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Executive Times |
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2006 Book Reviews |
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Growing
Girls by Jeanne Marie Laskas |
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Rating: |
** |
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(Mildly Recommended) |
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Click on
title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
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Sweet Jeanne Marie Laskas’ latest dispatch from Sweetwater Farm in A father, a daughter,
a balloon. They are just now heading toward the car, hand in hand, toddling
down the driveway. It is the same way every week. They’re going to the
grocery store. They’ll get a free sample of cheese, they’ll get a free
cookie, she’ll ride in the cart awhile, then get
down and push. He’ll say, “Whose little girl are you?” She’ll say, “Daddy’s!” It is the same way
every single week. Except there isn’t always a balloon. Alex is an older dad,
well into his fifties. Before Anna arrived, he wondered if he could do it.
He wondered if he’d have what it takes. On this day she’s
barely three. She knows she has an older dad. “I think,” she’ll say, “he
might be twelve.” The balloon is two
days old, practically ancient in the life of a standard-issue balloon. It is
red. It’s tied to the end of a purple ribbon. It has fewer thoughts than a
household pet, and yet, to a three-year-old, it is in every way a pet. You
have to take care of it, and it won’t last forever. But for the time being it
is all yours. The center
of everything. “Would you
like me to tie the balloon around your wrist?” Alex is saying, already
knowing the answer. “I would
like to hold it,” Anna answers. “I would like to hold my balloon in my hand.” “Okay,
sweetie,” he says. “Well, hold on tight.” The
balloon has lost a good bit of its helium, and there is no wind, and so the
balloon appears to be walking one step behind her, at just her height. A pal
if ever there was one. He is
boosting her up into the car seat, they are fumbling
with sleeves, straps, buckles. It’s hard to tell how it happens. A
slow-motion replay probably could not verify the sequence of events. But the
balloon! The balloon gets loose. The balloon is floating in the air, just
above the father’s head. “Oh, no!” she is saying. “Oh.
. . no!” He reaches into the air, tries to pluck
it from the sky but the balloon at that moment catches an updraft and lifts
higher, just beyond his grasp. “Daddy!”
she is saying. “Oh, no!” He tries
again; this time he leaps. But the balloon soars a
foot higher, hangs there stupidly. “My
balloon,” she cries, craning her neck so as to make a more direct appeal.
“Please, balloon! Please, Daddy! Oh, my balloon…” Another
father might say, “I told you, honey, I told you to hold on tight!” Another
might think, We have to hurry, we have a long list of groceries. Another might
think, We can
just buy another balloon at the store. “That’s my
balloon!” she is saying, looking into the sky with longing. “That is my best
balloon…” This is
one way a father, old or young, finds out who he is, with no time to decide
which one he should be, which one he wants to be, which one might, perhaps,
look better. When a balloon is loose, there is no time. You either charge
after it, or you don’t. And so he
finds that he is the kind of man who charges after a loose balloon, charges
after it with courage and fight. He isn’t aware of his heroism, or his
foolishness, he is too busy chasing a balloon. He hops, runs, reaches, trots
over the grass and trips into the boxwoods. That balloon is either dancing or
flirting or maybe a little of both. It doesn’t have enough loft to go into
the clouds—no, it hovers, dragging its purple ribbon just beyond his pleading
fingertips. “Get it,
Daddy!” she is saying, cheering him on. “Oh, good job, Daddy!” It is all
he needs to hear. It is fuel. He leaps a few more times until he gets an
idea. He’s going to outsmart that balloon. He calculates its direction, like
a receiver estimating the trajectory of a touchdown pass, and he runs past
it, up a little hill, to the top of a wall, off of which he can hurl himself
and go for the grab. One, two,
three—the timing here is critical—and he leaps! And don’t you know that darn
balloon darts left. Left? The balloon
is now over the wall, high in the air. To another
father, that balloon would be a goner for sure. But not him. Not yet. He
watches it. He shakes his head. He wonders how he might break the news to
her. He thinks, Life isn’t fair. Just then
the first real breeze of the day kicks in, and the balloon makes a U-turn,
an absolute about-face. It drifts toward him, closer now, and closer. He hops
at just the right moment. He feels the ribbon like a tickle between his
fingers and so he grabs, he grabs happiness out of the sky. “Aaaah!” she says, her mouth dropping open. “You did it!
Daddy did it!” She can’t quite believe it’s true. Her father has performed a
miracle. Her balloon is back. And life, to her, but also to him, has plenty
more fairness left. Essays like this one will attract some
readers and repel others, mostly because of the same sweet quality that
brings an expression along the lines of “awww” at
the end. Growing
Girls presents modern family life through the skilled writing skills of
one mom, and brings reading pleasure to parents of all ages, and a dose of saccharine
that might be over the limit for some. Steve Hopkins,
July 26, 2006 |
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Go to Executive Times
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The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the August 2006
issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/Growing
Girls.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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