This week, I am sharing my developmental editing responses to another Honorable Mention essay in our Summer 2009 No-Contest Contest. You’ll see Karen B. Call’s original contest entry, my written responses to her work and then her revised essay. You’ll see the benefit of reader response that encourages writers to invite more detail into their work. Sometimes as writers, we worry that we are being too detailed or we think that others will be happy to just fill in where we have left the detail out. However, with the necessary details included, not only do readers benefit by seeing a fuller picture, the writer benefits, too, because those details lead to a richer insight and to endings that loop back to the openings in ways that make the essay more resonant.

At first, rereading my comments on Karen’s original entry, I wondered if I had been too demanding. When I re-read her revised essay, the one guest judge Brenda Miller had chosen, I realized that being a demanding reader had helped the writer tell a fuller interior story.

Here is Karen’s initial entry, followed by my response to it and my suggestions inserted into her text. Then you’ll see her revised entry, and, I think, agree with our judge’s reason for liking the essay so much. You’ll also, I hope, come away wanting to be sure that in your writing, you don’t keep important detail from the page.

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Karen B. Call’s Original Entry
The Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip

“Such a healthy girl,” the words rang in my ears. Yes, I agreed, I was healthy, but I didn’t look like my mother. That’s what the clerk at Raggedy Ann’s Boutique meant when she said that to my dad. My mom was beautiful and skinny. I wasn’t. Then my dad said, “Yes, she’s healthy and beautiful, too.”

They didn’t know I could hear them. The rest of their words drifted around me as I struggled to get the dress over my head. In all fairness, the clerk had tried to help, but I didn’t want her help. I didn’t like anyone seeing me in my underwear, especially people I didn’t know.

 “Cassia, you’re gorgeous,” my dad said when I emerged. It was always me, never that the dresses looked beautiful or gorgeous, but me. I looked gorgeous. My folks didn’t know that one thing I got from this trip was this — feeling good. My folks turned things into events. Instead of saying, oh, gee, Cassia’s outgrown her best dress — and put that on the list of 200 things to do — they’d come up with The Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip. In capital letters.

I don’t remember how it started. It was about buying me a new dress, and about spending some time with my dad — just the two of us. We had other events — just the two of us. But, this is about The Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip.

My folks always had a Christmas party and Dad and I would shop for a new dress for the Christmas party and for church on Christmas Eve. We dressed up a lot then and did a lot stuff — before my Dad was downsized by Ellison Brothers Advertising Agency. After he went to work for Market Researchers, we didn’t spend so much money. We still did fun things together, but they didn’t cost as much.

Dad had been downsized at the end of summer. I hadn’t realized it because we always spent a week at some vacation place before school started. After that summer’s vacation I went to school and didn’t know that my Dad spent his days job hunting. I thought it was terrific he was home early to do stuff with us in the evenings. He got the new job sometime after Halloween. I learned about it kind of by accident. They didn’t want it to seem like a big deal. Something like, Cassia, I work at Market Researchers, now. It’ll be a new place to see next spring when we have the daughters at work day. That’s how I remember learning about it. Like it was his decision to move to a new job. When I think about it, I wonder when they might have told me — how long before it began to make a difference in our lives. Maybe that’s what made a difference in that year’s Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip.

The velvet shimmered in the fluorescent light. I had picked lavender. I know, it’s not a Christmas color, but I’d had my fill of red and green dresses and wanted something different this year. The lavender looked almost white if I held it a certain way in the light.

Aunt Kay had sent a headband of violets for my birthday in October. I had been saving it to wear for Christmas. I think Mom had forgotten all about it, but I’d put it back in the box. No one else I knew had a headband like it, but no one else had an Aunt Kay like mine, either! She always found the weirdest things.

With Dad’s comforting compliment tucked into my memory, I circled around for him to see all sides and stepped into the fun-room mirror. It gave me more sides of myself that I wanted to see. The dress was beautiful. Because it didn’t have a belt, it smoothed out my chunky stomach and the ruffles at the hem drew attention to my legs. I wondered about lavender tights, would that be too much? Well, too much money. We had been kind of making a game of saving money, I’d noticed that fall. The white lace tights I wore for church would be okay. But, I knew I’d need new shoes. Please not white patent again, I silently prayed.

I turned back to face Dad. “I like it, I know it’s not red or green, but maybe I could have something different this year. No one else will have a lavender dress; could I, please?” My words tumbled out. I hadn’t wanted that piece about no one else having one to come out. I didn’t want to be like that. I didn’t want that to be a reason to buy it.

