That first story was about a talking pelican named Peter. We had made a trip to the Outer Banks that summer, and I thought that including something we'd shared would make the story more real to her. 2003 had been a particularly trying year for us. My mother had just passed and it would be our first Christmas without her. Peter's job was to help my daughter deal with our loss, so he told her the story of Oscar the oyster and how this special crustacean used something that caused him much pain to create something of great beauty and value - a perfect dark blue pearl. Peter's goal was to focus Laura's pain on the good memories she had of her grandmother. It was cathartic to me as well.
The next Christmas, Laura's story was about a talking brown bear who taught her that courage was doing the right thing in the presence of fear. That summer we'd gone to the Smoky Mountains, so John, the talking brown bear, was a natural way of reminding Laura of our trip.
Three years ago I was struggling for an idea for Laura's stories. She's growing older and reading at a much more sophisticated level than I could write. I came upon the idea of a sequel to the novel I've not yet written - a story based on a dream I had several years earlier. This story was different because it was more of an action/adventure story and I had to be careful not to write myself into a corner by giving away too much of Sea Tree before it's actually written. "Beyond Sea Tree - A Smoky Mountain Adventure" turned out to be bigger than I at first thought and became a trilogy. The next year she got the second installment at Christmas, but because I was working two jobs most of last year I was unable to complete her story in time for this past Christmas. I've had to promise to give it to her for her graduation this January. Laura said it had better be extra good for having to wait eighteen months for her finished story.
The problem is that I've been stuck. Not one page has been written, and graduation is only nine weeks from now. The first two installments were simple narrative with no fatherly advice that Laura can remember me by. Only last night did the glimmer of an idea come as to the message I want to leave with my daughter. The past couple of years have been a bit stressful for my baby girl. She's reached the point where she's realized that her childhood is just about over and she's not sure she's ready to become an adult. She's stressing over whether she will get into Appalachian State University so she can be with her best friend Erin. I certainly hope she gets in, even though we still don't know how we're going to pay for her education. If my daughter is going to leave home however, I want her to be with her best friend. Erin is the kind of friend every parent wants their children to have.
What fatherly advice should I give my daughter at this point in her life? It must be relevant, and most of all, truthful. Here's what I came up with: It's not enough to say that things will get better, that tomorrow will be brighter, that what she's experiencing today is just a phase she's going through. The truth is that good things don't happen by accident. We live in a broken world. Kindness and charity are a decision, not a natural response to what life throws our way. Love is a gift. By limiting our own desires and by submitting our wills to someone or something besides ourselves, we consciously make this world a better place than we found it.
I could go on to say that if Laura wants to really live her own life, she needs to not simply hope for the best - that things will work out in her favor. No, if she wants good things to happen for her, she's got to do things that attract those dreams she has for herself. Simply letting life happen and reacting to it is a waste of our precious time. She doesn't want to end up in stuck with a life that is repeated too often by far too many: get up-go to work-go home-go to sleep-get up-go to work-survive until the weekend-it's over before you know it-back to work.
That's where I've been most of my adult life. Like a hamster on a wheel - running as fast as I can and getting nowhere fast; with no reward other than graying hair, deeper wrinkles, and less energy to maintain the pace. What I want to do in the final chapter of Beyond Sea Tree is to make sure Laura doesn't get on the wheel that goes nowhere. The good things we dream of aren't on that wheel. She's got to go find them.
So now I've discovered how her story will end. I've only to put it on paper. I'm getting unstuck. Once this story is behind me, I'm free to work on one other old project - a self-help book I wrote and published that never sold. This time I'm going to rewrite and publish it online for free. Money is still tight at Christmas. Maybe by giving away what I do have I'll make room for something better. In the end, I hope the stories both written and lived, will tell a tale worth remembering.
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