This week we learned about showing and telling. My understanding of telling is that it is like a narrator’s script, where as showing paints a scene. Showing puts the reader in the scene that the author wrote, where as telling is more like the author speaking to the audience. That’s how I see it.
In a previous post, I used the following telling language to explain a moment from my life: “To be honest, I didn’t follow my usual routine of writing my reflection right after class. I got home and my wife was at the hospital. My niece delivered a beautiful baby girl. “
Here, I will revise this telling language into a scene that shows readers this same moment from my life.
The night was damp and the parking lot was dark. The streetlights reflected off of the campus roads. “Where did I park my car”, he thought. His thumb pressed the door lock button on his car keys. “Beep Beep!” Two peeking yellow parking lights blinked down a hill. “There you are”, he thought as he glimpsed up the grass incline. He proceeded up the hill to the car, opened the left side rear passenger door, and tossed his backpack in the empty purple baby seat. The roads were barren. With the windows down and the cool wind whipping across his face, he drove in silence. His phone vibrated. "I left the hospital and came home to relieve your parents. Your mom has work tomorrow. She is 9 centimeters. It'll be anytime soon. I have to get back to the hospital. When will you be home", his wife texted.
"Ten minutes", he replied.
Three open spots out front of his house had made it an unusual night, as most of the time he would circle the blocks searching for a parking space. House keys jingled and his backpack landed on the brown sofa, where it would sleep for the night. "I gotta go. It'll be anytime now", she said.
"Okay, text me. Keep me posted", he replied. Lips smacked lips and the front door shut. His eyes focused on his backpack. The zipper remained stationary. The notebooks locked inside stayed closed. "Not tonight", he told hisself.
“Mommy”, his son's voice echoed through the upstairs hallway, bouncing off the walls and down the stairs. He darted up the stairs to his sons’ bedroom. A crib sat against the wall on the left. Against back wall, under a window, was a toddler bed. The three-year old laid asleep. In the crib sat his two-year old son, his legs crossed, like a Buddha. His little hands were clutching the afghan that his grandmother had knitted. His little fingers kneaded the yarn like a cat clawing at its bedding. His little face looked up. “Daddy”, he said.
“It’s okay Buddy. Mommy is on her way to the hospital to see Amanda”, he replied. He put a fresh diaper on the boy, kissed his forehead, and tucked him back into bed. He went downstairs and sat on the couch. He picked up the phone and started to text. "Tell her she has two hours to push that baby out, or the birthday is going to be Friday the 13th”, he wrote. The phone shook with vibrations. The texts revealed no progress. The lights dimmed. "Daisy and Oscar, let's go." He opened the front door. A dachshund and a pug sniffed the front lawn, scanning for the right place for relief. Their little feet tap danced up the front steps and into the house. The outside light flashed off. The front door locked. Man's best friends followed him to bed. "I can't stay up any longer. I have to get up with the kids in the morning. Text me pictures. Gnite", he texted.
"Okay, I will. nite", she responded. After over 30 hours of contractions, heavy winded breaths, and strenuous pushes, at roughly 4:30 am, his great niece, Milania entered the world.