A Cornucopia of Thanks

link love, thank youFirst off, I wanted to say thanks to all those of you who came by the Collective Inkwell to wish Dave and me well on our new writing and creativity site. We had such a wonderfully warm welcome. I also wanted to say thank you to those of you who subscribed to the Ghostwriter Dad feed. That was a nice surprise. At only one a week, those posts have the potential to be pretty cool.

With that gratitude neatly wrapped, I’d like to say a bit more. I think it’s important to thank your readers. I’d like to spend a few hundred words thanking some of mine.

Next week Writer Dad will officially flow into its second version. I’ll start on Monday by writing a rundown of my expectations for the site. Since we’re all here together, I thought it would be nice if we expected them together. Before I can do that, there is something else I must attend to. Each night before laying my head on the pillow, I like to acknowledge my day.

Before placing this first part of Writer Dad into the past, I would like to lend a round of applause to celebrate those who added so much conversation to the show.

As of this post, this site has seen 5,981 comments. That’s a lot of voices to bounce around such a small space. There is no way I would have been able to cross the chasms I did with the faith that I had were it not for many of the cheerleaders on this list, who propped me up, pushed me forward, told me I could do it and then said it again.

On paper, I could never have imagined that the compliments of people whose eye colors are a mystery could have collectively conspired to shape the first breath of my online voice. But they did and it is something that would do me well to never take for granted.

Thank you, in no particular order…

Kool Aid at Butterflies in My Hand is a wonderful lady. I started out with my moniker as a mystery, but Kool Aid has kept herself shrouded in shadow. That’s okay, Kool Aid, I know you have awesome taste in music and are a fantastic mother. What more would I possibly need?

Barbara Swafford from Blogging Without a Blog has built a community that is all about thriving community. Your comment sections are always full and the exchanges tend to linger. Once a week you shine the spotlight on a new blogger to ever widen a web of citizens.

Randi at Foreign Quang might just be the Writer Dad comment queen. Randi, your comments are always so wonderfully thoughtful and indefatigably sincere. Your appreciation for my family and who we are is evident in everything you’ve ever said. Your students are fortunate.

Cindy at Namas Daisy. Though her comments are rare, she has sat beside me and listened to me as I have read every single word this site has ever published. Sometimes with just a slight tilt in your expression, you give me the feedback I need to lend my posts that little extra polish.

Vered is a mommy blogger extraordinairre who might be the reigning comment queen of the blogosphere. Vered, you were  the first and only one to drop a comment on my first post. You said, “This was beautiful! You write really well. I am subscribing.” The instant hope bloomed from that single comment on my first day in the blogoshphere is one I’ll never forget.

Emily from Remodeling This Life is SIMPLY wonderful. I love how your site focuses on frugal living and extracting the best from each of our moments. It is beautiful, inspired, and in perfect alignment with a well lived life.

Janice is a musician and poet as well as  writer and certified life coach. Janice, you would certainly be the WD comment queen were it not for Randi. I appreciate your deep belief in me and unwavering faith that I am doing what I am supposed to be doing and that a bath of success is iminant.

Hayden Tompkins is all about rockin personal development. Though you have a multitude of appreciable qualities, one thing I have always loved is how you speak directly to my children. You comment TO them in a way that makes me certain I pass your thought forward.

Megan is my sister as well as one of my favorite writers. Thanks, Megan for believing in me and actually one time calling my writing “fancy,” even if you were mocking me.

Marelisa writes an outstanding creativity blog. If I didn’t have my own, it would totally be my favorite. Thank you Mare, besides your wonderful thoughts, I have to say my favorite thing about your comments is that wonderful beaming smile of yours.

Trina may have a site, but I have no idea as she’s never left a URL. Her comments are pure, genuine compliments. Thank you Trina for taking so many opportunities to comment on my words. We can never make more minutes and you have given many to me.

GreenJello wishes her readers well and hopes that they may live an interesting life. Thank you for always saying such succinct, intelligent and thoughtful things. Your comments have the measured pace of someone who chooses to absorb the world around them.