Dad looked at me. “Well, it is a different color for a Christmas dress, Cassia, but if you want it, Mom will be happy you’ve found one you like.” I hope, he’d added silently, but I didn’t know that.

“So, what about tights — and shoes?” he asked.

“My lace tights will be fine, really they will,” I said silently playing the saving money game, “but I’d like lavender shoes.”

“Lavender!” he said, “Um, don’t we usually get white?”

“Yes, we always get white patent shoes, but I’d like something different this year. Everyone has white.” There it was again. Buying something different from everyone else.

Dad turned to the shoe display. Red, white and black patent shoes figured prominently with patterned tights. No lace.

“Black?” Dad asked. I giggled, “Well, black would be better than red.”

Our shopping through, we stepped into the mall madhouse with my lavender dress and black patent shoes firmly tucked under Dad’s arms. Lunch. My choice usually.

“Dad, you pick where we eat, today.”

He looked at me in surprise. “Sure?”

“Sure. Where do you want to go?” I slipped my hand into his.

“Let’s see, we could jet to San Francisco and have seafood on the wharf, or to New York and eat at the 21 Club, or head to Chicago for some pizza.”

“Ok,” I said agreeably knowing we weren’t going any of those places. “Like I said, you pick.” We cruised the Feeding Frenzy as we called the food court. Dad didn’t stop.

“What else do we need to get here — at the mall?” he asked.

“Nothing I know of, we’ve got my dress and shoes,” I answered.

“Ok,” he said, “I’ve got it, let’s go to The Lunch Line.”

“The Lunch Line,” I asked, “where’s that?”

“Near the office,” he said. “I go there sometimes for lunch when I’m working.” There was more. “Cassia,” he said slowly, “it’s a place where people who don’t have money or a place for lunch can have something for free.”

“Why would we go there?” I asked.

“To help,” he said simply. He glanced at his watch. “People volunteer there — serve, clean up, things like that. What do you think?” he asked. “Are you up for it?”

I swallowed. I’d never done anything like that in my 12 years. “What about my dress — and shoes?” I asked. “What will I do with them? That doesn’t seem right, to have them there, I mean. Should I take them back — or something?” I asked, not wanting him to agree with my idea.

“Cassia, money is used to buy the things you need and sometimes the things you want. It also means being responsible for helping others. There’s nothing wrong with a new dress and shoes for Christmas, and remember we have our Christmas party for our friends. It’s how we live. And, this is how we live, too. We give our money at church and other things. Still up for it? The Lunch Line, I mean?”

“Sure, Dad, let’s go.”

We put the shopping bags in the trunk and Dad drove across town. I looked at the Christmas decorations. It kept my mind off where we were going — and that I was hungry, too.

“Hi, Steve,” a woman with red hair called to my dad as we walked in. “Hi, Melody, I’m here to help — and I brought someone with me today.” Dad had put his arm around me after we walked in and now he drew me close.

“Sure, the more help, the better. We could use some cleaning up at the tables by the far wall. Could you start there, honey? What’s your name?”

“Cassia,” I answered, trying not to stare at everyone around me.

“Great,” he’d answered her. We’d been making our way through all the people and had reached a coat rack. “Put your coat here,” he said.

She handed me an enormous white apron and a pair of blue rubber gloves. As soon as I got the apron tied, Dad handed me a dishpan. “Go over and clean those tables off, and bring the pan back,” he said. “I’ll be in here,” he motioned toward the kitchen. “You can look over and see me if you need to,” he added.

I got into a system of picking up dishes — plates first, then bowls and cups and the silverware beside them. Then I’d take them to the kitchen, get an empty pan and do it all over again. There wasn’t much food left on the dishes.

Behind me I heard a voice, “There was so much, I couldn’t eat it all. I’m sorry.” And that was all she said. When I turned to look at her, I saw that she was shorter than I was.

“It’s okay,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. “Come back again.”

“I will.”

Finally there weren’t any more dishes for me to clear. I helped wipe the tables and straighten the chairs working with Dad in a comfortable silence.

When we were finished, we walked back to the kitchen. I left my apron and gloves on the counter and went to get my coat.

“Come back anytime,” Melody said. “You’re always welcome.” My stomach growled and my feet hurt. I was ready to go.

“Sure.”

“Okay, pumpkin, let’s do something quick for our lunch. Mom will be wondering what kept us.”

“All right, Dad, whatever comes up first. I’m hungry,” I said. We shared burgers and fries in the car. I sucked in the rich creaminess of a raspberry milkshake.

“Should I tell Mom what we did today?” I asked.

“What do you think?” Dad responded.

I ate a fry and thought about it. “I don’t want to. Can it be our secret?”

