland (or Rehab Care; whatever the name of the company she works for is).
I work at Jordan’s too; I’m a kitchen worker. It took me a couple months to find this job. I applied everywhere…Well, okay, not as a Hooter’s waitress or anything like that (still too heavy for the job). But I’m glad I got the job I did. My bosses and coworkers are okay, everyone thinks I’m funny (no surprise), and I have flexible schedule for my college classes, which is definitely a good thing.
Oh, I’m in college now, just in case if you missed out on the update. I graduated from high school (Bridgman, of course) at (I believe) twenty-ninth out of my class (about ninety-two students). Actually, I was taking college classes through the school’s dual-enrollment program (basically where the school pays for classes if your ACT scores are good enough). I guess it gave me sort of an edge being a full-time student, seeing how I knew what to expect in college. I’m going to major in Graphic Design. Originally it was going to be English, but people said Graphic Design would be of more use to me than an English degree (plus, I seem to be good at it).
I still want to be a writer though, but I’m not getting anywhere fast. I tried looking for writing sites on the internet, but they’re all so confusing to navigate through. I got a chance to take a class at Columbia College, which is this really prestigious arts college in Chicago. Turned out to be a bust, though. The teacher seemed to be a real creep. Remember that social studies teacher I had in junior high? Just like him. (You won’t believe it. At your funeral, the dude ended up talking to mom when she was standing at your casket for twenty minutes. Held up the line.) I felt really uncomfortable at the college. Elicit material was encouraged there (the teacher even said so). We hardly did any actual writing in class.
For example, for the first thirty minutes of a class I was paying a good amount of money for ($300, which was part of a summer special for high school students), the teacher talked about Barry Bonds. (Oh, yeah, just in case you didn’t know, Mr. Bonds is a baseball player who was caught using steroids. I know you didn’t follow baseball much, so I thought I’d let you know.) The teacher kept (quite expressively I might add) recanting how the people chanted “Cheater, Cheater” when Bonds got on the field. And then another time, he has us say curse words in foreign languages we knew just because he was bored (my word was “Hündin”, which is German for “*****”). Basically, the only parting words of advice we got were “Write about sex and drugs, make it filthy as possible, be a prick, and don’t care about being an asshole and hurting the feelings of those around you.” I don’t know, maybe it’s just me.
Angst aside, Erin, Melody, and Amanda are getting on in life. Erin just moved to Troy to a design school (which I think she’ll kick ass in; girl has style). (I’m still waiting for her to email me!) Melody had a daughter (a cute little thing name Krystina; I don’t know if that’s how it’s spelled right or not, though). Her mom basically up and left her with debts. She was living with Erin and her family, but now has a house with her new boyfriend (one of two twins; I’m not sure, but I think she’s dating the one named David). Amanda is working at Four Winds Casino as a front counter girl (takes in the names of people checking in, I think). Four Winds is this Native American casino that popped up in New Buffalo (cool place, nice buffet; I applied there for a job as a maid or office worker). I pray for their happiness every day, and hope for the best.
Oh, and you may or may not have run into him up there, but Uncle Tom died. Tori and Aunt Tammy seem to be coping somewhat well, but I’m still worried. It’s strange; it’s like all the husbands on mom’s side of the family are dying (I mean, first Uncle Don, then you, then Tom). And what’s even freakier is that me, Angie, and Tori were around the same age (thirteen) when our fathers died. (At Tom’s funeral, Tori joked that “There must be something in the water”; a bit dark I know, but a sign that she’s still hanging in there.) Oh, and Uncle Bob and Aunt Norma died too. (How old were they? Eighty? And Norma was grandma’s sister, right?) Bob was dying for a couple years, but Norma’s end came just like that. This may sound weird, but I’ll always remember Norma’s hunchback when I hugged her.
Nikky died too, but you probably found her in heaven already. We got another dog from the shelter- a retriever, yellow lab, German shepard, (possibly wolf) mix named Marley. It turns out, her owner was going through a divorce and couldn’t be taken with the wife (we think Marley was solely her dog). She’s the sweetest thing. The total opposite of Nikky, though. Unlike Nikky, Marley’s a coward, an inside dog, smart as a whip, and a sweetie, while Nikky, as we all know, was brave, an outside dog, kind of slow, and a ***** in more than the obvious sense (though, granted, she was nice around people). Marley’s actually gotten me through a lot. Though a freaky thing happened. A few months after we got Marley, a book called Marley and Me came out. The frickin’ dog looks like her! (Well, okay, that Marley’s a boy.)
Well, I don’t have anything else to write about right now. Maybe I can get back to you when something interesting happens. Maybe when I finally find a boyfriend (no one around here is my type) or actually have at least one foot in a decent writing career.
Here’s to hoping. Love (and much of it),
[BLOCKED]
Yes, I'm very serious about not revealing my real name. However, it will be revealed if this peice gets a spot in the contest. (I'm definately entering other pieced too.)
(I didn't take the time to italicize this post.)
I was afraid of giving this to my mom. When I wrote a letter to my cousin Tori abotu coping with the death of my father, she bawled her eyes out. (alhtough, she did say they were "tears of happiness".
Dear dad,
It’s me, your daughter. Man, I can’t believe it’s been five years since you went on your trip to heaven. How’ve you been? What’s it like up there? What’s God like? Does heaven have internet access? (We still don’t. Damn signal blind spots).
