Growing Up...

9/25/99

Jessie came home, beaming with the love of God, the rays of the sun glowing in her cute pig-tailed blonde hair and freckling back in star-shaped spots. Daddy asked her what they did in kindergarten today and she said, “Miss Olive said, ‘Tell me who is the bravest person you know and why,’ so I said ‘Daddy because he never cries.’” And Daddy did not know what to say so he forced a smile and closed his eyes as he hugged his beautiful daughter with his arms-that-don’t-want-to-ever-let-go.

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9/11/04

Jess came home, beaming with the love of God, the rays of the sun glowing in her cute French-braided blonde hair and, the freckles a little lighter than before, but in greater quantity, ones that little Bobby adored as he stared at her in their fifth grade class, ones he adored when they shared their first kiss together, an innocent peck on the cheek taken place on a ledge of the sandbox on the playground of a million memories. Daddy asked her what they did in class today and she said, “Ms. Thomas had us write a paper about the bravest person we know, so I wrote about the President because I remember how he looked so brave when he talked to us with his hardhat and the megaphone and with everybody behind him cheering.” Daddy did not know what to say so he forced a smile and said, “That’s nice, honey.”

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9/27/11

Jessica sat down at her computer, looking at digital images of her life, looking for inspiration for her college application essay. In the images she was still always beaming with the love of God, the rays of the sun glowing in her gorgeous flowing blonde hair, her freckles sometimes covered by an invasion of makeup. Her English teacher, Mrs. Luke, had told the class to make a timeline of their lives to find significant moments about which they could write. The prompt? One of those curveball artsy obscure ones: In 100 characters or less, write about the bravest person you know.
There were images of Daddy, some of them were images of Dad. Jessica came across photos of Isaac, a family friend who was a firefighter, who had lost his life some ten years ago in the unforgettable inferno. She came across a photo of David, the neighbors’ son on whom she had a crush, even though he was seven years older. Now she just cried for him, for when he went off to battle for our country, he too had perished. She knew these two defined bravery but as she thought back on her young 18-year life there was also a common denominator through it all. And so she answered the obscure question with this: My Daddy is the bravest person I know. He has only cried once, ten years ago when our country bled.