Those 70ish Girls

What is More?

By Mary Francis McNinch

I asked my dad to help me with my school report.
He said, “Not now, my little one, my time is just too short.
I know you’ll understand that I have promises to keep.
I work late every night, while you are fast asleep.
You know that old car of ours? It runs great, but it’s not fancy.
You asked for some new dresses and I said that I would see.
I only want the best for you. I work harder than before,
to make a better living so I can give you what is more.”

Dad went off to work that day and I went off to school.
I saw a friend’s new shoes and they were, oh so cool!
I wished that I could have some shoes exactly like she had.
I couldn’t wait til I got home so I could ask my dad
if I could have new shoes, though my old ones were still new,
I didn’t love them anymore, so they would never do.

When Dad got home from work, I could see that he was weary.
Though it was late, I couldn’t wait to approach him with my query.
He said, “I only want the best for you. I’ll work harder than before
to make a better living so I can give you what is more.”
It seemed no matter what I had, I wanted better stuff.
No matter what Dad gave me, it was never quite enough.
We didn’t talk about it, in fact we hardly talked at all.
Soon all those things around me, did nothing to enthrall.

Dad worked so hard there was no time for us to be together.
In time, it didn’t seem like we were two birds of a feather.
I sometimes questioned why things were so different from before.
Didn’t it mean Dad loved me, when he gave me what is more?

I couldn’t understand, why I felt such discontent.
The feeling came along with me, everywhere I went.
One day, though I was early, I thought I must be late.
I saw my dad out back, leaning up against the gate.
He didn’t see me coming. His expression was intense.
What was he looking for on the other side of the fence?
I stood quietly beside him and I felt him squeeze my hand.
We both gazed straight ahead and I began to understand.

“I see the Beasterhop,” I said. “Can you see him, Dad?”
“He’s riding the same old bicycle. The one he’s always had.”

Then Dad did something he hadn’t done in quite a while.
He waved hello to the Beasterhop and smiled a great big smile.

“He’s hard at work in his garden, Dad. He has bunny mouths to feed.”
Dad sighed and said, “Not to mention all of the other things they need.”
“I remember now,” Dad said, as he stopped and rubbed his chin.

I knew what he was thinking and I couldn’t help but grin.

Dad thought a little longer, still staring straight ahead.
And then he spoke to me, and this is what he said.

“I miss these times my little one. I know that I’m to blame.
I wanted to give you the world, and I played the world’s sad game.
The Beasterhop knows better. I just had two words wrong.
I know the right way now. It’s too bad it took so long.
I thought I had to give you the best of what is more. And so I worked much harder than I had ever worked before.

Our life will change. It won’t be both. It might be either or.
I’ll give you what is best for you, instead of what is more.

We’ll have more time together. We’ll make memories to store. And we’ll be thankful for enough instead of wanting more.”

The Beasterhop looked our way and I thought I saw him wink.
If you have enough… more gives you less. At least that’s what I think.

It’s a way of life much easier to talk about than do.
Please say a prayer for me and I will say a prayer for you.