Personal Statement

April, 2009 - My Dad spent his summers writing in a little cottage on the shore. We kids would take turns bringing him his lunch. Once a week this responsibility fell on me and it was all I could do to contain the anticipation. I was about 5 years old and it felt like such a long and scary journey through the woods, the lunch basket was heavy and I was so scared something would go wrong; would I get lost walking through the woods, would I spill the soup, or drop the basket? In fact I was sacred of him too….he was a stranger to me, but I wanted him, wanted to have him greet me bearing the gift I had with me, wanted his eyes on me. What I remember of those meetings was that they were mostly short, he’d take the basket from me, say my name, thank me, I’m sure he took some delight in my presence, yet he had work to do so he’d go back to it and I’d leave, longing for more of him. I returned through he woods, no longer afraid but aching for something more, something I couldn’t name but I now know was simply wanting my father’s love.