2019 First Place Winner: Jennifer Eisenbart
Congratulations to Jennifer Eisenbart, the First Place Winner in the 15th Annual Write a DearReader Contest...
"Yea, though I walk through the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for I'm the toughest son of a b itch in the valley."
The words, whispered in my ear, bring a near-instant halt to the tears that have been streaming down my face for the last half hour. I choke back laughter, and turn to glare at my father--who is sitting right beside me with an innocent smile on his face, his attention no longer on my aunt's funeral service.
For that matter, my attention is no longer on it, either. My dad and his dry sense of humor--depending on who gets to name it, actually; my mother tends to think it's idiotic and over the top--have halted the run of miserable thoughts in my head, and brought me back down to earth. My aunt was never sweet or overly kind, but she had always been practical and down-to-earth, especially after her husband died in an accident and left her with three young children.
My father, meanwhile, picks the perfect time for his hushed commentary. His words enter my ears just as the priest finishes the 23rd Psalm. It's all I can do to keep from cracking up in a church full of grieving friends and relatives.
Welcome to life with my father.
Fast forward 11 years. This time, there is no priest offering a service at a church. Instead, a family friend--a stranger until he donated a kidney to my mother six years previous--will give the service at a local funeral home. My mother and I had decisions to make when my father died, but fortunately, it's a friend as well as a member of the clergy who will send my father on his way.
The pastor and his family arrive the night before, arms open with hugs and support. It's a welcome relief from the nightmare that took place just days earlier.
It started on a Thursday morning. Half asleep in my bedroom, with my cat meowing loudly at the door because my parents were up and moving around, I absorbed little of the noise until I heard a tremendous crash.
A split second later, my mother's voice, edging well past fear and into panic, pitched my name down the hallway. Instinctively, I knew what the crash was--my father falling in the bathroom. I wish I could say that the next 30 minutes were a blur.
They weren't. I can still remember my father's ribs cracking under the heels of my hands as I performed CPR. Him sliding to floor after trying to sit up.
His last words, aimed at my mother and me.
"Shut up."
Again, welcome to life with my father. He didn't want us panicking. We panicked anyhow, and then got lost in a fog of grief and pain.
Now, just these final words remain. I asked to give the eulogy, and while it's not the first time I've spoken at a funeral, it is the time among others I will always remember. I walk to the small podium, a small three-ring binder with my notes inside, emotion throbbing in my chest and making my pulse race.
When I open my notes, I am certain--for an interminable moment--I will not be able to do this. I'm afraid that I literally will not be able to open my mouth in front of the hundreds who are waiting for me to speak these words about my father, and that not only will I embarrass myself, but embarrass him.
Then, the words from so long ago pop back into my head, forcing a small grin to my face as I imagine sitting next to my father in a church, his version of the 23rd Psalm echoing in my head.
I'm the toughest son of a b itch in the valley, and I am going to make him proud.
Jennifer Eisenbart First Place Winner Write a DearReader Contest 2019
2019 Second Place Winner: Stacey Somppi
Congratulations to Stacey Somppi, this year's 2nd Place Winner in the 15th Annual Write a DearReader Contest!
Stacey was in the midst of boxes and boxes, when I called to give her the good news. She was packing and just about ready to move into a new home, in a different state.
"I knew after last year that I wanted to enter the contest again this year," Stacey told me. "I came up with five subject ideas this year, and decided to work on two of them," she said, "I was planning on only entering one, but I couldn't decide, so I entered them both."
Five story ideas, packing up her household contents, writing two finished entries, and in the midst of all that, being cheerful and full of energy when I spoke to her on the phone, Stacey is a talented and delightful woman!
Have fun reading this year's (true story) 2nd Place winning entry...
What's in a name?
When I was growing up, the following was a common refrain after dinner: "Before Mildred does the dishes, make sure Rover gets the scraps"--even though we did not have a maid or a dog. We called our Sears dishwasher Mildred (actually Lady Mildred Kenmore) and our garbage disposal Rover. Is it any wonder that I have always been fascinated with names?
We named our turkeys at Thanksgiving--not farm-raised pets but frozen carcasses from the grocery store. Instead of asking when dinner would be ready, we wondered when Jim Hayhoe or Tybee Bouffant would be done. All year we watched for good names because our turkeys were generally named for actual people we discovered in life or in books. I still keep a list of ideas. (Last year was Aquanetta; this year I am leaning toward Rev. Octavius B. Frothingham.)
