Dreaming My Life Away

“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. 


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