“It could be, I suppose,” he said, reaching for his coffee. “Why do you want it that way?”

I considered that. “Does Mom know about that place?”

“She knows about it because our church supports it — it’s where some of our money goes. So, yes, she knows about it.”

I pressed him, “But, does she know you do that — go there, I mean, and help?”

He took another bite of his burger and said, “No, I haven’t told her.”

“There are things I share with Mom, girl-stuff, you probably wouldn’t be interested in it,” I said. “I’d like to have something special with you. Maybe this could be it?”

He shifted around the steering wheel. “Okay,” he said, “this can be our special thing.”

That year the Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip added a new dimension to my relationship with my Dad. I know it sounds kind of hokey, but it made me feel good in a way different from hearing my Dad say I was gorgeous. It was something we shared. We worked it into other events that he and I did together — like the Annual School Supplies Shopping Trip and the Annual Father-Daughter Go to the Zoo day. Each event included time at The Lunch Line.

Later I learned that he had told Mom that he volunteered there and that he’d taken me with him that Christmas. I guess he was afraid that I might mention it to her, but I never did.

****

Sheila’s Response to the Contest Entry

I think the memory you are writing about is a wonderful occasion for an essay and your use of dialog moves the essay along nicely. I can see the happy girl in the lavender dress and I feel her willingness to cooperate concerning money even if she doesn’t quite understand her parents’ total situation.

I am surprised the two don’t eat at the Lunch Line while they are volunteering. It seemed to me that the speaker’s father was taking her there to both avoid having to pay for lunch and for teaching her a lesson about contributing. It seems a little insensitive not to ask if she is hungry and might want to eat before they go or at least to acknowledge how long it might be before they do eat.

It seems the dad was interested in teaching his daughter about helping others. I am not sure why she needed their event to be a secret, though. I wish she would talk more about that and invite readers into her world and how she thought.

I’d love to know more about what she thought when the person eating apologized for not finishing the food. It is a great opportunity to allow the speaker to explore how she puts the world together.

You will see from my comments in the text that I think there are opportunities to fill out the story and share more of the speaker’s young girl perceptions and feelings and learnings.

The Document with Sheila’s Comments

The Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip

“Such a healthy girl,” the words rang in my ears. Yes, I agreed, I was healthy, but I didn’t look like my mother. That’s what the clerk at Raggedy Ann’s Boutique meant when she said that to my dad. My mom was beautiful and skinny. I wasn’t. Then my dad said, “Yes, she’s healthy and beautiful, too.” THIS WORDING LEADS ME TO BELIEVE THE SPEAKER’S MOM IS THERE ON THE TRIP, BUT A LITTLE LATER I THINK I FIND OUT THAT SHE DOES NOT GO WITH THE FATHER AND THE DAUGHTER.

They didn’t know I could hear them. The rest of their words drifted around me as I struggled to get the dress over my head. In all fairness, the clerk had tried to help, but I didn’t want her help. I didn’t like anyone seeing me in my underwear, especially people I didn’t know.

“Cassia, you’re gorgeous,” my dad said when I emerged. It was always me, never that the dresses looked beautiful or gorgeous, but me. I looked gorgeous. WAS THAT SOMETHING SHE LIKED, I AM WONDERING, OR IS THIS SOMETHING SHE THINKS MAKES HER DAD’S RESPONSE DISAPPOINTING TO HER. My folks didn’t know that one thing I got from this trip was this — feeling good. OH, I GUESS SHE LIKES THAT RESPONSE, BUT I AM NOT 100% SURE FROM THE TEXT. My folks turned things into events. Instead of saying, oh, gee, Cassia’s outgrown her best dress — and put that on the list of 200 things to do — they’d come up wit The Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip. In capital letters. THIS IS A LOVELY STORY ABOUT HOW THE TRIP GOT STARTED. AGAIN, IT SEEMS THAT BOTH PARENTS ARE INVOLVED.

I don’t remember how it started. It was about buying me a new dress, and about spending some time with my dad — just the two of us. We had other events — just the two of us. But, this is about The Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip. UP UNTIL HERE, IT SEEMED LIKE BOTH PARENTS WERE ON THE TRIP. I AM SURPRISED TO FIND OUT IT IS A FATHER -DAUGHTER SHOPPING TRIP. IT SEEMS LIKE THE SPEAKER MIGHT WANT TO COMMENT ON WHETHER THAT WAS UNUSUAL AMONG HER FRIENDS–TO HAVE A DAD WHO LIKED TO SHOP WITH HER.

