I was my dad\u2019s namesake. He was George and I was Georgia. He called me, \u201cGeorgie Girl.\u201d Dad and I had a lot in common. I\u2019m grateful he encouraged me to become a writer. It all began when I was eight years old\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
School was out for the summer and I received an \u201cA+\u201d for penmanship on my year-end report card. During that school year after I finished my regular homework, Dad encouraged me to practice writing in cursive for extra credit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
While Dad looked at my report card, he beamed with pride, then gave me a high five, \u201cGood job, Georgie Girl. All that extra work paid off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Since Dad was an avid letter writer, he insisted I join him after breakfast and write letters. Dad\u2019s letters were mostly written to the Letters to the Editor sections of local newspapers. He didn\u2019t intentionally write to ruffle anyone\u2019s feathers, but not everyone shared Dad\u2019s unique perspectives on important issues \u2013 which editors relished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
However, my eight-year-old mindset wasn\u2019t to write letters on the first day of summer vacation, but Mother Nature foiled my plans. A thunderstorm rolled in and Dad got my undivided attention. He taught me how to write a letter to my favorite aunt and how to submit an illustrated story to the Kid\u2019s Activity Page editor at the Columbus Dispatch newspaper, which featured drawings, riddles, jokes, stories, and poems.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When the storm subsided, I followed Dad to his roll-top desk where he kept postage stamps under lock and key. \u201cStamps are valuable and can\u2019t be wasted,\u201d he cautioned, handing me two stamps to lick and adhere to my envelopes. Then we sprinted the 250 yards to the mailbox mounted on a post at the end of our long driveway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMay I write more letters tomorrow?\u201d I asked, as I placed the letters in the mailbox and lifted the red metal flag to signify there was mail to be picked up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d he said. \u201cTomorrow, I\u2019ll give you two more stamps.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The following morning, I was surprised to find three envelopes already affixed with stamps awaiting me on the kitchen table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After breakfast, I wrote letters to three cousins. Since Dad was busy with farm chores, I walked to the mailbox by myself. On the trek back, my mind swirled with thoughts and ideas for stories, poems, and illustrations for the Kid\u2019s Activity Page editor. Also, since postage stamps were off-limits\u2026why not save money and make my own postage stamps?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was easy to craft a dozen postage stamps resembling people from the pages of the Sears and Roebuck catalog, and all it took was a dab of glue to attach them to the envelopes. If I hurried, I could make it to the mailbox before the mailman delivered the mail.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I returned from the mailbox, I joined Dad for lunch on the front porch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Suddenly, our lunch was interrupted by the mailman racing his Jeep up the driveway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s your hurry?\u201d Dad shouted as we approached the vehicle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The mailman revved his engine, handed Dad the familiar twelve envelopes, then glared at me, \u201cYoung lady, you can be arrested for making fake stamps.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I buried my face in the crook of Dad\u2019s arm and sobbed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt seems you owe the mailman an apology,\u201d Dad said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Through tears and hurried gulps for air, I apologized and promised I\u2019d stop making fake postage stamps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As we watched the Jeep disappear from sight, I braced myself for a sound scolding from Dad. I was certain I wouldn\u2019t be allowed to write, ever again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Instead, Dad tousled my hair and handed me the envelopes, \u201cThose were some mighty clever stamps you made,\u201d he chuckled, \u201cFrom this day forward, please ask me for stamps, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After we finished lunch, I opened those twelve envelopes I\u2019d intended for the Kid\u2019s Activity Page Editor, cousins, and classmates and handed what I\u2019d written to Dad. How elated I was by his response when he finished reading my twelve short stories, \u201cYou\u2019re pretty good at this writing stuff. Keep it up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Long after I was launched into adulthood and left the nest, Dad always took great pleasure in telling people about my life of crime being short-lived as a counterfeiter and how it attributed to my success. Then he\u2019d laugh uproariously, \u201cOne day she\u2019ll write about it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Indeed. Dad was right.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I was my dad\u2019s namesake. He was George and I was Georgia. He called me, \u201cGeorgie Girl.\u201d Dad and I had a lot in common. I\u2019m grateful he encouraged me […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_tec_requires_first_save":true,"_gspb_post_css":"","_EventAllDay":false,"_EventTimezone":"","_EventStartDate":"","_EventEndDate":"","_EventStartDateUTC":"","_EventEndDateUTC":"","_EventShowMap":false,"_EventShowMapLink":false,"_EventURL":"","_EventCost":"","_EventCostDescription":"","_EventCurrencySymbol":"","_EventCurrencyCode":"","_EventCurrencyPosition":"","_EventDateTimeSeparator":"","_EventTimeRangeSeparator":"","_EventOrganizerID":[],"_EventVenueID":[],"_OrganizerEmail":"","_OrganizerPhone":"","_OrganizerWebsite":"","_VenueAddress":"","_VenueCity":"","_VenueCountry":"","_VenueProvince":"","_VenueState":"","_VenueZip":"","_VenuePhone":"","_VenueURL":"","_VenueStateProvince":"","_VenueLat":"","_VenueLng":"","_VenueShowMap":false,"_VenueShowMapLink":false,"_tribe_blocks_recurrence_rules":"","_tribe_blocks_recurrence_description":"","_tribe_blocks_recurrence_exclusions":"","footnotes":""},"essay_type":[46],"essay-category":[],"class_list":["post-19462","essay","type-essay","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","essay_type-features"],"blocksy_meta":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/essay\/19462","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/essay"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/essay"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/6"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19462"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/essay\/19462\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19462"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"essay_type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/essay_type?post=19462"},{"taxonomy":"essay-category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sasee.com\/ro\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/essay-category?post=19462"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}