Letters to Papa
#1
Fiddler on the Roof Fan-Fiction
I do not own the rights to Fiddler on the Roof
Only to the character Dianna
Dear Papa,
I miss you, why did you have to die? Couldn't you have waited? I still needed you. I was so mad at you for leaving without permission- like you really needed it. But that's not how I felt back then. I was furious at you and wanted to scream a the top of my lungs -actually did- up on that hill behind the house. It wasn't fair - you'd stood next to me on my wedding day and you'd held Tevanne in your arms a year later- you were suppose to live to see her first birthday.
But being six feet under was probably better than you witnessing my marriage to Joshua crumble apart within six months of his daughter's birth. Oh, Papa, I know there are a lot of good people of your faith, honest I do, but Joshua wasn't one of them. He had us both fooled.
You said a real man would never hit his wife or step out on her. Well, Joshua did both. He slammed me up against the wall more than once I just never had the nerve to tell you - I thought for sure he was going to throw Tevanne too. One winter night I caught him with the neighbor's daughter. When he saw me he disappeared into the darkness with an ashamed look on his face. I'd had enough and filed for divorce. I guess he wasn't a real man.
I ran home with Tevanne - straight into Momma's arms. I wanted yours, but you weren't there. We left Oregon because Momma and I couldn't run the place without you, but Papa I didn't sell my memories. Our memories. Believed it - or not- it was the glue that has kept me together when everything else feels like it's going crazy.
Once -when you thought I was asleep- you sat down by the side of my bed and began humming and then singing. Something about a Fiddler on the Roof. I remember your voice cracking and sounds of tears running down your face. Do you recall what you said?
Dianna, what do I give you? What traditions do I hand to you? What rooftop do I point out for you? I promised Momma if you were a girl she could raise you the way she wanted, so, what can an old Jew like me give you?
Papa. If you were here I'd tell you what you gave me. You gave me unconditional love. You gave me confidence, heart and an iron will. You taught me to look beyond what a man looks like on the outside and to be more concerned what was in the inside. You gave me a love for music and most of all - though , in the end, I did not align myself with Judaism, a great lover for my maker. The roof top you gave me was faith, hope and charity.
Dianna set the pen down and watched her daughter - now eight with hair that would have matched her mother's, but a face that shouted Tevye's Granddaughter- swinging and then down at her left hand where a small diamond ring was residing. Once again she began writing as she sat on the old home's aged steps.
Remember when I wore your hat? The one Momma swore you'd had since Anatevka ? I used to sneak that hat and wear it while you were napping. I told myself you never saw, but you did. I know because one time I saw you open your eyes, smile, and then close your eyes without saying a word. My next birthday you gave me one just like it. Tevanne is now wearing it as she swings. I've had to mend its seams a few times, but it's still hanging in there.
I also remember you working on that old red truck. I was amazed it stayed together for as rusty as it was. Momma wondered about me sticking my head under the hood with you I know, and you patiently explained the workings of the vehicle to me. I loved being by my Papa, even though we both knew those lessons may as well have been taught to a wall for as much of a mechanic as I turned out to be. But we also sang. I now sing in three different choirs.
We sang while we did everything. Feeding the chickens, cows, horses, and even those stupid turkeys. Personally, I never did feel sorry for those things when Momma butchered them, they were so stupid. They'd have drowned in the rain with their mouths opened wide if Momma and I hadn't chased them under cover.
My favorite time was just before bedtime on winter nights because then the fire would cast shadows on the wall and I get you all to myself on the couch while Momma finished up her chores and you'd sing some more, tell me stories, and or play shadow puppets on the wall.
I have to go now, Fredrick is picking me up soon. He's going to take Me, Tevanne and Momma home. You'd like him. He's a real man. Someone suggested he slap me to keep me in line and he came unglued - all over them not me! He treats Tevanne as one of his own and Papa? He has a beard and sings.