My folks always had a Christmas party and Dad and I would shop for a new dress for the Christmas party and for church on Christmas Eve. We dressed up a lot then and did a lot stuff — I THINK RATHER THAN SAY “A LOT OF STUFF” IT WOULD BE BETTER FOR THE READER TO HAVE A LIST OF WHAT KINDS OF THINGS THEY DID TOGETHER before my dad was downsized by Ellison Brothers Advertising Agency. After he went to work for Market Researchers we didn’t spend so much money. We still did fun things together, but they didn’t cost as much. IT WOULD BE GOOD TO HAVE ANOTHER LIST HERE AND THE READER CAN REALIZE FROM THE JUXTAPOSITION THAT THE THINGS DID NOT COST AS MUCH. MAYBE, HOWEVER, YOU WANT TO SAVE THE DESCRIPTION OF AFTER UNTIL AFTER YOU’VE TOLD US ABOUT THE DOWNSIZING IN THE NEXT PARARAPH:

Dad had been downsized at the end of summer. I hadn’t realized it because we always spent a week at some vacation place before school started. After that summer’s vacation I went to school and didn’t know that my dad spent his days job hunting. I thought it was terrific he was home early to do stuff with us in the evenings. AGAIN, LISTING WHAT HE DID RATHER THAN CALLING IT STUFF WILL HELP GROW THE ESSAY AND KEEP THE READER INVOLVED WITH THE ACCOUNT. He got the new job sometime after Halloween. I learned about it kind of by accident. They didn’t want it to seem like a big deal. Something like, Cassia, I work at Market Researchers, now. It’ll be a new place to see next spring when we have the daughters at work day. That’s how I remember learning about it. Like it was his decision to move to a new job. When I think about it, I wonder when they might have told me — how long before it began to make a difference in our lives. Maybe that’s what made a difference in that year’s Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip.

A VERY NICE TRANSITION HERE BACK TO THE SHOPPING TRIP: The velvet shimmered in the fluorescent light. I had picked lavender. I know, it’s not a Christmas color, but I’d had my fill of red and green dresses and wanted something different this year. The lavender looked almost white if I held it a certain way in the light.

Aunt Kay had sent a headband of violets for my birthday in October. I had been saving it to wear for Christmas. I think Mom had forgotten all about it, but I’d put it back in the box. No one else I knew had a headband like it, but no one else had an Aunt Kay like mine, either! She always found the weirdest things. A LIST HERE TOO WOULD BE GOOD. DETAILS HELP FILL OUT A STORY AND KEEP THE READER IN THE SCENE WITH THE SPEAKER.

With Dad’s comforting compliment tucked into my memory, I circled around for him to see all sides and stepped into the fun-room mirror. It gave me more sides of myself that I wanted to see. The dress was beautiful. Because it didn’t have a belt, it smoothed out my chunky stomach and the ruffles at the hem drew attention to my legs. I wondered about lavender tights, would that be too much? Well, too much money. We had been kind of making a game of saving money, I’d noticed that fall. The white lace tights I wore for church would be okay. But, I knew I’d need new shoes. Please not white patent again, I silently prayed.

I turned back to face Dad. “I like it, I know it’s not red or green, but maybe I could have something different this year. No one else will have a lavender dress, could I, please?” My words tumbled out. I hadn’t wanted that piece about no one else having one to come out. I didn’t want to be like that. I didn’t want that to be a reason to buy it. WHY? I WOULD ENJOY KNOWING MORE ABOUT THE YOUNG SPEAKER’S THINKING.

Dad looked at me. “Well, it is a different color for a Christmas dress, Cassia, but if you want it, Mom will be happy you’ve found one you like.” I hope, he’d added silently, but I didn’t know that. I AM CONFUSED HERE–HOW DOES SHE LEARN HE SAID, “I HOPE” SILENTLY? OR IS SHE SILENTLY HOPING HE’D ADDED? WHAT?

“So, what about tights — and shoes?” he asked.

“My lace tights will be fine, really they will,” I said silently playing the saving money game, “but I’d like lavender shoes.”

“Lavender!” he said, “Um, don’t we usually get white?”

“Yes, we always get white patent shoes, but I’d like something different this year. Everyone has white.” There it was again. Buying something different from everyone else.

Dad turned to the shoe display. Red, white and black patent shoes figured prominently with patterned tights. No lace.

“Black?” Dad asked. I giggled, “Well, black would be better than red.” I AM NOT SURE WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LAVENDAR IDEA. DID SHE REALIZE THEY DIDN’T HAVE THAT COLOR? WILL OTHERS HAVE BLACK? WHY IS THAT STILL BETTER THAN WHITE?

