Dream Dad
Dream Dad
by Holly Haggarty
Dream Dad. Copyright ©1996 Holly Haggarty
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in reviews, without the prior consent of the publisher.
Cover art: Patty Gallinger
First edition
Published by Napoleon Publishing
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Printed in Canada
05 04 03 02 01 00 99 98 97 96 5 4 3 2 1
Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data
Haggarty, Holly, date
Dream dad
ISBN 0-929141-51-2
I. Title.
PS8565.A347D73 1996 jC813’.54 C96-931547-2
PZ7.H35Dr 1996
To all my mothers and fathers - HH
ONE
At first, Willa thought the substitute teacher was a princess. She was so beautiful she seemed unreal, as if she had been pulled out of a fairy tale and placed in the school yard.
The teacher was standing outside the school door, waiting for the grade threes to line up. Her hair was yellow, pure yellow like a crayon and sparkling yellow like lights on a Christmas tree. It curled around her head and shoulders like a lion’s mane. Her dress was flouncy and lacy and purple.
Seeing her, Willa couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy, for she often wished she were a princess. But wish as she might, Willa knew she wasn’t a princess. She had a flouncy dress, but it was a hand-me-down bridesmaid’s dress from her best friend’s mother. Willa’s hair was black, short and afro-crinkly. Her mother often braided it on Sunday evening into tight, neat, corn rows. In all her fairy tale books, Willa had never seen a princess with corn-rowed hair.
Willa’s best friend, Marina, looked more like a princess. Marina had green eyes and long, curly, dark-brown hair. She had many, many dresses, all of the latest fashion. Marina’s family wasn’t rich, but her mother sewed all her clothes.
Janet, at the front of the line, asked, “Are you our teacher today? What’s your name?”
“Yes, I’m Miss Greenwart,” came the reply.
Willa was shocked. Miss Greenwart? Miss Green Wart? How could a princess have such a horrible name?
“Did you hear that?” Willa nudged Marina. “Did she say her name was Miss Greenwart?”
“Maybe she has them!” Marina laughed.
The two girls stared at the substitute teacher as they walked down the hall to their classroom. Warts? Green warts? On her face? No. Hands? No. On her neck? No. They were still staring at her when they reached their seats.
“Oh! I think I saw some on her knee when her skirt lifted up,” exclaimed Marina.
Willa stared. She couldn’t see any.
“My mother has warts on her knee,” continued Marina. “She should paint them green, then she’d look more like a witch! Do you know what she did last night? She blackened her front teeth and made her hair wild. Then she chased us around the house with the broom. It was so much fun! But the babies were scared!”
Willa was so busy listening to this story and Marina was so busy talking that they didn’t notice the substitute teacher trying to start the class. Besides, she didn’t blow the warning whistle. That’s what their regular teacher, Mrs. Applebee, always did.
Suddenly, the substitute teacher marched over to them. “Girls!” She slapped her hand on the desk. “May I have your attention?”
The girls looked up. “Yes, Miss Greenwart,” said Marina innocently.
The teacher blushed. She stepped to the board. In enormous capital letters she spelled out: MISS GRUNWORT. “Miss Grunwort,” she repeated. To Willa, it still sounded like “Greenwart,” only with an accent, but she understood that the new teacher did not want to be connected with warts, green or otherwise.
“Take out your handwriting books, please,” said Miss Grunwort. She asked the students to copy her name ten times, in their best handwriting. Then they’d be sure to remember it correctly.
Willa decided not to waste time on this exercise and quickly scribbled the name in a column down the page. Marina did the same. Then the two girls again stared at the teacher, whispering and giggling, looking for warts.
Miss Grunwort noticed and came over again.
“Finished already?” She checked their books. She was not pleased with their handwriting. Not at all.
“You can start all over again and do it neatly! Twenty times. And you,” she pointed to Willa, “can come and sit beside this boy for the rest of the morning.”
“This boy” was Rex Stockwell! The teacher had just asked Willa to sit beside Rex Stockwell, the class bully! Willa was horrified. She hadn’t been bad enough to deserve this! Without a word, she dragged her desk over beside Rex’s, but not touching. He scowled up at her from his handwriting book in which he was drawing war planes.
Willa began the handwriting exercise again. But it was hard to write neatly because Rex, with a sly grin, was banging his desk up against hers. Willa kept pushing her desk further and further into the aisle, and Rex kept banging his desk against hers until, yet again, the teacher came by.
“You two! Put your desks back in line with the row immediately. If I see them out of place again, you’ll stay in for recess!”
Willa wondered how she could have thought this teacher was a princess. Shouldn’t a princess be sweet and kind, as well as beautiful?
After recess, Miss Grunwort asked, “Does anyone know what day it is on Sunday?”
Willa, at her seat, wondered why she was asking that question. The answer was right on the calendar at the front.
“Willa Everett?” she asked.
How does she know my name? Willa wondered. “June 23,” she answered.
“No,” said Miss Grunwort, “I mean, what special day?”
Willa didn’t know that Sunday was a special day. She was trying to think what was so special, when Rex shouted out, “I know! I know! It’s Father’s Day!” He was always shouting out answers, as if he were in a quiz show. It drove Willa crazy — especially when he wasn’t right.
But this time he was. “Very good!” Miss Grunwort beamed a prize-winning smile at him. “And now, we’re going to do something special for our fathers. We’re going to draw pictures of our dads. Let’s do a really good job because afterwards we’re going to make cards out of the pictures.”
Doesn’t she know, Willa asked herself, that we’ve been making Father’s Day cards since kindergarten? Willa just looked at her piece of paper when she got it. She wrote her name on top. But she didn’t draw a picture of her father. Not that she didn’t like to draw. She did, but Willa didn’t have a father.
Willa Everett had no father. She had never ever seen her father. Her mother never ever mentioned a father, and neither did anyone else. Once a teacher had asked her if her father were dead. Willa had said no — not dead —