“I told you dreaming would do you no good. It will do nothing. Your life is here,” my father kicked the soil and I hoped he didn’t move the seeds I had so carefully planted.
“I know what you have said, but I can’t stop. I don’t know what I am supposed to do when I am in the fields all day by myself. I tell stories into the tape recorder and then write them down.”
My father sighed and looked out over the newly planted fields. As he turned back to me, I could see the determination in his face. I knew he didn’t think writing could be a worthwhile hobby, but I had to do something to keep my mind busy.
“Don’t worry, I don’t plan to leave the farm. My life is here, but I also love to write. Telling stories into a tape recorder is only a way to keep me from getting too distracted.” My father sighed again as he turned back toward the house.
I knew he was afraid I was going to leave the farm just like my brother did. My dad hadn’t warned him not to dream and now he was off living in the city. Living in a small apartment, staying inside all day and losing himself in the process. I knew the accident was why he left. I also knew he would never forgive himself and my father would never forgive him. Even though my mother’s death was my fault.
Standing Room Only 