Our shopping through, we stepped into the mall madhouse with my lavender dress and black patent shoes firmly tucked under Dad’s arms. Lunch. My choice usually.

“Dad, you pick where we eat, today.”

He looked at me in surprise. “Sure?”

“Sure. Where do you want to go?” I slipped my hand into his.

“Let’s see, we could jet to San Francisco and have seafood on the wharf, or to New York and eat at the 21 Club, or head to Chicago for some pizza.”

“Ok,” I said agreeably knowing we weren’t going any of those places. “Like I said, you pick.” We cruised the Feeding Frenzy as we called the food court. Dad didn’t stop.

“What else do we need to get here — at the mall,” he asked.

“Nothing I know of, we’ve got my dress and shoes,” I answered.

“Ok,” he said, “I’ve got it, let’s go to The Lunch Line.”

“The Lunch Line,” I asked, “where’s that?”

“Near the office,” he said. “I go there sometimes for lunch when I’m working.” There was more. “Cassia,” he said slowly, “it’s a place where people who don’t have money or a place for lunch can have something for free.”

“Why would we go there?” I asked.

“To help,” he said simply. He glanced at his watch. “People volunteer there — serve, clean up, things like that. What do you think?” he asked. “Are you up for it?”

I swallowed. I’d never done anything like that in my 12 years. “What about my dress — and shoes?” I asked. “What will I do with them? That doesn’t seem right, to have them there, I mean. Should I take them back — or something?” I asked, not wanting him to agree with my idea.

“Cassia, money is used to buy the things you need and sometimes the things you want. It also means being responsible for helping others. There’s nothing wrong with a new dress and shoes for Christmas, and remember we have our Christmas party for our friends. It’s how we live. And, this is how we live, too. We give our money at church and other things. Still up for it? The Lunch Line, I mean?”

“Sure, Dad, let’s go.”

We put the shopping bags in the trunk and Dad drove across town. WELL, IF HE COULD PUT THE NEW DRESS AND SHOES IN THE TRUNK WHY WAS SHE WORRED ABOUT WHAT SHE WOULD DO WITH THEM? I UNDERSTAND THE GUILT SO I WISH THE CONVERSATION STARTED MORE LIKE, “MAYBE WE SHOULD SAVE MONEY AND NOT BUY THE DRESS AND SHOES, THEN, IF THERE ARE SO MANY PEOPLE WHO ARE HUNGRY.” I looked at the Christmas decorations. It kept my mind off where we were going — and that I was hungry, too.

“Hi, Steve,” a woman with red hair called to my Dad as we walked in. “Hi, Melody, I’m here to help — and I brought someone with me today.” Dad had put his arm around me after we walked in and now he drew me close.

“Sure, the more help, the better. We could use some cleaning up at the tables by the far wall. Could you start there, honey? What’s your name?”

“Cassia,” I answered, trying not to stare at everyone around me.

“Great,” he’d answered her. We’d been making our way through all the people and had reached a coat rack. “Put your coat here,” he said.

She handed me an enormous white apron and a pair of blue rubber gloves. As soon as I got the apron tied, Dad handed me a dishpan. “Go over and clean those tables off, and bring the pan back,” he said. “I’ll be in here,” he motioned toward the kitchen. “You can look over and see me if you need to,” he added.

I got into a system of picking up dishes — plates first, then bowls and cups and the silverware beside them. Then I’d take them to the kitchen, get an empty pan and do it all over again. There wasn’t much food left on the dishes.

Behind me I heard a voice, “There was so much, I couldn’t eat it all. I’m sorry.” And that was all she said. When I turned to look at her, I saw that she was shorter than I was.

“It’s okay,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. “Come back again.”

“I will.”

Finally there weren’t any more dishes for me to clear. I helped wipe the tables and straighten the chairs working with Dad in a comfortable silence.

When we were finished, we walked back to the kitchen. I left my apron and gloves on the counter and went to get my coat.

“Come back anytime,” Melody said. “You’re always welcome.” My stomach growled and my feet hurt. I was ready to go.

“Sure.”

“Okay, pumpkin, let’s do something quick for our lunch. Mom will be wondering what kept us.”

“All right, Dad, whatever comes up first. I’m hungry,” I said. We shared burgers and fries in the car. I sucked in the rich creaminess of a raspberry milkshake. ALL THE TIME, I THOUGHT GOING THERE WAS A PLOY TO HAVE SOME LUNCH IN EXCHANGE FOR VOLUNTEERING! I AM VERY SURPRISED THAT THE DAD WOULD POSTPONE THEIR LUNCH TO DO THIS AND NOT EVEN ASK IF SHE IS HUNGRY.