Eric Hamm talks about motivation like no one else I know. Thank you Eric for sending me an email out of the blue six months ago and asking if there was anything you could do to help. Few trails started in my inbox have gone further.

Lori is a space age sage with a black belt who is about to blow our minds with a brand new site. Thanks Lori for wielding wisdom so wonderfully. I love your comments and emails both. I enjoy your love of humor, sci-fi and all things cool.

Patricia has wisdom as any reader of her blog knows. Writing is her joy and connection is her purpose. Thank you Patricia for always leaving your comments unguarded. It is obvious that you speak from the heart and say what you mean.

Laurie, why don’t you have a blog? You have plenty to say and know how to say it well. I think you would look good in Thesis. Thank you for your constant compliments and incessant encouragement. Your belief in my abilities is warming.

Daisy is not my wife, but raises the wonderful point in her site that the “answer starts with you.” True that. Thank you Daisy for making me laugh on several occassions. I always looked forward to your comments and knew they would make me smile even if they were from the “other” Daisy.

Blogger Dad is a creative cartoonist with a colorful personality. Thank you Dave for making me laugh on a regular basis. Your talent is supreme and your editing makes me look smarter than I really am.

Maya is looking for happiness and balance in her life and career, while sharing what she learns with her readers. Thank you Maya for trying to pull the child from inside me and place it with your promising project. I’m looking forward.

Sal scribbles some nonsensical ramblings of a 20 something guy while managing to strike a balance between funny and thoughtful. Sal, I don’t know if you were here from the first week, but if you weren’t it was awfully close. Thanks for being a constant and always having manners.

Evelyn Lyn wants to help people transform lives. Evelyn, thank you for always drawing parallels. Your comments always have a way of joining our experience together. You personalize your comment by talking about your daughter, which makes me feel it ever more.

Friar is the author of one of the funniest blogs I’ve ever read. Thank you Friar for never being afraid to speak your mind. I don’t think I’ve ever seen quite the measure of humor and intelligence as you regularly display.

Marc is a freelance writer from Wales who, impossibly, cares not for the American version of the Office. Thank you Marc for supporting me everywhere I go and always being quick to respond when I have a silly question that I could probably answer myself.

Matthew Dryden is a bloody brilliant freelance writer. Thank you Matthew for your strong early support and never being afraid to stand up and speak your mind. That sort of courage seems at times a lost art.

Kyddryn writes in such an authentic voice that I can practically hear the lilt of her voice as she’s slinging her shade and sweetwater. Thank you Kyddryn for long comments that feel like they were written in the shade of a tree.

Melissa Donovan of Writing Forward authors one of my favorite spots for creative writing tips. (Quick aside: she was also recently named to Writer’s Digest’s 100 best websites for writers. High 5!) Thanks for helping to bring out the best writer inside me.

Jamie Simmerman of Blue Duck Copy gave me my first early lessons in SEO writing. Thank you for being so genuinely helpful so often. If there is a nicer person online, I have yet to meet them.

Mike Goad of Exit 78 reminds me of what is so wonderful about generations that have planted their flag before mine. Mike, your intelligence, work ethic, and clear speech are always a pleasure to read, regardless of which comment box I find them in.

Chase March writes in silent cocophany and is a teacher (I’m sure) like few I’ve ever had. Thank you Chase for always speaking your mind and being direct. I loved when you said, “I don’t buy Lucas as a 10 year old.” It made the subsequent compliments stand out in bold type.

Grammy is WriterDad’s Mom. She sometimes comments from her computer class or the library, but ALWAYS makes me read my posts out loud when she comes over for dinner each Thursday. Thanks for your support mom, even though you are crazier than a bag of brains left in the sun.

Bamboo Forest is funny, intelligent, and a bit of a mystery. Thank you Bamboo for being such a great conversationalist both in and out of the inbox. There are few bloggers I am more curious about or more eager to see where life takes them than you.

