Smarter

HIGHLIGHTS

 

Her red marker is seldom more than a few inches from her hand. My daughter, Sandy, has ambitions to be a writer, a famous author. She underscores phrases that she may twist and turn and use someday and especially beautiful descriptive phrases. I chastise her constantly with a phrase of my own. 'Would you like somebody doing that to a book you actually write?' Sandy has replied, 'Why would I care if she paid for my book? Mom, she can tear out the pages and use them for toilet paper for all I'd care.'  I don't ask her any more. I listen to her nasty tongue and let her alone for a short time. Another red marker dries out and is left on the kitchen table. A new one is handy for Sandy. It's still sealed in the kitchen what-not drawer.

 

Joseph, her beloved father, can't reach her either. He explains that writing is an art, a love and she should realize what accomplishment will mean to her. Sandy's reaction is hurtful. 'Dad, leave me alone. One more lecture and I'll move in with Marty. I mean it, both of you.' I quake when she says that while Marty tells her to go ahead, live with that ne'er do well. Just be sure you take your red markers along.'

 

Instant tears fall on the page Sandy had been scanning. Her temper rises. She tosses her marker and her book at father. He is stunned, picks up both things and tells her to go to Marty's or to hell. 'They are both the same, Sandy. When you grow up, can think straighter, respect me, come home. Just be sure to take your red markers with you. ' I quake when he says that while and plead with him to apologize. 'I'm right. You know I'm right. We argue. I tell him to shut up. Sandy comes downstairs carrying an overloaded suitcase and a filled duffle bag. She does not ask for help and Joseph doesn't offer any. All that she says, is 'Goodbye. I'll be at Marty's,' And she is gone! The house feels empty. Conversation is nil. We are both suffering the pangs of heartache.

 

Time moves slowly. In October UPS delivers a small package with no return address on it. I open it and find four red magic markers, no card, no explanation. As soon as Joseph comes home I show it to him. He tosses the markers in the trash. 'Joseph, are you stupid or plain dumb? Sandy is telling us something. I know she is apologizing in her own way. I am calling her.' He explodes, 'No, you aren't,' 'I am,' 'No you're not.' Joseph wins when I cave in. We receive no more 'gifts', no phone calls.

 

Two more months pass. My legs are wearing out just walking back and forth in front of Marty's apartment, hoping Sandy will see me and come out. She doesn't. All kinds of horror stories rip me to bits. It's
December. Snow is falling softly. I do not hear anyone coming up our path but a familiar knock at the door makes me run to it. Sandy and I are speechless. We hug, hold each other so tightly I believe my back will crack. As soon as we calm down, she asks for Joseph. 'I have something to show you both but can't wait for him. She hands me a magazine I have never seen. She opens it to page 32 and there is her picture and a story about an author who wrote the story on two pages called 'Red Markers'. It's being published is such a high light in her life, that she realizes now where she wants to go and how to get there.

 

'Mom, I received $500 for this and have been asked to do another  story for the next issue. 'Mom, you and Dad were right. I do have talent and want to use it. I don't need Marty. He's a jerk. Can I come home? More hugs and a trip to her car where her heavy suitcase is lighter and the duffle bag is empty. Joseph gets the same strong  hugs I got and a big present.    'Dad,' she says.' You were right, I have been a pig-headed ass. I apologize! Let's sit down in the kitchen, have a cup or two of java and talk about the next story I have started.

 

 Maybe you can be co-authors.'