Ashlee Własiuk-- A few thoughts out-loud about my father. In 12 years Ive sat in silence, holding in my thoughts, out of fear of the ridicule I faced from my peers and strangers. Ive often chosen not to engage in long battles with people on the internet, brainwashed by the prejudice and hatred spread by the media. But as I have gotten older Ive come to realize that if I dont suppress my fears then how will people know the truth about this man theyve come to love to hate. So at this time I would like to share a few of my fondest memories with you about my father. In writing this I would like my father to know that if anything happens to him, that he is very much loved and missed and I will never forget the truth, and the life we once had. I wake up to the sound of a soft motor accelerating and decelerating. Without as much as a creak I tip toe my way towards the kitchen to investigate. Sitting on the counter are countless prints of fabrics, thread and a few pairs of scissors. My father is making my mother scrubs in all sorts of colors and designs for her job as a nurse. Startled in concentration, my father asks me, “What are you doing awake Poopy?” and without hesitation gives me some scraps to practice stitching my initials. This is one of many of my fondest memories of my Father because in my eyes he was an inspiration and unlike any other parent I knew. My father was a very proactive parent and husband. My friends parents sat on the benches and scowled while my father skated in the rink, holding me and my best friends hands. Strangers would look on bewildered as my mother and father slow danced in the aisle at Walmart, seemingly without a care in the world to a slow song playing over the intercom. My father understood a childs imagination and spent countless hours creating a world for my sisters and I. Our favorite game to play was house, and after building us an enormous sandbox fort with a roof and screen walls my father unlocked a world of creativity and imagination for me and my sisters. Each day my father would greet us with something new and fun to do and see. One day our mailbox had been turned into our favorite purple character “Mailbox” from the children show Blues Clues! I can only hold my father accountable for my acceptance into the #1 design school in the country, “Parsons, the New School of Design” and without his influence I would not be the strong person I am today. Although each day was exciting and new for my sisters and I, my father also had the time to teach me about the value of hard work. My father, brother Willie, and I would spend long hours in the barn, caring for the chickens, cows and horses and were rewarded with four-wheelers, summer parties, plowed snowboard trails and simply pure physical strength. One day my father came home with a heat lamp and a box of over 90 baby chicks. My mother nearly died of cuteness! And when they became older each day my mother and I would go to the coop to feed the chickens and pick out their eggs for breakfast. We understood the importance of chores, and were always rewarded for our hard work. My father also never said the words, “Dont touch that.” If there wasnt anything my siblings and I werent allowed to do my father would explain to us why not. Some may misinterpret this behavior as being, “too controlling,” but his explanations and fears were always valid and out of love. We were never left in the dark or forced to rely on pure curiosity as to why would werent allowed to do something. And looking back now, his explanations and long talks saved me from many lessons I was lucky enough to not learn. As a result of my fathers profession, trips were infinitely long and I cried for his return, but on the road my father would send postcards and talk for long hours on the phone with my mother and whenever it was lasagna night we knew our Daddy was coming home. Hed greet us with Spongebob hamburger gummies, Swedish fish, and claw-machine stuffed toys. My mother would jump into his arms and I would run around giving cootie shots to the whole family from all the kisses he shared with her. But I know that this time, when my Daddy comes home, he wont be bearing gifts. This time he will be exhausted and sad. My mothers infamous lasagna wont be sitting in the kitchen and neither will my mother. Nothing will be the same as it was when he and my mother; my world, were ripped from me twelve years ago.-- Ashlee Wlasiuk
Posted on: Sun, 28 Sep 2014 02:27:21 +0000
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