Kristin T claims she’s halfway to normal, but I beg to differ. You are wonderful Kristin because you articulate the confusion that is inside us all. No one is normal. Normal is probably only achieved upon the removal of the frontal lobe.

Steph is a professional editor and one of the first online people to steep my potential. Steph, your quiet belief in me helped fuel me forward in a way that was so perfectly ideal for that time and place. You say things so well, they never need to be said in other words.

Ian from Indigo Spot has a quiet, intelligent manner that is far too rare. Thank you Ian for always wishing others well and never failing to appreciate the things around you. The good things that are happening in your life are well deserved I’m sure.

Rita had an impact on the first few months of this site, both undeniable and disengenuous not to acknowledge. An episode I still don’t understand and subsequent surrender to “Satan with a side of hot sauce” left me confused. Regardless, thank you Rita for your early hoorahs.

Dave Fowler is still in the midst of dealing with blog burnout, but will probably end up owning the Internet one day. Dave, you are impossibly funny and I have laughed so often from your emails that I now giggle at the simple site of your name. Thank you for your early and unrelenting support.

Vodka Mom is a mom and kindergarten teacher with an awesome blog. More than any other commenter, you made me want to dig deep and finish RedBook. There’s an awesome story there waiting to be told. I’m looking forward to November.

Ryan Scott, sometimes known as Oktober5, is cool and a bit of a mystery. Thank you Ryan for always having such striking integrity and always being so willing to try new things. You present a wonderful model to follow.

Tara is one of my favorite mums. Her wit is sharp and love for movies enaging. Tara, I love our common interests and genuine banter. Thanks for being one of the first to show me that Twitter wasn’t just a tool, but a place to laugh as well.

Lance cuts his way through the Jungle of Life with gentle thought and reason. Lance, your sincerity shines between the words. I will forever remember that comment you left on Jamie’s site. It was a wowzer. Your site, by the way, is looking better every day.

Wendi-Kelly knows all about life’s little inspirations and passes them forward to each of her readers. Thank you Wendi for always having something thoughtful to say. I remember many of your comments clearly and some still speak to me to this day.

Stacey wants to create a balance, a worthy goal we all should strive for. Thank you Stacey, specifically for our email exchange not too long ago. Those couple of sentences meant so much, I repeated them later to my wife.

Susan Green isn’t a heavy commenter, but she has never been shy about filling my inbox with wonderful assistance. Thank you Susan, not just for being an awesome freelance copywriter who is so willing to share your experience, but for being so genuinely concerned about the welfare of my family.

Teena and Karen are two previous clients who strongly believe in what Cindy and I are doing. They have been unwavering in their support and cheerleading. Teena, thank you for every kind word you’ve ever said. I simply can’t count high enough to assign a number. Karen, thank you for letting us know how grateful you were for all we did. Gratitude covers more distance than most things in life. I love how often you’ve expressed it to both Cindy and myself.

Renee doesn’t have a blog, nor has she ever commented. She has, however, sent me more emails than I can count telling me how much my words mean to her. Thank you Renee for taking care of our children during those first few years, before we were able to do it ourselves.

Thank you to everyone for everything. I look forward to what is nex.

Writer Dad

I Link You!

An inability to stay quiet is one of the conspicuous failings of mankind. 

~Walter Bagehot

Something cool happened at Writer Dad this weekend:

We hit a thousand comments.  

I’m only responsible for about fifty, so really it’s you, and I should say thanks.  

If you glance to your right, you’ll see two additions.  

The first, is a comment counter.  A thousand comments off three dozen posts is cause to celebrate, but I couldn’t find a way to float balloons on the blog, so I went with a chiclet instead.  

The second is also a comment counter, but with a wider smile.  It lists the ten commentators who’ve made the biggest difference in the first six weeks of Writer Dad’s infancy.

