Father Knows Best, By Kathy Guttosch

Perhaps I should've listened to

my papa,

but sometimes he just goes on and on.

And you have to watch for those

Black moods of his.

The last time I argued I was tired of pirouetting,

he whisked me

straight into this cardboard prison and

appointed wax swans my guard.

Told me to keep quiet, or else.

So when I saw the soldier--

that earnest, odd fellow with the steadfast gaze--

I knew he'd be my rescuer.

As the old tin spoon, he might've stirred

Last week's frikadeller;

now he stirred my heart.

I reached toward him, caught him. Owned him.

He wore his red and blue with such pride that I hardly noticed his one leg.

But my father did.

Oh...he warned the resolute soldier away from me--

warned him that very night.

Pops caught him

peeping at me, no less.

Told him to keep his guns to himself.

Or else.

But the soldier said not a word in his defense--chagrined, I guess.

And I began to wonder if he was my savior after all

if he couldn't stand up to

the old man.

Of course my friends never heard any of Father's threats, for

it was midnight and they were all

out and about the room, enjoying their rave.

Which is where I wanted to be

anyway.

The very next morning, the soldier took off--

flew right out the window.

I half expected it;

my father broke up my relationship with that nutcracker--

why should this be any different.

Still, the tin soldier left without even a tip of his cap, and that did truly

surprise me.

He seemed so steady, after all, 

and I thought myself a better judge of character.

Dearest dad did take the time to come by the castle after lunch,

to say, "Told you," and snicker.

To which I gave him a good raspberry, a paper cut, and dashed away

behind the swans,

who did not like him a bit.

Finally, he growled, and left me to my ponderings.

I must admit, I was jealous of the soldier--

he was free now--free.

Adventuring...heaven knows where he'd go,

while I'd be stuck here.

I sat beside a swan and sulked.

Then just before supper it all turned upside down:

cook carried the soldier back

into the nursery and set him on the table.

All were amazed.

See, I wasn't a poor judge of character

for here he was, come back to me.

I reached out to him once more.

His face, though somewhat weary, still glowed with adoration.

Even still.

I stared at my father. He was hiding behind a child, his face all

a-rage.

Then in a flash, I understood everything.

I straightened my blue sash and whispered at my father, dark as I could,

"Caught you!"

Next thing I knew

I was riding the wind into the soldier's steadfast arms.

Flames were all around us, embracing us,

but I was finally free.

Writer, artist, and rumored to knit sweaters for faeries, Kathy lives in a small house with her own Handsome Prince, an iconoclast teen (who also writes and draws), and two cat overlords.

Image detail from illustration originally by Harry Clarke.