“Should I tell Mom what we did today?” I asked.

“What do you think?” Dad responded.

I ate a fry and thought about it. “I don’t want to. Can it be our secret?”

“It could be, I suppose,” he said, reaching for his coffee. “Why do you want it that way?”

I considered that. “Does Mom know about that place?”

“She knows about it because our church supports it — it’s where some of our money goes. So, yes, she knows about it.”

I pressed him, “But, does she know you do that — go there, I mean, and help?”

He took another bite of his burger and said, “No, I haven’t told her.”

“There are things I share with Mom, girl-stuff, you probably wouldn’t be interested in it,” I said. “I’d like to have something special with you. Maybe this could be it?”

He shifted around the steering wheel. “Okay,” he said, “this can be our special thing.”

That year the Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip added a new dimension to my relationship with my Dad. I know it sounds kind of hokey, but it made me feel good in a way different from hearing my Dad say I was gorgeous. It was something we shared. We worked it into other events that he and I did together — like the Annual School Supplies Shopping Trip and the Annual Father-Daughter Go to the Zoo day. Each event included time at The Lunch Line.

Later I learned that he had told Mom that he volunteered there and that he’d taken me with him that Christmas. I guess he was afraid that I might mention it to her, but I never did. I WONDER WHAT THE MOM THOUGHT OF HER DAUGHTER FOR NOT MENTIONING SUCH AN EVENT AS THE VOLUNTEERING. I AM NOT SURE WHY THE DAUGHTER WANTS A SECRET WITH HER FATHER AND WHAT SHE THINKS SHE MIGHT BE PROTECTING HIM FROM. I WOULD LIKE MORE OF THE THINKING OF THE GIRL IN ADDITION TO HER DIALOG WITH HER DAD.

AT THE END OF AN ESSAY, IT IS ALWAYS NICE TO LOOP BACK TO THE OPENING. HERE, I REMEMBER THAT THE ESSAY STARTS WITH THE CLERK’S STATEMENT ABOUT THE SPEAKER BEING SUCH A HEALTHY GIRL, A WAY OF SAYING SHE WAS LARGE. AT THE END, PERHAPS THERE CAN BE SOMETHING IN THE ESSAY ABOUT THE WAY SHE BECAME LARGE IN HER HEART BECAUSE OF HER FATHER’S SHARING OF THE VOLUNTEER OPPORTUNITY.

I AM NOT SURE AT THE END IF THE SPEAKER THINKS THE EVENT HELPED HER HAVE EMPATHY FOR HER DAD AND HIS INCOME PROBLEMS OR IF SHE REALIZES THAT HE HAD EMPATHY FOR OTHERS AND WANTED HER TO HAVE THAT EXPERIENCE, TOO. SO, ALITTLE MORE WRITING, STARTING WITH THOSE LISTS AT THE OPENING, AND THIS WILL SORT OUT

****

Karen B. Call’s Revision for Her Contest Re-entry
The Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip

“Such a healthy girl,” the words rang in my ears. I didn’t look like my red-haired mother. That’s what the clerk at Raggedy Ann’s Boutique meant when she said that to my dad. Mom and I shopped here enough that the clerk knew us — knew that my mother was beautiful — and slender. Dad said, “Yes, she’s healthy and she’s beautiful just like her mother.”

They didn’t know I could hear them. The rest of their words drifted around me as I struggled to get the dress over my long, blonde hair. In all fairness, the clerk had offered to help, but I didn’t like anyone seeing me in my underwear.

“Cassia, you’re gorgeous!” Dad exclaimed when I emerged. The knot in my stomach melted; he always said that, and I loved hearing it. He never said that the dresses were beautiful or gorgeous, it was always about me; I looked gorgeous. When he said it, I felt like I really did!

My folks turned things into events. Instead of saying, Cassia needs a new Christmas Dress; we must put that on the list of 200 things to do, they had created The Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip. The best part was that it was a trip for just my dad and me. Mom and I did our things together, too. We went shopping for school clothes, to the bookstore, and there was always weekly grocery shopping. But there never was enough time for just my dad and me. So, this trip was about buying me a new dress for Christmas and spending time together with just my dad. None of my friends spent time alone with their dads and they all envied me.

My parents always had a Christmas party and I would wear my new dress first at the Christmas party, then for church on Christmas Eve. Then it joined others in my closet. We dressed up a lot then; we went out to dinner on Tuesday nights for steak or seafood, and we each took turns picking the restaurant. On Saturday nights, we dressed up for dinner at home. Mom always made something from a new cookbook. On Wednesday nights, Mom and I went to the movies since Dad worked late on Wednesdays. We saw mostly foreign films. One weekend a month, our family took a road trip and stayed in a hotel, swam in the pool and went sightseeing. We went on vacation four times a year, usually by airplane. All of this was before Dad was downsized by Ellison Brothers Advertising Agency.