In order of comment count:

Sal, from Everyday Thoughts From Life, is evolving quickly, in both his writing and the layout of his words. I can see where he’s pulled a few cues, and I must admit, he has excellent taste.  Like Writer Dad, he wants to exchange the grind for the life of a freelancer.  Best of luck, Sal.  

Rita, from Bloggrrl is…. well, we’ll start with feisty.  Upon meeting, during my Pollyannah post about the Olympics, I thought her argumentative.  In the month since, she’s done nothing to prove me wrong.  However, I knew by the end of that first day, that Rita had all the integrity you’d ever want from the person on the other end of an argument.  Though she’s been sighted snorting capital letters, wrangling unsuspecting publishers into book deals, and coercing bloggers into theological discussion, she has acumen in abundance, and is a valuable addition to any dialogue.

Vered, I’m sure by now, is done with hearing me say that she was my first commenter, on my very first day, but it’s true.  Vered is the type of person who makes community possible.  Her RSS reader must be swollen, yet she always makes time for everyone.  I know she chews on my words, despite the fact that I serve them five days a week.  The constant community that swirls around Momgrind is testimony to her affability.  Her comments are direct, rendering it effortless to believe every word she says.

Bamboo Forest, from Pun Intended, always makes me laugh.  I look forward to his comments, nearly as much as his posts.  His blog, run with his brother, Flying Llama fish, is one of the most unique sites I’ve stumbled on.  It’s quirky, yet ripe with sincerity.  If his posts can’t make you smile, check yourself.

Lance’s, Jungle of Life is as wonderfully thoughtful as its author.  Every Sunday, I look forward to a simple picture, placed above a complimenting quote.  Lance doesn’t promote himself as an expert on anything, yet his sound words are beautifully built from the billion bits of his experience.

Barbara Swafford’s, Blogging Without a Blog is an invaluable resource for any freshman blogger.  When I found her site, she was in the middle of a series with Lorelle on WordPress.  I was new to blogging, and found myself looking forward to every entry.  Each week, Barbara knights a “New Blog of the Week.”  Her taste is excellent.  Last week it was Writer Dad; this week, Pun Intended.

Marelisa’s, Abundance Blog is a rare breed.  It serves the same purpose as many others, yet feels fully individual.  Perhaps it’s because her genuine smile and appreciation for life, shine from behind every word she writes.  Her topics might be comparable, but her approach isn’t.  Her attention to detail is evident in every post, from the borders around her pictures to the layout of her text.  She can nudge be to eat chocolate and make guacamole any time.

Alex isn’t only responsible for putting Bloggrrl and I together, he’s also the envy of Writer Dad for packing it up and moving to Spain.  His site, “Someday Syndrome,” deals with shedding the procrastination we all carry like a heartbeat.  His recent series with the lab rats is exhaustive, and well worth the minutes.

Dave Fowler is tirelessly supportive.  He not only started commenting daily, a full month before he had his own blog, he’s purchased each wee-book, every week.  I wish his new blog, Teach My Children Well, much success, and I’m glad there’s a place I can reciprocate.

I met Steph only two weeks ago, but already she’s had an impact on my writing.  She’s quick to evolve.  In half a moon, I’ve seen her blog, In Other Words, get a facelift.  And on Saturday, so did the blueprint for her life.  She’ll soon launch “EditQuest,” where, I’m certain, she’ll emerge as an immediate and natural success.

I know I’ve exceeded my word count, and I’d like to exit before I do the same to your patience.  

Quickly, here are a few I can’t omit.  

Ryan, Stacey (thank you for Friday), Ellen (some of your single sentences have touched me deeply, and thank you for the purchase), AndyEmily, Chris, Friar, Hayden, Ian, Evelyn, Luis (Andy, Ian and Luis, thank you for buying wee-books, even though none of you have children), Dot, Urban Panther, Scott McIntyre, T Edwards, Dereck, Kool Aid, Linda, Robin, Kyddryn, and of course,

Blogger Dad.

If I neglected you, sorry.  Email me and we’ll talk about a guest post.

