"Dear dad"

I get moments where flashes of inspiration come to me, and I spend the next few minutes-hours-days trying to get all my ideas out of my head. I've always said that my muse was my family, but I think now that my muse is pain.

Over the weekend, I realized that I want to draw and write part of a graphic novel for my Contemporary American Life Writing's final project, and I wanted to write it about my father. I thought that jotting some ideas down before going to bed would be a good way to relax. I was wrong. I spent most of the night trying to breathe and slow down my heart as memories flooded my brain. I should have gotten up and tried to organize everything, but I kept hoping I would fall asleep because I had plans to get up early the next morning and do homework. I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I woke up about fifteen minutes before my alarm went off with my heart in the same state of duress.

Equal to my father's failures loomed memories of my own. I had my methods of dealing with how screwed up my family was, which included locking everyone out, including my littlest siblings, who needed me. And I realize what looms over that is God's grace, which for some reason remains a constant in my life.

If I can pull off this small section of a graphic novel, then my theme is: "Dear dad: I am different despite you, not because of you."

Dear Dude,

I'd forgotten about you. You came for tutoring some weeks ago, and hit on me like there was no tomorrow. As usual, I grew flustered and shared more information than I should have, including the fact that my mother's dating and that I don't like that she is.

The next day, I asked my friends if it was okay to lie about having a boyfriend, and the responses I received were all in the positive. Yes, lie. YOU'RE PROTECTING YOURSELF. And I also decided that the next time I have money, I'm going to buy some sort of ring to wear. I usually decide to do this at least once month, and then no one hits on me for awhile, so I forget.

But then you showed up again. And I thought man, I really wish I had a 4.5 size ring right now on my left ring finger. You hung out for about ten minutes, chatting away, and you were as bold as you were last time. You took even less time to get to the point, asking me how my dating was going. I said it was okay. Then I added I had a boyfriend.

It was admirable how well you held your expression together, and how quickly you thought through that new bit of information. You asked if dating was seeing a few people at the same time, and having a boyfriend was still dating, but seeing only one person. And I said, perhaps you're right. I took that moment to get the spotlight off me and I asked you how your dating was going.

The next few moments were some of the best acting I've seen in a while. You broke eye contact, looked off to the distance, laughed, rubbed your head. Then you informed me that you're taking a break; it's not going so well. I don't really care how well it's going, but I asked why anyway, because I'm very interested in keeping in charge of the conversation. You explained that you're looking to settle down.

I thought, wow, that's brilliant. That must be one of the best flirting methods ever. Tell a girl that you're not dating because you want to date someone seriously -- you want to settle down.

Then you waited to see the response.

Unfortunately, I knew what your game was, so I didn't give you a response. And that's where things got tricky -- the conversation flipped from flirtation to therapy.

I'm in the wrong field. I should have become a psychiatrist.

Soon after that, someone from the front desk asked if I could tutor someone that hour, and you left, but not without a wink.

Until next time.

Dear Sparky

I was doing some "research" for a story I don't have time to read, and I came across the "letter" below, which was written by these guys because they were bored. Lo and behold, I have to find a new roommate in just a few weeks. And although I don't hate my roommate, I thought this was pretty funny. Therefore, I'm going to fill in the blanks and see what magic I can create. Bold words are my contributions.

Dear Sparky,

I usually don’t like writing notes, especially not with a broken pencil on the back of a used napkin, but it’s all I could find and I wanted to organize my thoughts so they didn’t come out wrong.

I’m really sorry to tell you this, but I’m moving out on April 1 (date). It’s not that I loathe you, I just don’t think we jive together. I feel that you are messy, and little bit odd sometimes. Like that time when you came home drunk and you said "I'm going to eat the last piece of pizza" and then passed out on the kitchen floor. That incident made me feel violated, in a way, like I was an empty bottle of vodka, totally useless. I know it’s not intentional on your part, but you come across totally weird and I really, really can't deal with that.

There was also the time that you “borrowed” my q-tips, which was really not cool. My understanding of the way a q-tip works has never been the same since.

And guess what, your shelf in the fridge kind of smells. Yeah, you know what? Gummy you.

Wait, I didn’t mean that.

I’m sorry. The truth is, I don’t hate you, I’m just worked up. In fact, I really like the way you always keep the paper products replenished, and I had a great time that night when we stayed up until 5 a.m. charades-ing. In fact, quite a few people have commented on how good you are at charades-ing. You are really a terrific person, just not the best roommate for a person like me.

I hope we can still be chums. When you see me on campus, please buy me a coffee.

Also, in the interest of full disclosure, I burp-ed in your bed once. I’m really sorry about that.

charming-ly,

Elizabeth(Your name here)

p.s. See you and I hope you have a wonderful life filled with friends and good memories!