Dad had been downsized at the end of the summer, but I hadn’t realized it because we spent a week at Banff National Park in Canada in August, and Dad spent his days job hunting when I went to school.

He got the new job sometime after Halloween. They didn’t want it to seem like a big deal. At dinner one night, Dad said something like, “Cassia, I work at Market Researchers now.” That’s how I remember learning about it. Like it was his decision to move to a new job. They didn’t tell me about the salary loss.

But I soon noticed that after he went to work for MR we didn’t do what we’d done before. Oh, we still did things together. Dinner out became pizza once a month. Mom made one dinner each week without meat; we went to the free weekly movie at the library and our road trips were places around town where we hadn’t been for awhile. We had a game of not spending money but still doing things together.

Maybe that’s what made the difference in that year’s Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip. I wasn’t sure I’d get a new Christmas dress, but Dad said we’d go on the first Saturday in December — just like always.

The velvet shimmered in the fluorescent light. I had picked a lavender dress. I know, it’s not a Christmas color, but I’d had my fill of red and green dresses and wanted something different. Besides, it was on sale, 30 percent off. Aunt Kay had sent a headband of lavender and violet ribbons for my birthday. I hadn’t worn it yet and it would be perfect with this dress.

With Dad’s comforting compliment tucked into my memory, I circled around for him to see me on all sides and then stepped into the fun-room mirror. Because it didn’t have a belt, the dress smoothed out my chunky stomach and the ruffles at the hem drew attention to my legs. I wondered about lavender tights, would that be too much lavender? Well, it would be too much money. I turned back to face Dad. “I like it, I know it’s not red or green, but maybe I could have it. No one else will have a lavender dress, could I, please?” My words tumbled out. I hadn’t wanted that part about no one else having a lavender dress to come out. I didn’t want to have to explain if he asked. It was just that since I was so much heavier than my friends I always liked having clothes that were different from theirs. That’s why Mom had found the Raggedy Ann Boutique. I reasoned that no one would compare me to my friends if we wore different clothes.

Dad looked at me. “Well, it is a different color for a Christmas dress, Cassia, but if you want it, Mom will be happy you’ve found one you like. So, what about tights — and shoes?” he asked.

The white lace tights I had still stretched almost to my waist. They would be okay. I’d need new shoes. Please not white patent again, I silently prayed. “My lace tights will be fine, really they will,” I said playing the saving-money game, “but I’d like lavender shoes.”

“Lavender!” he said, “Um, don’t we usually get white?”

“Yes, we always get white patent shoes, but I’d like something different this year. I’ve had white for the last three years and I’m kind of tired of them.”

Dad walked over to the shoe display. Red, white and black patent shoes figured prominently, even a green pair. But no lavender shoes.

“Black?” Dad asked. I giggled, “Well, black would be better than red with a lavender dress!” Our shopping through, we stepped into the mall madhouse with my lavender dress and black patent shoes firmly tucked under Dad’s arm. Lunch. My choice, usually.

“Dad, you pick where we have lunch today.”

He looked at me in surprise. “Sure?”

“Sure. Where do you want to go?” I slipped my hand into his.

“Let’s see, we could jet to San Francisco and have seafood on the wharf, or to New York and eat at the 21 Club, or head to Chicago for some pizza.”

“Ok,” I said agreeably knowing we weren’t going to any of those places. “Like I said, you pick.” We cruised the Feeding Frenzy — what we called the food court. Dad didn’t stop.

“What else do we need to get here?” he asked.

“Nothing I know of, we’ve got my dress and shoes,” I answered.

“Ok,” he said, “I’ve got it. Let’s go to The Lunch Line.”

“The Lunch Line?” I asked, “Where’s that?”

“Near the office,” he said. “I found it before I got this job.” There was more. “Cassia,” he said slowly, “it’s a place where people who don’t have money or a place for lunch can have something for free.”

“Why would we go there?” I asked.

“To help,” he said simply. He glanced at his watch. “People volunteer there — serve, clean up, things like that. What do you think?” he asked. “Are you up for it?”

I swallowed. I’d never done anything like that in my 12 years. “What about my new dress — and shoes?” I asked. “Maybe we should save money and take back the dress and shoes, then. If there are people who are hungry we could donate the money. What do you think?” I asked, not wanting him to agree with me.

