My Father's Pen

Dear Dad,

I know you've been waiting to hear this for a long time, and I'm finally ready to say it, whole-heartedly. You are right. I was wrong. Ooooh so wrong.

You knew what was best for me all along, but I didn't believe you. You had already lived so much longer than me, but somehow I thought I could be smarter. I tried every other path, determined I would find one better than yours. Your choice was so old-fashioned; I thought my generation's inventions were better and more useful.

I even convinced myself for short periods of time that I was happy. I thought I had found my path, and that it was the best to be found. But these always disappointed eventually. After years of discouragement, I started trying anything and everything in search of it. I nearly gave up hope that I would ever find it...


but then I did.

The Pen of My Dreams.

The pen I can always count on to write. The pen that makes a beautifully full line without gucking all over the page. The pen that's not too fat and not too thin. The pen that has a cap, but doesn't make annoying clicking noises. The pen.

THE. PEN.

The pen that was, and still is, your pen. The only pen you buy and the only pen you use. The pen I should have trusted all along.

Now I think of the years I lost trying to believe in less-than-worthy pens. If I only had believed in your experience and your desire for my welfare. You have once again proven your great fatherness. Thanks Dad; I wish I had listened sooner. Thank you for showing me the best pen ever!

Love,

Nicole

P.S. True to the picture above, I actually use the black one, even though your pen is the blue one. I hope we can agree that I have actually found the light, despite our difference in color choice. The majority of my writing is done on plain white paper. If I did the editing on already black-heavy texts that you do, I would use the blue too. I hope you understand.