Late last fall, Dad and I were in the car on our way to the Sunday service at a church he had designed. He’d been asked to give a talk on it for Doors Open the following week. It was a church designed with a hill around it, a solar tower and grass covered roof—green before too many architects were thinking green.
It probably would have been good to have asked him a question about the church that morning but instead I said, “I’ve been thinking about starting a new blog—one of my own—a place where my stories can live so they aren’t randomly mixed in with yours.”
“I think that would be good,” Dad responded.
“You certainly are moving in several directions with your writing. Why, I think you’re going to end up with a series of books.”
“Really…? I’ve thought about a title for it, Not According to Plan……reflections on love, life and little black dresses.”
“…..Little black dresses…? I don’t think I like that. That’s what got Clinton into trouble.”
What? “…..I think that was a red dress, Dad….” But who cares?
“No….I don’t think so. I don’t like it.” I will always be my dad’s daughter.
I turned and looked out the car window. Why that’s my most practical wardrobe staple! It can be worn day or night with boots, tights, jeans, heels, sandals, flats or…. I’ve worn little black dresses my entire adult life. I’ve learned to pack a suitcase with little more than a black dress. I felt accused of having dressed inappropriately for decades. My father’s opinion can do that to me.
“I’ve got my mind on my talk.” He said then. “I can’t think about this right now.” I let the subject drop. For months.
It had become clear not long after we started Sundays with Dad that the path we had started out on had turned into a landscape. I was writing more than Dad’s stories—which didn’t really go with the blog title. I could hear him thinking, why is that story there, stay focused Debbie.
I didn’t know when we started out that I was about to discover I liked writing stories as much as Dad liked telling them. So the space we shared became a little crowded. It amused me that even a cyber-home occupied by parent and child could reach a point when it was time for someone to pack up and move out.
We continued on though, with our shared blog space. I weaved my stories around his. We had fun. We made it work. I recorded the memories that shaped him into the man he is and some about me into who I am.
After writing my last story, My Baby’s Getting Married, I realized it was time for a change…one where I get to be the parent too.
If you want to follow me there, you can do it here Not According to Plan…..reflections on love, life and little black dresses..
Dad has a new project in mind too, so Sundays will still be here. I love my Sundays with Dad, and I love sharing them with you.