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angela_n_hunt Today is, again, Pearl Harbor Day and the day that my father died, eight years ago. For those of you new to the blog, only this year though did I finally begin to write the memoir about my father, the high energy physicist.
So here is another excerpt from it.
Sleeping in the Closet
From the ages of two to five or so, my parents were separated. I don't know if discussion of divorce ever came up at that time or not. What I do know is that my mother, Evelyn, and I lived in a second floor apartment in Fremont, California where from time to time, my father would come to visit and where from time to time we would go to visit him, in Berkeley, where he studied both Physics and Mathematics. He was a double major and working at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory.
When we visited, since he could only afford a studio, I slept in the closet.
Before you freak out, it wasn't like that.
This closet ran the length of the studio. There were floor to ceiling shelves inside and more than enough room for a toddler to sleep on a mat and Army sleeping bag. It even had it's own light! I would pack up my little tote bag to go there and when I got there, I would unpack my stuffed animals (Mr. Bear primarily and Mr. Rabbit), make my nest and stare raptly at all the fabulous objects in that closet.
See, this closet was to me what the Wardrobe was to Lucy.
It was filled with camera gear. And books. And his easel. A palette and brushes. Acrylic paint.
For those who know me, you're already nodding in absolutely no surprise.
My first memory of my father isn't Physics or Math, or any Science per se.
It's cameras. And developing trays. Bottles of developer and toner and stop. The smell of emulsion and old paper. Writing this now, gives me a bit of a chill, realizing either how impressionable I was, or how guided I was, that this was my first delight as a child. This closet? This closet was so special and so wonderful to me that I would climb in it the first chance I got when we were there, turn on the light and slide the door closed behind me. It was a virtual Cave of Wonders.
In that closet, I learned to dream.
In that closet, all things were possible.
* * *
A shorter excerpt today. Reading it, I see where I want to expand, but it tells you a lot, I think.
Randomly, my iPod played Loud and Clear by All Rise on the way in to work, the song we danced to at my wedding.
He always finds a way to let me know he's still around.
This year is hard. This year, I miss my father like breath.
So here is another excerpt from it.
Sleeping in the Closet
From the ages of two to five or so, my parents were separated. I don't know if discussion of divorce ever came up at that time or not. What I do know is that my mother, Evelyn, and I lived in a second floor apartment in Fremont, California where from time to time, my father would come to visit and where from time to time we would go to visit him, in Berkeley, where he studied both Physics and Mathematics. He was a double major and working at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory.
When we visited, since he could only afford a studio, I slept in the closet.
Before you freak out, it wasn't like that.
This closet ran the length of the studio. There were floor to ceiling shelves inside and more than enough room for a toddler to sleep on a mat and Army sleeping bag. It even had it's own light! I would pack up my little tote bag to go there and when I got there, I would unpack my stuffed animals (Mr. Bear primarily and Mr. Rabbit), make my nest and stare raptly at all the fabulous objects in that closet.
See, this closet was to me what the Wardrobe was to Lucy.
It was filled with camera gear. And books. And his easel. A palette and brushes. Acrylic paint.
For those who know me, you're already nodding in absolutely no surprise.
My first memory of my father isn't Physics or Math, or any Science per se.
It's cameras. And developing trays. Bottles of developer and toner and stop. The smell of emulsion and old paper. Writing this now, gives me a bit of a chill, realizing either how impressionable I was, or how guided I was, that this was my first delight as a child. This closet? This closet was so special and so wonderful to me that I would climb in it the first chance I got when we were there, turn on the light and slide the door closed behind me. It was a virtual Cave of Wonders.
In that closet, I learned to dream.
In that closet, all things were possible.
* * *
A shorter excerpt today. Reading it, I see where I want to expand, but it tells you a lot, I think.
Randomly, my iPod played Loud and Clear by All Rise on the way in to work, the song we danced to at my wedding.
He always finds a way to let me know he's still around.
This year is hard. This year, I miss my father like breath.
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Date: 2010-12-07 08:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-07 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 07:58 am (UTC)I'm sorry for your loss, that you feel it deeply still. It never goes away but it's good he's able to touch your life still.
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Date: 2010-12-14 04:40 pm (UTC)Sometimes I wish I didn't feel it so deeply and the rest of the time, I don't mind, for the very reason you write. As long as I feel him this strongly, he's still with me in a tiny way.