Sometimes, I forget my dad’s laugh, those deep, rumbling bursts of mirth from long ago.
I more often remember the sadness. The overshadowing addiction to alcohol. The clouds of poverty and uncertainty. So much of life’s focus on negativity and grief. So much energy soaked up by sorrow.
It is easy to forget there was also joy. Escaping the heat to splash together in one of the city’s spring-fed lakes on a summer evening. The long, smooth strokes of Dad’s front crawl. He hoisted us from the water, tossed us back in like weightless frogs. He taught us how to shake a leg to clear water from our ears.
A supper of bologna sandwiches—only slightly sandy—and paper cups of cherry Kool-Aid from the red-and-white Thermos picnic jug with the white plastic spigot.
The smell of 6-12 insect repellent, shaken out by drops from the glass bottle. A makeshift campfire (“Find dry sticks. The green ones make too much smoke.”) Toasted marshmallows at the end of sticks Dad sharpened with his ever-present pocketknife.
Shoreside lessons with the cane pole and canned corn for bait. Instructions on which sunfish were too small to keep. How to unhook a perch and throw it back. How the lunkers like to hide in the weeds, “just over there.” Patience learned at the top of a bobber.
Today I remember that amid the storms, there were those moments when were together. Moments when the clouds parted and bright pennies dropped into our upturned umbrellas.
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May you remember joy today. Thanks for being here. I appreciate you.❤️
Two things I’ve learned: First, three books absolutely counts as a series. Yay!
Second, with apologies to the Velveteen Rabbit, for authors it’s not love but Amazon that makes us real. 😉 (That’s a joke, folks. It’s always love.❤️)
We had so many shared experiences because of our family's struggles with alcohol, yet I too have many fond memories of times with my dad. (We also fished with cane poles but used worms instead of corn.) As I age, I wonder what life might have been like without the chaos caused by the excessive drinking and the forced pretense that nothing was amiss. Where might I be today? Would I have made so many poor decisions as a young woman, struggling to cope with the loss of my young father? What if I had a supportive mother who encouraged me instead of one who demanded the spotlight and took to the drink herself? In my 70s, I am still coming to terms with the effects of the emotional trauma of a damaged childhood. But, I am stronger today and have learned that every day is a new opportunity to continue to create a better life.
Thank you Mary . I barely remember my dad , yet do remember the year he took off work to spend time with me . Fishing laughing going to parks . Needed that today . hugs and peace