Writer Dad

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Thank You Sir, May I Have Another?

“If a fellow isn’t thankful for what he’s got, he isn’t likely to be thankful for what he’s going to get.”

~Frank A. Clark

Is it going to hurt?”

Max furrowed his tiny brow.

No,” I said.  ”It’s going to pinch.”

Like this?

He pinched me, certain I’m sure, that he sent my forearm into burning agony, but it’s more like the whisper of a dandelion settling on my skin.

No,” I said.  ”Like this.”

I gave Max’s arm a nip; a close approximation to what the shot might feel like.”

Ow.”

Did it hurt?”

A little bit.”

Not too much?”

This much.”  Max squeezed his thumb and pointer, leaving just enough room for a ladybug to slip through, but only so long as her wings were folded.  ”Why do I have to get a shot.”

Because they put a few tiny bad guys inside you, so like a million good guys can beat them up and tell them to never come back.

Then I won’t get sick?”

Right.”

I’m not going to cry,” Max said.  He shook his head.

It’s okay if you do.”

Yeah….” He held the last syllable like a note on a trumpet.  ”I don’t think I’m going to.”

We’ve been stuck in the tiny room with the long sheet of butcher paper for the better part of an hour.  Just me and the three year old.  We have a trio of books, and we’ve read each several times.  I’ve already made the tongue depressors dance, and fashioned a set of chicken balloons from the disposable gloves.  I know I should stay out of the doctor’s stuff, but forty-five minutes is a long time.  

I start to wonder what it’s like to have the seemingly infinite power of a doctor.  I picture him next door, flirting with the nurse, or maybe dinking around with his iphone.

We had an appointment, and there was no one before us.  What’s taking so long?  

Forty-five minutes waiting in a tiny room with a three year old is like an afternoon in an elevator.

What’s taking such a long long time?”

Max’s question is reasonable, but it’s turning into a whine.

Sorry buddy,” I tousle his hair, “I’m sure the doctor will be here soon.

Okay.”  His shoulders collapse and he crawls in my lap.

I feel about doctors as I do about contractors.  I’m not happy I have to bend over every time I want to do business, but I accept it.  

They went to med school, I didn’t.  They have a skill set that I do not.  

But don’t make my three year old wait without a good reason.  

That’s not cool.

I tell Max I’ll be back; he promises not to budge.  I step into the hallway.

The nurse has misfiled our paperwork, and the doctor doesn’t know we’re waiting.

Grrr.

Fifteen minutes later, the derelict nurse enters.  He says, as he displays the needle, “Sorry guys, this is my first day.”  He then approaches Max with the self assurance of a tourist without a map in a country without vowels.

Have you given a shot before?”  I shift my body.  The nurse has to stop.  I’m not trying to be confrontational, but I’m quite suddenly unhappy.

“Not on a kid.”  He won’t look me in the eye.

I’m sure you’ll be an ace someday,” I said.  ”But we’ve been waiting for an hour, and I think we need another nurse.

“Sure thing,” he said.  

He shuts the door and I feel angry with myself for not giving him the benefit, but I’m doing the right thing.

The door swings open a minute later and a woman walks in who looks like she was giving shots back when they were wiping out polio.  

“How are ya little guy?”  The nurse smiles and every one of her hundred wrinkles reach for the ceiling.

Good.”  Max laughs.

“This is going to pinch a little, okay.”

Max looks at me and whispers.  ”I’m not going to cry.”

Okay, buddy.”  I offer my palm.  ”Do you want to hold my hand?”

Yeah.”

Look at me, okay.”

Okay.”

Max holds my gaze as the needle breaks, then enters his flesh.  His eyes widen, brighten, then glaze.  The nurse finishes her work, and removes the needle.

All done,” I said.

Max turned to the nurse with two dry cheeks.  ”Thank you for my shot.

This sounds like the most polite sentence ever whispered.

The nurse spins in surprise, clearly trying to determine an appropriate response.  But, “You’re welcome,” is all she can manage.

