Names Have Been Changed to Protect the Innocent

My father is writing a book. Part historical novel, part mystery, part Southern fiction, and the real kicker part family history. I asked to read what he had so far. He e-mailed me the Prologue and the first 54 pages with the following disclaimer:

Dearest Daughter,
Attached is your reading assignment.
WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!THE DAUGHTER IS NOT YOU!!!!!!!!REPEAT!!!IT IS NOT YOU!!!!!!THIS IS JUST A BOOK AND DOES NOT REFLECT PRESENT OR PAST FEELINGS ABOUT ANYONE!!!!!!!(except your mother, of course)IT IS FICTION___NOT REAL LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Love, Daddy

Okay, I thought, that’s sweet. There must be something I will recognize, some story from my childhood that he has taken poetic license with and changed to fit the story line. Oh no, mon cher, he took his poetic license got in the driver’s seat and ran over my character like a turtle crossing a highway in rush hour.

First, the character he warns me about is named Nicole. This is what he wanted to name me that my mother would not. She finally compromised by giving me the middle name Noelle. This is how my mother meets in the middle. She drags the line just a little over to her side then refers to the case in point as a compromise. Nicole. Noelle. You got your way they sound similar enough.

Second, the character is a total bitch! I’m talking money hungry, uncaring, and downright evil. I admit I have had my moments in the past when my personal objectives overshadowed the fact that I was asking for money from a man who, at the time, did not have it but always managed to get it to me anyway. I have put myself through enough old fashioned Catholic guilt that those transgressions should have moved from the liability to asset category. I’ll be damned however if they don’t keep coming up.

Back to his disclaimer, I think he was afraid to call me and ask what I thought of the book thus far. Everything in me wanted to pout and make him change Nicole to a loving, caring, giving (or just human) daughter, but I sucked it up telling him I couldn’t wait to read more. Then I promptly sent him an e-mail detailing all of the fun times we had going over anything nice I could think of in the past that I had done for him.

I have never been accused of letting sleeping dogs lie.