Recollections of My Mom – Part 2

“We were living in a 3 room apartment when Phil was born so his crib was in the bedroom with us.  In the morning he’d awaken early and lay there and watch us and if we stirred in our sleep, he would react by standing up in his crib and letting us know he knew it was time for the day to begin.  Sometimes I’d awaken and through a slit in my eyes glance over to the crib and see him eyeballing us and so I’d pretend to be asleep a while longer.  Seems I always needed my sleep and enough sleep was not enough sleep!”

Mom is styling

Mom styling it on Adams Place

“We moved upstairs to a 4 room apartment and from there we could see trees and the roofs of houses and we would sit by the window and watch the birds and at times, the squirrels.  At times we’d sit there and watch the rain and recite the poem, ‘It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring …’ You would recite pronounce it something like, “A rainen, a pouring, the old man a’yoring. He went to bed and bumped his head and couldn’t get up in the morgan.”

Long after Mom has passed she continues to be a blessing in my life.  These stories, these glimpses into viewing the world through her eyes, are such an amazing gift to me and my siblings.  Unbeknownst to her recording these stories and thoughts opens a window into her world from 50+ years ago – her dreams, her struggles, her hopes.  Thanks Mom.

 

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Going Beneath The Surface

More Conversations With My Father

I won’t talk about the trip down to North Carolina after Christmas. That was a literal shit show – four adults, three dogs and luggage crammed into a Subaru Forester on a ten-hour car ride. You can only imagine. We’ll save that for another time. Instead, I’d like to talk about my talks and walks with my Dad during the few days I was down in North Carolina.

Dad has a little business; a dog walking business, to be precise. This requires him to spend his mornings and sometimes his afternoons being of service to our four-legged friends. Plenty of chances to delve below the surface of a man who doesn’t reveal much to begin with.

Dad has a tendency of over the past year or so to repeat himself. Telling the same stories or replaying of events as if he is telling it to me for the first time. Lately I’m noticing that he is mixing up his stories – weaving past events into current events. I say this partly to acknowledge to myself he is getting older and that opportunities to have these conversations will be fewer and fewer. Despite his physical health being good, he is showing signs of slipping. I think he realizes it too. He complains that he can’t remember where he put things, he can’t remember people’s names. I can’t imagine how frustrating it must be for him to not be as sharp as he used to be. Yet, despite these realizations that things are not as they used to be, there are many moments of clarity that allow us to get a little closer; opportunities to share in times when the future looked bright for him.

One morning we talked about his days in Army. I don’t know how we arrived at that topic but I went with it. I’ll attempt to paraphrase and summarize our conversation.

Why did you enlist in the Army?”

“I enlisted because then I’d have some control over my future. If I let them draft me they could send me anywhere. I had a friend of mine who waited to be drafted; he wound up being stationed in Germany. Not a good situation at that time.”

Why? Weren’t you worried about Vietnam?”

“No. Vietnam wasn’t on the radar then. Back then the concern was Berlin and the Communists/Cold War. That was a real worry. Tensions were very high then. I didn’t want to put myself in a position of being sent to the front lines during the Cold War.”

What were you assigned to do during your stint?”

“After basic training in Fort Dix I was shipped out to Oklahoma for training with artillery. I got pretty good at it; so good in fact that I was able to get my unit to zero in on the target within four shots and within a few minutes. I had other duties too. I remember being on guard duty one night and I had one guy in my unit who wasn’t too swift. He had the watch before me; I told him to find me when his watch was almost over so I could take over for him. I was going to get some shut-eye. Next thing I know, I wake to revelry playing. ‘Oh shit!’ I quickly got dressed and ran to find the guy who was supposed to wake me. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ ‘All the barracks look alike and I gave up trying to find you.’ Needless to say we got ripped a new one but it was worse for the other guys than it was for me.”

Why?”

“The other guys would tear up the town whenever they got a weekend pass. Sometimes they’d get drunk or thrown in the brig for disorderly conduct. Not me though. I would stay on base and play cards with the officers. Occasionally I’d get a care package from my mother, good Italian food from the neighborhood, and I’d share it with my superiors. They appreciated that. So, when it came to getting the assignments from the NCOs, they’d give the crappy ones to the others and give me the plum jobs. [smiles and chuckles]. There was a method to my madness.

Before long my time was up and I was given a choice – re-enlist in the National Guard/Reserves for one more year or walk away and take my chances on getting drafted. I re-upped in the National Guard/Reserves and managed to avoid Berlin and Vietnam. In a year my discharge papers arrived and I was done!”

The last day of our visit arrived. The car is packed. The dogs are in the back of the car. As the others say they’re good byes they make their way toward the car. I hang back for a bit. Dad approaches me with his arms outstretched. I think to myself, “Is he getting choked up? Yes, he is! He’s choking back some tears.” We hug for a few seconds but it seems longer, a lot longer. Lumps grow in each of our throats. “I’m glad you came down to visit. It means a lot to me that you could spend some time with me.”

Me too, Dad.

Me too.

Storytime

I have to admit that I love telling stories to little ones.  It doesn’t matter if I tell it from memory or read it fr10338466_10204401568549557_4327905665698500258_oom a book.  It is absolute bliss for me to see the kids so enraptured in the story, sitting on the edge of their seat to hear what happens next!

I used to tell the story of the Three Little Pigs to Robert and Andy just before bedtime.  It mattered not that they had heard the story hundreds of times … they wanted more!  Sometimes they would squeal with delight when I did my best Richard Nixon-esque wolf voice as I blew down the house.  Other times they would gladly recite that part with me.1534754_10202466638097505_1529893539_o

The boys are all grown up now and off at college but I recently had a wonderful opportunity to rekindle the joy that comes from storytelling.  This past weekend my niece Evelyn paid a visit (she lives in Maine so visits are rare).  She is not quite two years of age and is just adorable with a capital “A”.

I read her the story of Dusty Locks and the Three Bears.  Apparently it is her favorite story.  It was dustylocksfull blown entertainment of the most glorious kind – lots of wide-eyed anticipation and hanging on every word.  Evelyn delighted in the pictures, the various voices of the characters and her participation in the animation of the story at her favorite parts!  She was grinning and giggling through out our time in storyland.

At the end, her crystal blue eyes were sparkling with glee! It was such a blessing to witness how much joy can be gleaned from living in the moment – joy from words in a book and read with love.

Pure magic!

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