Five minutes later, we’re at the front desk with Max being fawned over.  He’s given not one, but one of each kind of sticker scattered at the bottom of the ‘sorry we had to stick you‘ box.

Did it hurt,” I asked as I lifted him into his car seat.

“No,” he shook his head.  ”But it took a long long time.”

Writer Dad

If you enjoyed my words, please subscribe.  I promise I’ll be back tomorrow.

If you liked that, you’ll probably love “But Daddy,” “Bye Bye Butterfly,” or even this.

Here is a Macbook, Go Make Your Million.

Great things are not done by impulse, but a series of small things brought together.

~Vincent Van Gogh

It’s a year and a half ago, on my birthday, and Daisy hands me a box.  It’s rectangle, about the size of a coffee table book.  

I look at the box, pick it up, and measure it against possible matches in my head.  

It can’t be what I think it is.  That’s impossible.

I open the box.

GASP!  

It’s beautiful.

I pet, then remove the gift from its shell.  I place it in my lap.

“We have to return it,” I say.

My heart skips a beat as I speak.  I can tell that Daisy’s has done the same.  

“We can’t afford it.”  I repeat the message in different words, just in case they had fallen out in the wrong order the first time.

Daisy looks at me, silent.  I know that she wants me to be excited.  I can feel her desire to see me jump up and down, and break into a garish smile.  She wants to hear me shouting in glee.

“I have to return it.” My voice is almost a whisper.

Daisy then uses a word said less often between us than the word flabbergasted.  ”No,” she says.  ”You deserve this.”  She takes my hand and places it on top of the gift.

I run my fingers across the lid and then I lift the screen.  Twenty-six letters stare at me from three neat rows.

We can’t afford it.

We can’t afford not to.”  

This is my logic she is using.  Flawed, of course, but I’m listening.

Go on.

“Your brain needs to be busy.  This will take you anywhere you want to go.  Please don’t fight me.”  Her sentences are short.  She doesn’t want to argue.  Neither do I.

“Write a book, make a million,” she adds.  She does not say this then with the certainty that she will nine months later, but the seed is planted.  What she means in that moment is that I can do anything I want to and, dollar for dollar, she just handed me the finest tool in the world.

After a brief exchange where I was reminded whose retirement was cashed out (Daisy’s) to buy the house, and who decided how to spend every penny (Writer Dad), I conceded.  It’s eighteen months later, and I am thrilled to report, Daisy was right.  

If I paid two dollars every day from that day until now, the Macbook would be paid for.  That’s less than a cup of coffee.

Today is our anniversary, a perfect time to acknowledge the amazing person who brought us all together.  

Daisy and I have been married for seven years, holding hands for eleven.  It’s a bit of time, but compared to my grandparents who were married for three quarters of a century, it’s really just the first few buds to bloom on the branches of a freshly planted tree.  

In that full year plus a decade, Daisy has never doubted me.  Whenever a crazy idea tumbles from my mind, her first question is always,

“What can we do to make it happen?”  

Most recently, when I said that I thought it was time for us to write full time and take a machete to life’s jungle, she bought fifty spiral notebooks from Target at ten cents each and piled them around every room of our house.  ”Don’t let your ideas get away,” she said, kissing me on the mouth.  ”You’re brilliant.”

 

Pertinent facts – Writer Dad: 7th grade kind of cool, 8th grade really cool, 9th grade total nerd.  Junior year, argument with guidance counselor.  Academic files grow fuzzy after that.

Pertinent facts – Daisy: Master teacher with a specialty in early childhood education.  Multiple recipient of the Teacher of the Year Award.  Has taught on four continents and helped to design curriculum.

Daisy is my biggest cheerleader.  She believes in me with a certainty that could only be described as spiritual. She is always downcast when she believes I’m bored, but I’ve never seen her happier.  This is in large part because, with no less than 1,342 projects swallowing our horizon, my brain has never been this busy.

