Despite himself the father had to chuckle at the thought of the boy. His youngest daughter had similar tendencies. She never could go out in a white shirt, she’d come home wearing her dinner; dried meat sauce dangling from her chest and a big ole grin on her face. Just as dense as the boy too, it took years of repetition for certain things to sink in. And unfortunately some never had. Sometimes he joked that he should have adhered to the golden rule of three and stopped after his third offspring because thereafter his seed turned sour. But of course that was only a joke, shared with a select few who understood the old man’s perverse sense of humor. The girl had always found him entertaining but the father feared for her. He knew she had a beat all her own, a rhythm he never quite understood and it worried him the world might not either.
Disgruntled by these thoughts the old man carefully opened the package of pictures in front of him. Like a professional he allotted a certain amount of time to each picture. Observing first the overall quality; the distance from the camera, the angle, the lightning, the setting, and only after all these elements were considered, did he pay mind to the people. Calculated. Shifting through each picture like it was a distinct treasure, an artifact of time and memories shared. He was a good ole boy who appreciated the art of snapping a photo, where each snap had to be accurately gauged and thought out because film was expensive. He came from the age before digital. A time when those you loved lived close by and travel was seen as a luxury not a necessity.
After shifting through a couple he paused purposefully at one. It was of the girl twirling her finger in the air, exclaiming to the crowd, “I’m going to the top and I’m taking everybody else with me!” All the relatives were looking on at the girl in amusement. They were all too consumed by her excitement to utter any protests, only words of encouragement and mirth. Glasses were raised high, toasts of good fortune made, and smiles shared by all. All this done but still he doubted. He had worries and questions. Where was she heading? What top? Who was she taking with her? He was already established. These childish promises of Hollywood and red carpet events did not excite nor entertain him. But what was he to do? Everybody else seemed elated and she claimed to be her own woman now. But he still thought of her as an unripe cabbage plucked too early from the farmer’s garden. He tried to protest to all of her whimsical adventures, tried to convince her not to move west, but to no avail. The girl was as stubborn as a mule and possibly as naive as one too.
A Warrior Princess