Through My Daughter’s Eyes
by Julia D. Dye, PhD.
April marks the Month of the Military Child, and recognizes the important role military children play in the armed forces community. Sponsored by the Department of Defense Military Community and Family Policy, the Month of the Military Child is a time to applaud military families and their children for the daily sacrifices they make and the challenges they overcome. Julia Dye’s debut novel, Through My Daughter’s Eyes, is a much-needed look at what it means to come of age in a military family today. Based on a story by Dallas Burgess, this one-of-a-kind story draws from many personal, first-hand accounts and real-world experiences of soldiers and their children, providing a voice for the children of war.
{Excerpted from Through My Daughter’s Eyes. . . . }
After we got home, we brought the fish into the kitchen. I grabbed a fillet knife and started sharpening. Believe me, you don’t want to gut a fish with a dull knife. Dad took some newspapers and covered the counter where we would clean them, and filled a bowl with icy water for the upcoming fillets. I snatched one of the fish and started washing off the slime when Mom walked in, wearing her stink face. “How did it go?” she asked, leering down at the carnage.
“Great,” said Dad. “She’s a smart one, that Abigail.” He cut one of the fish from gill to gill, leaving the center bones intact.
“Of course I am,” I replied. “Who do you think I get it from?”
“Clearly me.”
Mom grunted at this. “Huh.”
“You want to give a hand here?”
“Nope. You know the rules. You catch, you clean. I’ll cook the fillets, but no fish guts.” She pulled some ice out of the freezer and plunked the cubes into her glass.
I made about a one-inch slit in the center back of my fish, holding its head with my other hand, and cut towards the tail. I concentrated on missing the stomach, as even I find that gross. It’s not a big deal, just messy and you can wash it out, but yuck.
Mom wasn’t done talking about me. Like I wasn’t even in the room. “So, how did she take it?”
“I don’t know, really. Why don’t you ask her?” He peeled off the skin on one side of his fish. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”
“What, that her father might go to war and never come back?”
Dad froze.
I dropped my finished fillet into the cold-water bowl. “Mom, that’s not really helpful.”
“Abbie, he is going. We have to be pragmatic and have a plan on how to handle all this change.” Dad decided at that moment to put his arms around Mom, but he was all stinky-fish and she brushed him off. He put his arms behind his back and kissed her, a tiny peck on the tip of her perfect nose.
“We knew this could always happen. You’re right; we should prepare.” He turned back to his fish. “I just want to make it as easy on this family as possible.”
“I know.” It felt like a balloon of tension between them had popped. I was glad; I had enough to think about right now. I grabbed another fish and stabbed it right in the eye.
About a week later, I came home from school and walked into the living room. Now, before I get into any details here, I have to explain something in case you haven’t caught onto it yet. You see, my parents were very much in love.
I know, you’ve figured that out already. Or at least like they act like they’re in love. But it was really true. You’d think that would be a good thing, and most of the time I’d agree with you. Except have you ever been out with two friends that were a couple, and they were all into each other? And there you are, watching them make googly eyes and smoochy faces, and you’d much rather be binge-watching tedious old TV Land series like The Flying Nun or anything else at that moment? I felt that way a lot.
Some only children have over-protective parents, but mine weren’t bad. They let me do most everything that I wanted. And without other kids to practice on, they didn’t have much of a clue about what was appropriate for me. I’ve used that plenty of times to convince them of dubious pursuits, like “I’m the only kid that hasn’t seen any Saw movies yet!” Or, “Sure, all the kids hang from six-story ledges.”
Sometimes, though, it’s not a good thing, being the only child. Especially when they’re so into each other. Like I’m interrupting their love.
When I walked into the living room, I was surprised to see Dad home from work early. Mom was sitting on the edge of the couch and he was kneeling in front of her, the top of his head on her chest. Uh-oh. Should I disappear? I took one step back, still facing them. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. Then I noticed that Mom was crying. Crap.
My dad turned his head toward me, and I was invisible no more. He reached out with one hand and I moved toward him. I wasn’t ready to join their embrace, though. I looked down at the coffee table, trying to figure out what was going on.
Ah. Deployment orders.
I felt like they’d have been better off without me just then. They were in their own bubble, trying to love each other through this nasty news, and I had interrupted them — again. If I had brothers or sisters I could have talked with them, but no, just me alone and the two of them as one.
Being an only child can’t be that bad, right? Jesus was an only child.
About the Author: Julia Dye tells stories because she loves to entertain and see a certain secret smile from her readers when she strikes a chord. She’s spun stories of one kind or another since her childhood in Milwaukee, through college, and into a successful career in show business and publishing. Julia writes about everything that interests her, but she has an affinity for stories with a military flavor. Her Dad was a bomber pilot during World War II, and she married a Marine. She’s won a Gold Medal from the Military Writers Society of America for her nonfiction work. Her tales ring true — which is a very cool thing for any author to claim. She currently lives between Los Angeles, close to the entertainment business, and Lockhart, Texas, close to her heart. Through My Daughter’s Eyes is her debut novel.