As a middle school teacher, I usually assigned a Name Project. Students learned to use research materials (Find a place in the atlas with a name similar to one of yours), and practiced interviewing skills (Ask your parents why they chose your name). I knew that my parents had been looking for an "S" name for me to follow my sisters Sharon and Susan. One evening my mother was reading an article about Jack Webb, my father's favorite actor, who played Sgt. Joe Friday on Dragnet. He had a daughter named Stacey, and right then my parents had their third "S" name. One of my students came into class the day after the parent interview assignment and said, "Boy, did your homework cause a fight at my house last night. My mother never knew that my dad named me after his first girlfriend."
Names served me well as a teacher. One of my professors labeled it "the power of the name," and he was right. I worked to learn my students' names within the first few days of school so I could address them respectfully and specifically. "Hey you" does not have the disciplinary power of a student's own name.
Most teachers have additional challenges in naming their own children. Several names that my husband suggested for our son were rejected due to something like "Oh no. I have a Lance in third period, and he is a terror." Conversely, the name Jackson passed my student roll call test, but was nixed since that was the name of my husband's college roommate's dog.
I decided to keep my surname when I got married. Turned out my mother had tried that, but as one of the first women in the Women's Army Air Corps, she was not allowed to do so. What I thought was a new idea in 1975 was rooted in her plans from 1943.
Keeping my name turned out to be the focus of my first job interview. When the principal of a small private school in South Carolina discovered that my husband had a different name, he almost rescinded the job offer. We talked more about the legalities of such a choice than my lesson plans for the year.
As my family did in my youth, my husband and I still name our cars. For example, our silver Honda was Plata, Spanish for silver. My husband's first surfing van that he bought in college was named Beulah for a recent hurricane in that area. Sometimes we have to get to know a new vehicle for a few weeks until a name sticks.
A rose by any other name may smell just as sweet, but driving to work in Stella or enjoying Lorum Ipsum at Thanksgiving is much more fun.
Stacey Somppi Second Place Winner Write a DearReader Contest 2019
2019 3rd Place Winner: Dorothy Minor
Congratulations to Third Place Winner, Dorothy Minor..
A Fair Trade: A True Story
August 1918, Parkdale, AR: William, eight-years-old and an only child, lived next door to the Caldwells, a family with four children, three boys and a girl. William was lonely and very much wanted a sibling.
One day, he bravely asked his mother, "Will you get me a brother or sister?"
His mother quickly replied, "No, you are my only child, William; that's the end of it." His mother was a woman of her word, so he knew not to ask again.
Wistfully, William watched the house next door with its rambunctious children and wished for his own sibling.
William did play with the younger Caldwell children. Twins Maurice and Wallace were six years older than he, so they regarded him as a pesky little boy. Frances was three years older and a girl. But Pete was only two years older, so he and William were good friends, and they explored the wooded area near their homes. They especially liked to fish standing on the bank of Bayou Bartholomew, the world's longest bayou.
When Johnnie Mae was born in August of 1918, William, an enterprising lad, formed an idea. He marched next door with an offer.
"Mr. Caldwell, sir, I will give you a bale of cotton for the new baby. You have lots of children already. You won't miss this little one. And she will still be next door to you."
Mr. Caldwell responded, "I might have been able to make a deal with you, lad, but my wife is uncommonly fond of the baby already. I think we'll have to keep her."
William thought his argument to be quite sound, so he felt the disappointment keenly when Mr. Caldwell refused his offer.
Johnnie, the baby, grew up to be a feisty red-haired young lady with blue eyes, the rarest coloring. She was bright and witty with a sharp tongue when it suited her; early on, though, she developed a soft spot for William, the boy next door.
As for William, he couldn't help noticing the baby next door as she grew into a stunning red-haired young lady.
When Johnnie was sixteen, she and William slipped across the Arkansas line into Greenville, Mississippi, where a couple could get a marriage license and be married the same day--no waiting period. They returned home the next day, married, and spent a happy life together for forty-six years.
Instead of a fair trade of a baby for a bale of cotton, the Caldwells got three lovely granddaughters after their daughter married the boy next door.
Dorothy Minor Third Place Winner Write a DearReader Contest 2019