#fitzgerald bsd

You flipped through the Girl Scouts pamphlet with your daughter sprawled across your lap, tiny fingers pointing excitedly at every cookie option.

“I want to sell Thin Mints!” she declared, eyes sparkling. “And Samoas!”

You laughed softly. “Of course, sweetie. Just try your best, okay?”

Fitzgerald, lounging dramatically in the corner with a book he wasn’t reading, snorted. “Selling cookies? That sounds… pedestrian.”

“Dad, it’s just a fundraiser!” your daughter protested.

“Pedestrian or not,” he said slowly, peering over the rim of his glasses, “I refuse to allow my child to engage in anything less than complete dominance.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Complete dominance?”

“Yes. Complete. Domination. If she’s selling cookies, she will win.”

Your daughter giggled, not fully understanding, but Fitzgerald’s eyes glinted with dangerous determination.

The next morning, she set up her little table at the school parking lot, proudly wearing her sash decorated with badges. You watched with a proud smile as she sold a few boxes here and there, shyly interacting with neighbors.

Meanwhile, Fitzgerald had vanished.

Two hours later, your daughter came running back, clutching a single Thin Mint. “Mom! There aren’t enough people left! I only sold one box!”

You frowned. “Hmm, that’s odd…”

Just then, a shiny black car rolled to a stop in front of the lot. Fitzgerald stepped out, trench coat billowing in the wind like he was entering a movie scene. He carried a massive stack of boxes.

“Daddy?” your daughter asked, blinking.

“I am here to secure your victory,” he declared solemnly. “Step aside, mere mortals.”

“Wait… what are you doing?” you asked, barely holding back laughter.

He began dramatically handing boxes to anyone who had not yet purchased, then directly to the Girl Scout table. “Here! Take a box! No, take two! No, take five!”

Your daughter’s jaw dropped. “Dad! You can’t just-”

But Fitzgerald was already counting the boxes like a general surveying his troops. “Yes, I can. And yes, I must. Victory shall be yours.”

You couldn’t help but giggle as he negotiated fiercely with a local mom trying to buy just one box. “No, madam. Not one. TWO! THREE! For my daughter’s glory!”

By the end of the morning, the lot was entirely cleared. Every last cookie had been purchased. Your daughter stared in awe.

“Daddy…” she breathed.

“Yes?” he asked, triumphant, arms crossed.

“You… bought all the cookies?”

“Yes. And you are now undefeated,” he said, bowing slightly. “Let the world know that my daughter is the ultimate cookie seller.”

You leaned down to whisper to her, trying not to laugh. “Well… at least she’s happy?”

She giggled. “Daddy… you’re crazy!”

Fitzgerald’s expression softened, the rare gentleness creeping into his sharp features. “Crazy? Perhaps. But all for you, my little champion.”

Later that night, sitting together in the living room surrounded by unopened cookie boxes (because Fitzgerald bought way too many), your daughter hugged him tightly.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered.

Fitzgerald, clearly melting, ruffled her hair. “No, my dear. Thank you. You gave me the perfect excuse to be a magnificent father.”

You leaned against him, smiling softly. “Next year… maybe just let her sell them herself?”

Fitzgerald looked offended. “And deny my child absolute victory? Never.”

Your daughter snorted. “I think I like this version of Dad better.”

Fitzgerald grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief and pride. “As do I, my darling. As do I.”

And that night, with the living room smelling faintly of cookies and chaos, you realized: there was never a dull moment in this household, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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What do you MEAN Steinbeck has a large, loving family but no money, and Fitzgerald has all the money he could want but his family is falling apart? And they’re both doing terrible things to save their families: Fitzgerald is willing to burn down an entire city to get the book so he can revive his daughter, and Steinbeck is willing to kill as many people as it takes to ensure his family is fed. 

And don’t even get me started on the comparison between their real life works. In Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, Gatsby is incredibly wealthy, but because of this fact he doesn’t have any true friends who can see him beyond his wealth, including the woman he loves!!! Meanwhile in Steinbeck’s novel, Of Mice and Men, George and Lennie are two poor migrant workers but they’re best friends. They may not have any money, but they have companionship, and that fact is continually contrasted with the other primarily friendless characters in the novel. 

ALSO: it makes me absolutely insane that Fitzgerald’s most famous novel was set in the roaring 20’s and Steinbeck’s most famous novel, the Grapes of Wrath, covers the time period right after that, the Great Depression. They’re two halves of the same whole. Ambition brought to fruition through shady deals, and hard, honest work that never ends up being enough. It’s lavish parties and drinking and booze followed by the dirty aftermath. A city man and a country boy. The owners vs the farmers. 

It’s how when Fitzgerald crashes, (kinda like the stock market in 1929) Steinbeck rises to take his place. It’s how Fitzgerald would give anything to have his family together like Steinbeck’s, and how Steinbeck would do anything to be able to support his family like Fitzgerald…