“Cassia, it’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with a new dress and shoes for Christmas. But having money also means being responsible for helping others. We give our money at church; this is another way to help — our time and our energy. Still up for it? The Lunch Line, I mean?”

“Sure, Dad, — I’m not really hungry yet,” I said remembering my image in the mirror. “We will have lunch when we’re done, right? How long will we be there?”

“Well, we could volunteer for about an hour,” he said looking at his watch, “that would make it about noon, then we could go and have lunch. Does that work?”

It worked for me so we put the shopping bags in the trunk and Dad drove across town.

“Hi, Steve,” a woman with red hair called to my dad as we walked in. “Hi, Melody, I’m here to help — and I brought someone with me today.” Dad had put his arm around me after we walked in and now he drew me close.

“Sure, the more help, the better. We could use some cleaning up at the tables by the far wall. Could you start there, honey? What’s your name?” Melody smiled at me.

“Cassia,” I answered, trying not to stare at everyone around me.

“Put your coat in here,” she pointed to a closed door behind her.

She handed me an enormous white apron and a pair of blue rubber gloves. Dad helped me tie the apron and handed me a dishpan. “Go over and clean those tables off, and bring the pan back,” he said. “I’ll be in here,” he motioned toward the kitchen. “You can look over and see me if you need to,” he added.

I got into a system of picking up dishes — plates first, then bowls and cups and the silverware beside them. Then I’d take them to the kitchen, get an empty pan and do it all over again.

Behind me I heard, “There was so much, I couldn’t eat it all. I’m sorry.” When I turned around, I saw a girl shorter than I was holding a plate with some green beans and a small piece of meatloaf on it. I’d left more than that on my lunch tray at school and never thought about it.

“It’s okay,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say, “just eat what you can.” Were those my words? “Come back again.” I hoped that she could come back.

“I will.”

I wondered, “What would it be like to come here for meals? To be hungry — really hungry and maybe not have anything to eat?” Yet that girl had not eaten everything on her plate. That amazed me. If I were her, I probably would have eaten everything just in case.

Finally there weren’t any more dishes for me to clear. I helped wipe the tables and straighten the chairs, working with Dad and the other volunteers in a comfortable silence. When we were finished, we walked back to the kitchen. I left my apron and gloves on the counter and went to get my coat.

“Come back anytime,” Melody said. “You’re always welcome.” My stomach growled and my feet hurt. I was ready to go.

“Sure, um, thank you,” I added, although not sure why I said that.

“Should I tell Mom what we did today?” I asked.

“What do you think?” Dad responded. We were having our lunch at Charlie’s Burger Heaven. I ate a fry and thought about it. “I don’t want to. Can it be our secret?”

“It could be, I suppose,” he said, reaching for his coffee. “Why do you want it that way?”

I considered that. “Does Mom know about The Lunch Line?”

“She knows about it because our church supports it — it’s where some of our money goes. So, yes, she knows about it.”

I pressed him, “But does she know you do that — go there, I mean, and help?”

He took another bite of his burger and after a few minutes said, “No, I haven’t told her.”

“There are things I share with Mom, girl-stuff you probably wouldn’t be interested in,” I said. “I’d like to have something special with you. Maybe this helping could be it?”

He shifted in his seat. “Okay,” he said, “this can be something just the two of us do.”

That year the Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip added a new element in my relationship with my dad. I liked that he volunteered, and I liked that he shared it with me. We volunteered at the Lunch Line when we did other events together — like the Annual School Supplies Shopping Trip and the Annual Father-Daughter Go to the Zoo day.

Later, I learned that he had told Mom that he volunteered there and that he’d taken me with him that Christmas. I got more than a new dress that year; I got closer to Dad. Volunteering at the Lunch Line wasn’t having a secret from Mom; it was having something special with Dad that was just ours. And remembering how that girl hadn’t eaten all of her lunch somehow helped me think about food differently, too. I knew I could have as much food as I wanted, so I began taking less, making sure I was hungry before I took more, especially for lunch at school. When my Dad and I went on the Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip the next year, the dress he bought was a smaller size than the lavender one, but I think I was a bigger person.

Guest Judge Brenda Miller’s Comment

While judging the first three place winners in our contest, guest judge Brenda Miller praised Jack Shea’s “Tenderness and Meatloaf,” which we published last week, and Karen B. Call’s “The Annual Christmas Dress Shopping Trip as “authentically sweet, compassionate pieces.” Brenda said, “I really like these writers because of the empathy they are showing.”

And here ends our five revision diary postings for this fall. Please do check out our guidelines for the current No-Contest Contest and send in some writing for me to respond to in ways that will help you write a polished essay, story or poems.