My Father

My father will be 80 in January, so while the original post was for Father's Day, it's always appropriate.

Monday, June 06, 2005
Earliest Memories for Father's Day
I had a nice phone call with my father tonight and something he said got me remembering a few things from the past, the only two things we did together, just the two of us, before my sister was old enough for such family outings and my mother stayed home with her.

My earliest memory dates back to when I was 2 1/2, when my mother was pregnant with my sister. We were at a bungalow in the Catskills and, though I've seen the old home movies enough to reinforce any memory, there's one bit of memory that didn't come from the movies. I remember the sheer terror I felt when I was placed on a tree branch for a photo.

But the memories that inspired this post came when I was 5, shortly after we moved into our first house, the summer before I started kindergarten (and I well recall the terror of my first day of school, crying the whole block to the elementary school, not wanting my mother to leave me there). One night, my father took me to Rockaway Beach, to the boardwalk, to see the fireworks. And I recall going with him to see "The Shaggy Dog" and we bought two wind-up shaggy dog toys, one for me and one for my sister. He was amazed that I remembered those times, but for me, I can't imagine not remembering the special times I spent with "Daddy."

I wasn't the tomboy my sister was. I couldn't play ball with him and I wasn't thrilled with his stamp collecting hobby. He did take me, just me, to stamp shows, where I was bored (I would enjoy them more now that stamps have gotten so cool looking). I remember him taking pulling us on our sled and when we all made snow angels in the back yard. And I remember his putting stinging methiolate on my scraped knees (my mother favored the milder mercurochrome) and heating needles to pry splinters from my fingers, and even finding ways to yank loose baby teeth from my gums. I grew up thinking there wasn't anything he couldn't do. He was physically strong and could open any can or jar, nevermind that he was the one who'd tightened them so only he could open them.

He wasn't an easy person to be close to back then, before my mother got sick and he learned to express his feelings. He was and remains, though, the strongest man I know emotionally. He's always been a social person, a people person, something I wish I was more of. And I craved his time and attention and hated when he spent time with my sister instead of me. I'm glad I got to tell him how much I love him and how much I cherished those early memories.

So, Dad, though you have no idea what a blog is, this entry's for you.

Feeling:

fathers