Happy Father's Day
I received my first Father's Day card today, from my daughter. It was very nice and she never forgets. It is those few well-chosen words and those thoughts that made my day.
Recently, I started organizing her old videos from thirty years ago so that I can transfer them to DVDs. I was proud to own one of the first RCA video cameras (black and white) for my first-generation VCR. It was a great machine and had such features as "on and off." The blank video tapes cost $30.00, so I used them sparingly. Believe it or not, I still have that old camera ($300.00). The camera was not cordless, so all of those early videos were taken within ten feet (the length of the video cable) of a fifty pound VCR and television set. It had a sight, but not a viewfinder, so many of those shots have part of her head missing. I had to turn off the TV to keep her from watching herself. To look back nearly thirty years and see that little face; to hear her voice; to hear her constantly coughing (she was in daycare!), is wonderful. Even if those tapes burned up in a fire, those memories are burned into my heart.
During most of my early childhood, my father was ill. He had lung cancer. I suspect this is why there are so few pictures of me as an infant. He was the only one that could work the camera. Like me, my father was an amateur photographer. There were many pictures of my older brother (eight years older), since he also had his own darkroom. During the war (before I was born), my father worked in the shipyards of Baltimore. In order to supplement his salary as a welder, he sold girlie photos. He bought the negatives from a catalogue and printed them in the basement. There are not many people who can proudly say that their father helped support the family by selling pornography.
When I came along in 1951, my father already had a time bomb ticking in his lungs. One of his jobs in the shipyards was to fireproof various areas with asbestos. Coupled with his two-pack-a-day cigarette habit, he developed lung cancer and died before his 39th birthday. I was in kindergarten.
Children have very few accurate memories before the age of five, but I do remember my father. He was a good hugger. I remember standing on the front seat of the car as he drove. In those days, cars did not have seat belts and dangerous practices like standing on the front seat were sort of ignored. I remember our last Christmas. And, I remember him lying in his hospital bed that took up one of our two bedrooms. In the last month before be died, I was sent to live with my Uncle Joe. I came home on the day of his funeral.
I remember his funeral like it happened yesterday. As a matter of fact, I once allowed myself to be hypnotized in front of an audience at a medical seminar. Thinking that I was going to be one of those resistant subjects that could not (or would not) be hypnotized, I volunteered. I was wrong. I have no idea how long I was under hypnosis, but I woke up crying. I had re-lived my father's funeral so vividly that I could smell the flowers. It was unbelievable, and so disturbing that I had to call my older brother to confirm what I had just "seen." He was accurate to the "T."
I didn't have many years with my father, but I do remember him. I only have a few pictures of my father, but I gave them to my son so he would know what his grandfather looked like. I wanted to post one of them today, but I had to settle for one of me at about age 3-4. Nice pants, huh?
All fathers really want on Father's Day is to be remembered. A card, a phone call, or a visit is always appreciated. No flowers, please. Ties are optional.
Now... go call your Dad.
Related Topics: Technorati Tags: Fathers Day, dad, health and wellness
Recently, I started organizing her old videos from thirty years ago so that I can transfer them to DVDs. I was proud to own one of the first RCA video cameras (black and white) for my first-generation VCR. It was a great machine and had such features as "on and off." The blank video tapes cost $30.00, so I used them sparingly. Believe it or not, I still have that old camera ($300.00). The camera was not cordless, so all of those early videos were taken within ten feet (the length of the video cable) of a fifty pound VCR and television set. It had a sight, but not a viewfinder, so many of those shots have part of her head missing. I had to turn off the TV to keep her from watching herself. To look back nearly thirty years and see that little face; to hear her voice; to hear her constantly coughing (she was in daycare!), is wonderful. Even if those tapes burned up in a fire, those memories are burned into my heart.
During most of my early childhood, my father was ill. He had lung cancer. I suspect this is why there are so few pictures of me as an infant. He was the only one that could work the camera. Like me, my father was an amateur photographer. There were many pictures of my older brother (eight years older), since he also had his own darkroom. During the war (before I was born), my father worked in the shipyards of Baltimore. In order to supplement his salary as a welder, he sold girlie photos. He bought the negatives from a catalogue and printed them in the basement. There are not many people who can proudly say that their father helped support the family by selling pornography.
When I came along in 1951, my father already had a time bomb ticking in his lungs. One of his jobs in the shipyards was to fireproof various areas with asbestos. Coupled with his two-pack-a-day cigarette habit, he developed lung cancer and died before his 39th birthday. I was in kindergarten.
Children have very few accurate memories before the age of five, but I do remember my father. He was a good hugger. I remember standing on the front seat of the car as he drove. In those days, cars did not have seat belts and dangerous practices like standing on the front seat were sort of ignored. I remember our last Christmas. And, I remember him lying in his hospital bed that took up one of our two bedrooms. In the last month before be died, I was sent to live with my Uncle Joe. I came home on the day of his funeral.
I remember his funeral like it happened yesterday. As a matter of fact, I once allowed myself to be hypnotized in front of an audience at a medical seminar. Thinking that I was going to be one of those resistant subjects that could not (or would not) be hypnotized, I volunteered. I was wrong. I have no idea how long I was under hypnosis, but I woke up crying. I had re-lived my father's funeral so vividly that I could smell the flowers. It was unbelievable, and so disturbing that I had to call my older brother to confirm what I had just "seen." He was accurate to the "T."
All fathers really want on Father's Day is to be remembered. A card, a phone call, or a visit is always appreciated. No flowers, please. Ties are optional.
Now... go call your Dad.
Related Topics: Technorati Tags: Fathers Day, dad, health and wellness
5 Comments:
Nice story. I couldn't imagine being hypnotized in front of the audience, especially while experiencing something so personal.
It was an audience of medical professionals (many were my colleagues). Besides, I had NO IDEA this would happen! If I did, maybe I wouldn't have raised my hand.
Yeah that was definitely more than you (or anyone in the audience) was expecting. What was the audience like when you came out of hypnosis?
The audience was very supportive. I broke the ice, so others were not afraid to undergo hypnosis. By the end of the course, we were hypnotizing each other quite well.
No one left the conference clucking like a chicken, however.
All in all, it was a very good experience.
Geez, I'll make sure I never volunteer for something like that!!
I have secrets and things that happened to me that I don't want to tell anyone!
Also, could those shorts be hiked up any higher in that picture? Haha.
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