I consider each of my parents a blessing from God. But like many daughters, I seemed to relate more closely to my mother during my younger years, but my father’s role in my life was extremely important. He was the head of the house and a wonderful caregiver for our family. His comments would usually come at the end of the day, after work, or on the weekend.
“Your mother said you’d love to learn how to play the piano,” my father mentioned one day. I was 11. This is how my father usually brought up a subject with me…your mother said.
“Yes, Daddy, I’d love to play the piano like Suzanne does.” Suzanne was my best friend and lived next door.
“I guess we’ll have to think about it,” he said with a smile.
A New Surprise
That year on Christmas morning a new piano awaited me in our tiny living room. Mom dreamed up the idea but Dad made payments on it for three years. He took me to lessons once a week after work, and made sure I had all the required music books and a spiffy new metronome.
“Your mother said you need to practice typing to get your speed up,” my father said. I was now 17. Life was changing. Either business school or a job loomed in my future.
“Yeah, Dad. I don’t get enough time in Office Practice class to practice for my timed speed tests,” I answered.
“What if we went looking for a typewriter at that new shop?”
“Wouldn’t a new typewriter cost too much, Dad?”
“We’ll have to see. You want to take a writing course, don’t you? A typewriter would help with that too.”
That was my father. On one hand he was very frugal and careful with money, but he would help his children always if he felt it was important. And that’s how I came to own a new baby blue Royal typewriter with carrying case when I was in high school many moons ago. It wasn’t cheap either. Again, Dad had to make payments on it. He would be so pleased to know that I did go on to become a writer.
Now that I’ve raised my own family, I see the sacrifices my parents made together for years. We in turn tried to do the same for our children, and now they are parents and are continuing the pattern with our grandchildren.
Christine Collier writes from New York.
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