Thank you Daisy, for conversations that flow like a decade worth of running water.  Thank you for being a tireless mother to our exhausting children.

Parenting well is often rewarding, usually fun, and rarely easy.  Doing it with you is like dribbling a ball.  

Our future has never been more pregnant and, as scary as it might be, there is no one on this Earth I’d rather hold hands with as we jump into the unknown.

Happy anniversary.  I love you.

Writer Dad

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Gracias, Señora

 

Two years ago, when Daisy and I were first looking for a school for Mia, our main criteria was finding an environment where she wouldn’t be bored.  Fortunately, we found a fantastic public school in our city that had a Dual Immersion program where ninety percent of a Kindergartner’s day is taught in Spanish. 

Surely, that would keep her eyes open.

There aren’t a lot of schools like this, at least in our district.  There was quite the waiting list, and though we collectively wore the armor of optimism, Daisy and I were silently worried that our alternative education wasn’t going to happen.  

Fortune prevailed and Mia was accepted.  Her school year is over, and now we can reflect.  

The school year was so much more than we ever imagined.  Mia grew beyond our expectations, and learned a mass of lessons that we could not have taught her.  

Daisy and I each wrote letters to Mia’s primary teacher, as well as her principal.  In addition, I wrote this little verse for the two of them.  I thought I’d share.

Names have been changed to protect the innocent:

Dear Maestras,

I knew we were lucky, though I had no idea, what a year would be like with Señora Mochila.  As the curtains draw closed on my first year as a dad, with a child at Lincoln, I’m a little bit sad. My children grow older (it seems faster than me) and one day their changes will get harder to see, but the changes this year I can not even count, because they arrived every day in a countless amount.

We’ve watched our girl grow from inquisitive and ready, to just over six, now skillful and steady.  Before, she could not roll the “R” in burrito.  Now she orders in Spanish when we’re at El Torito.  We’ve lost nine pages from the calendar since her first day in dress.  May I have a moment Maestras, so that I may confess?

Daisy and I harbored no second choice.  It was Lincoln we desired to give our girl voice.  We waited and lingered with anticipation for a letter of acceptance to provide us elation.  We received our letter in the post, but the program was filled and a small part of my spirit was a little bit killed.  But it doesn’t come close to stinging my pride to tell you straight up, I actually cried.  

I called on the phone and asked, “What can I do?”  Sra. Reina said, “Be patient Señor; just see it through.”  So I listened to her, swallowed my tears, and allowed encouraging words to flood through my ears. 

Two weeks passed, then on Good Friday it was, we unfolded another letter and read with a buzz.

We stayed unerring, sound in our choice, and now we could finally begin to rejoice.  Not only for Mia, but for our Maxwell as well.  We were so happy, we started to yell.  A wonderful institution had become in our reach where our children would learn things that we could not teach.

The next four months fell like leaves in the Fall, taking Mia that first day we’ll always recall.  Señora was perfect.  She had command of the room, like a pregnant mamí has command of her womb.  We knew without doubt, as we knit hands with our boy, that our next nine months would be brimming with joy.

And they were, mis maestras, es todo verdad.  Nunca en su escuela es una facade.  Mia’s learned how to read and then how to write in a new tongue by doing assignments each night.  She’s learned how to sing with such beautiful grace, I can easily picture my gone grandmother’s face.  She knew how to learn, but now she digests, and she does it all with such flawless finesse.

Lincoln’s a school that’s surpassed expectation by providing a solid, substantial foundation, and that is the bedrock of great education – a group of teachers who offer such deep dedication.  Please believe me when I say: this is no aberration.  You have earned our family’s sincere admiration.  It would be a benefit to the whole of our nation, if such practice were applied to the next generation.

We wanted for our child to be challenged, not bored; a wish which was granted, instead of ignored.  Thank you kindly for all that you do.  Daisy and I are so grateful for you.  From nuestras corazones, quiseramos to say.  Gracias por todo hacen every day.

Writer Dad