Things on the home front back here have a bit hectic. You’ve actually missed a lot. Ever since you left, mom had to go back to work. At first, she was a lunch lady at Christ Lutheran Church. You know, that church/school on Cleveland Rd. Actually. It might be Grace Lutheran Church, but I’m not sure. (I know there are two places around here that’s called Grace Lutheran Church and Christ Lutheran Church.) She quit that job for a job at Jordan’s as a COTA. Actually, she works at whatever nursing home she’s told to by Lakeland (or Rehab Care; whatever the name of the company she works for is).
I work at Jordan’s too; I’m a kitchen worker. It took me a couple months to find this job. I applied everywhere…Well, okay, not as a Hooter’s waitress or anything like that (still too heavy for the job). But I’m glad I got the job I did. My bosses and coworkers are okay, everyone thinks I’m funny (no surprise), and I have flexible schedule for my college classes, which is definitely a good thing.
Oh, I’m in college now, just in case if you missed out on the update. I graduated from high school (Bridgman, of course) at (I believe) twenty-ninth out of my class (about ninety-two students). Actually, I was taking college classes through the school’s dual-enrollment program (basically where the school pays for classes if your ACT scores are good enough). I guess it gave me sort of an edge being a full-time student, seeing how I knew what to expect in college. I’m going to major in Graphic Design. Originally it was going to be English, but people said Graphic Design would be of more use to me than an English degree (plus, I seem to be good at it).
I still want to be a writer though, but I’m not getting anywhere fast. I tried looking for writing sites on the internet, but they’re all so confusing to navigate through. I got a chance to take a class at Columbia College, which is this really prestigious arts college in Chicago. Turned out to be a bust, though. The teacher seemed to be a real creep. Remember that social studies teacher I had in junior high? Just like him. (You won’t believe it. At your funeral, the dude ended up talking to mom when she was standing at your casket for twenty minutes. Held up the line.) I felt really uncomfortable at the college. Elicit material was encouraged there (the teacher even said so). We hardly did any actual writing in class.
For example, for the first thirty minutes of a class I was paying a good amount of money for ($300, which was part of a summer special for high school students), the teacher talked about Barry Bonds. (Oh, yeah, just in case you didn’t know, Mr. Bonds is a baseball player who was caught using steroids. I know you didn’t follow baseball much, so I thought I’d let you know.) The teacher kept (quite expressively I might add) recanting how the people chanted “Cheater, Cheater” when Bonds got on the field. And then another time, he has us say curse words in foreign languages we knew just because he was bored (my word was “Hündin”, which is German for “*****”). Basically, the only parting words of advice we got were “Write about sex and drugs, make it filthy as possible, be a prick, and don’t care about being an asshole and hurting the feelings of those around you.” I don’t know, maybe it’s just me.
Angst aside, Erin, Melody, and Amanda are getting on in life. Erin just moved to Troy to a design school (which I think she’ll kick ass in; girl has style). (I’m still waiting for her to email me!) Melody had a daughter (a cute little thing name Krystina; I don’t know if that’s how it’s spelled right or not, though). Her mom basically up and left her with debts. She was living with Erin and her family, but now has a house with her new boyfriend (one of two twins; I’m not sure, but I think she’s dating the one named David). Amanda is working at Four Winds Casino as a front counter girl (takes in the names of people checking in, I think). Four Winds is this Native American casino that popped up in New Buffalo (cool place, nice buffet; I applied there for a job as a maid or office worker). I pray for their happiness every day, and hope for the best.
Oh, and you may or may not have run into him up there, but Uncle Tom died. Tori and Aunt Tammy seem to be coping somewhat well, but I’m still worried. It’s strange; it’s like all the husbands on mom’s side of the family are dying (I mean, first Uncle Don, then you, then Tom). And what’s even freakier is that me, Angie, and Tori were around the same age (thirteen) when our fathers died. (At Tom’s funeral, Tori joked that “There must be something in the water”; a bit dark I know, but a sign that she’s still hanging in there.) Oh, and Uncle Bob and Aunt Norma died too. (How old were they? Eighty? And Norma was grandma’s sister, right?) Bob was dying for a couple years, but Norma’s end came just like that. This may sound weird, but I’ll always remember Norma’s hunchback when I hugged her.
Nikky died too, but you probably found her in heaven already. We got another dog from the shelter- a retriever, yellow lab, German shepard, (possibly wolf) mix named Marley. It turns out, her owner was going through a divorce and couldn’t be taken with the wife (we think Marley was solely her dog). She’s the sweetest thing. The total opposite of Nikky, though. Unlike Nikky, Marley’s a coward, an inside dog, smart as a whip, and a sweetie, while Nikky, as we all know, was brave, an outside dog, kind of slow, and a ***** in more than the obvious sense (though, granted, she was nice around people). Marley’s actually gotten me through a lot. Though a freaky thing happened. A few months after we got Marley, a book called Marley and Me came out. The frickin’ dog looks like her! (Well, okay, that Marley’s a boy.)
Well, I don’t have anything else to write about right now. Maybe I can get back to you when something interesting happens. Maybe when I finally find a boyfriend (no one around here is my type) or actually have at least one foot in a decent writing career.
Here’s to hoping. Love (and much of it),
[BLOCKED]
Yes, I'm very serious about not revealing my real name. However, it will be revealed if this peice gets a spot in the contest. (I'm definately entering other pieced too.)
(I didn't take the time to italicize this post.)
I was afraid of giving this to my mom. When I wrote a letter to my cousin Tori abotu coping with the death of my father, she bawled her eyes out. (alhtough, she did say they were "tears of happiness".