Rules Are Meant to Be Ignored

     I'm rubbish at foreign languages. Rosetta flings stones when I hablo espanol. Fish babel when I sprechen Deutsch. And there is definitely une liaison dangereuse between brain and tongue when I ask for directions in Paris.
     So, apparently, I'm meant to be monogamous with English. A passion introduced to me by my father. Each night, when Daddy returned home from a job where he shuffled and pushed paper about, he'd sit in his rocker reading a book or doing a bit of writing himself. There was always a yellow tablet and sharpened #2 pencil on the TV tray in front of him. Daddy loved words, whether they were his or those chosen by someone else.
     A love of the English language isn't all I inherited from my father. He taught me rules are meant to be ignored. At least the silly ones meant to beat you down when you're growing up. I learned this every Saturday when Daddy and I worked on the family car. From the time my hands were big enough to pick up a tool, I was his mechanic's assistant. It never occurred to Daddy his daughter couldn't...and shouldn't...do anything a boy could.
     Daddy teaching me to fix cars doesn't mean he thought I was the short straw. That he wanted a son rather than a daughter. Daddy wanted a daughter and thought I hung the moon. I had dolls and dresses and dance lessons. But I also had model cars, airplanes, a football, and a bike to go along with my little-girl makeup and cowgirl outfit. In Daddy's mind, I had the right to do and have whatever I wanted. He taught me to know my value and follow my passion. (291 words)