Standing On A Chair

Telling it like I see it…

Rants from the Chair: On My Farrah

I probably owe my daughter an apology. 

Actually, I’ve owed her one since the early nineties, when I wrote a piece about her which got published in a local literary magazine, and in fact, almost made it into the Miami Herald’s Sunday Tropic Magazine.  I remember getting a call from a confounded editor who wanted to make sure what I wrote about Farrah was really true, since a requirement for publication was that it must be a true story.  Alas, it did not get published, as something going on down there in Miami at the time took last-minute precedence.

You might say that piece I wrote about Farrah was on a subject that was just a teensy bit sensitive and personal.  Let’s just say the story came under the heading of “Adolescent Angst,” and leave it at that.

It wasn’t until a few days ago, while having dinner at her house (cooked by my fabulous son-in-law) that I realized how much she hated that I wrote about her back then.  How did I realize it?  Perhaps by hearing her say, “I hated it when you did that, Mom.”

Let’s face it.  A child born to a mother who writes is doomed.  For when you are a writer, everything that happens, every word uttered, and the actions of all people provide grist and fodder for the next commentary, story or blog rant.  That said, I dare anyone to tell me that a child growing up is not a veritable treasure chest filled with rich and priceless material!

And guess what?  I suspect my Farrah already relates to this “affliction,” because she, herself a writer (imagine that), has already logged about a million words on the subject of her firstborn son, who is at this point only six years old!  You can see what she’s up to on her blog at     

I mean, who in the hell needs fiction, when reality is so riveting and completely mind-boggling in and of itself?

As a single parent from day one, I recall living in horror and fear, worrying endlessly about who would love and care for my child should I face an early demise.  I used to pray, “Please God, just let me live long enough to guide my Farrah into self-sustaining adulthood.”  Well, my prayer was much more than answered.  And I’m still here.

I’m afraid if I am not constrained, I will write about Farrah again. 

Like about what an amazing mother she is. 

Or about how I feel like she’s my best friend in the world, the only person I can completely trust without question. 

Or about how I admire her for her accomplishments and the kind of person she’s turned out to be.

Oops.  There I go again, writing about my Farrah.

Sorry honey…


November 15, 2011 - Posted by | Family Life | , , , ,

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: