Dear Papa (11 page)

That wasn’t the point, but again, they just don’t understand. So Dad jumped right to the phone, called Sister Carmelita, and has lined up for me to go work for the sisters at St. Joseph’s Orphan Home! Like I said before, I don’t have a talent for babies, and that goes for older children, too. But it is settled. I will start next week.

I.V.A.

November 11, 1948

Dear Papa,

We are back in the fold. Mama has decided that we should return to church so I can be confirmed.

“I already started drinking coffee,” I told her, “so what’s the point?”

“Don’t get smart with me,” she said.

“I thought you wanted me to be smart,” I said. And now I have to go to confirmation classes and stay in my room after school for a week. Is your mother in heaven? (I’m sure she is.) I’ll bet it is much easier to get along with her there.

I.V.A.

November 12, 1948

Dear Papa,

Punishing me with a week in my room is really punishing the orphans. I will miss two afternoons at St. Joseph’s. Those children depend on me. One boy, who is about the age Ian was when you died, will only speak out loud to me. To everyone else he just shakes or nods his head, depending on the situation. He saves up all kinds of stories for me, and I tell the whole group of orphans some of mine. I have had to start planning ahead though, as Sister Carmelita wants to know in advance what my story topic will be. She did not approve of last month’s story, though the children liked it very much. The sisters don’t get out to movies so they don’t understand modern society. These poor orphans are going to be mighty surprised when they leave here and find the rest of the world out there. For one thing, they all wear light blue uniforms every day. Choosing a wardrobe alone will be a daunting (adj., discouraging) task. I try to wear something up-to-date when I go so they can get some ideas.

I have a long evening ahead. I will draw you some pictures of current styles and of some movie stars, too.

Love,

Izzy
(My friends call me that now! It makes Mother roll her eyes.)

March 11, 1949

Dear Papa,

Confirmation classes have not answered my question. How exactly are Catholics and Lutherans different to God? We only had a few lessons on Martin Luther, which started to explain things, but when the hour is up, there is no more time for questions.

It is strange to be Lutheran and go home from confirmation class and see Dad starving himself to get a soul out of purgatory, something Catholics do during Lent. I asked Pastor Grindahl if Lutherans could get sent to purgatory, but he just said, “Let’s stick to the text, please.”

Not much other news.

I don’t write often, but your picture is still on my wall.

Love,

Izzy

October 20, 1949

Dear Papa,

I did get confirmed after all. It was a bit close, as I didn’t pass the interview the first time. I still can’t believe they REALLY mean that the wine turns into Jesus’ blood at communion. I can’t think of it that way or I gag up there at the altar, but I finally said I believed it because Mama had a big party planned and there wasn’t time to call it off.

All our family was at the party. Aunt Jaye and Uncle Bernard came and Uncle Edgar, too. Dad couldn’t come to the service but he bought a corsage for my dress. I’ve decided something, Papa, and I hope with your experience up there you’ll agree with me. From what I can tell, Catholics and Lutherans have the same God. It has been a lot of work keeping our holy cards and Luther’s Small Catechism and everything else separate. I don’t think God would mind if our whole family went to a church service together sometimes, even if it is the Catholic service. I guess he’d just as soon hear me singing Catholic hymns as no hymns, and we say the Lord’s Prayer both places. I know by now you can’t tell me what you think, but there it is.

Mama always said we could start drinking coffee when we were confirmed but I have been doing it for years. So I don’t feel too different.

XOXOXO,

Izzy

May 9, 1950

Dear Papa,

Edward Johnson threw a little stone up at my window this evening. Ed is so tall he has to stoop to get through the doors at school. He can whistle any tune you can name and his smile is absolutely dreamy. Dad saw him out there and invited him in.

“Come on in, young man,” Dad said. “Better to talk to her than break her window.”

Thank goodness Ed had the presence of mind to say he must have the wrong house. He escaped through the backyard.

You would like him.

Love,

Izzy

May 13, 1950

Dear Papa,

Turns out Ed had the wrong window after all. He and Sylvia on the corner are now going steady. My heart has been torn asunder.

Your girl,

Izzy

December 25, 1957

Dear Papa,

I haven’t written now in seven years, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about you. It’s Christmas and I’m home with Mama and the whole family. One of my packages this year held the tin box with the Paris picture on it from my tenth birthday. It is filled with a stack of letters written in the wide cursive handwriting of a young girl. Our letters, Papa. It’s been so long, I’d nearly forgotten them.

A lot has changed on Mississippi River Boulevard. You wouldn’t know any of us now. Inez and Irma are married with four children each. Ian is in law school and Ida started at St. Catherine’s this fall. Mama and Dad are alone in the house with little Frankie, who’s not so little anymore.

I am an old maid of twenty-three, but life has been too busy for settling down as Irma and Inez say I should. I’ve been abroad and I finally found my vocation, though I guess it really found me years ago. People pay me to write. Aunt Izzy suggested a college for me in California and I lived with her for four years while I went to school. I am a reporter at the
St. Paul Dispatch Pioneer Press
and I’ve published two short stories in
Women on the Job
. Maybe one day I’ll write for the
National Geographic
and see the world. Or perhaps I will write a book about a certain filling station owner.

Mr. Frank has been my dad now longer than you were my Papa on Palace. He was good to me from the start, and I love him most for letting me love you best. And I still do (love you).

Une jeune fille très évoluée
(Your girl with an independent attitude),

Isabelle

Anne Ylvisaker
has published essays and magazine articles for adults, as well as nonfiction books for children. She taught elementary school for twelve years and holds a master’s degree in education. She says, “A few years ago, my aunt told me about a lost childhood letter she’d written to her father just before he died. That lost letter consumed my imagination. The letter was never found, so I made up my own, and that was the beginning of
Dear Papa
.” Anne Ylvisaker lives in Iowa.