The House

"This summer, we will build a house," Dad announced with a sparkle in his eyes and pride in his voice at breakfast. Mom smiled at him and, as she had many times before, said, "Oh, don't be silly." But it wasn't a joke. It was a serious project that Dad had been planning for a long time. He had gathered everything needed - from concrete, iron structures, bolts, wood, to drawing an exceptionally detailed plan. The thought that this summer would still be fun flashed through my mind.

Illustration by Ema Sojer

After breakfast, he laid the plan on the table, a plan he had been drawing almost every evening for months, accompanied by the tunes of Glenn Miller. It was incredibly detailed and precise. Almost too much so. "Who's going to build this?" I asked. "Who? Us!" he replied. "Us? But Dad, we're not builders. They don't teach us this in school," I responded, confused. "That's exactly why, because they don't teach you this in school, I have to teach you. This will be your summer school of practical education for life," he explained. "Ugh!" I thought. It was more than clear to me that this would not be the classic summer of fun and relaxation that most of my friends would have. That meant no morning hangouts at the village pool and no evening movie outings. I have to admit, it didn't appeal to me. Panic settled in my thoughts, as like any typical teenager, I longed for poolside gatherings and fun with friends. But I also knew that arguing with Dad was pointless because, in the end, his word was final.

So, together, for the next two months, we mixed concrete, soaked planks, and hammered nails. And before August turned into September, our house stood. And it still stands today, even though he is no longer here to proudly say, "We did well!"

Written by Tjaša Zagoršek at the Female Voice