in my fathers arms.....

Long ago and far away there lived a special man in my life, my Dad. He had all the enthusiam of a child when it came to exploring, and shared this adventure freely....it was a seed deeply planted in all of his children, and it was never lost on me. He had all the degrees of charm and wit, was a great story-teller, and loved making life fun. And one thing more.... he was very handsome, as he resembled the dancer, Gene Kelley.

I always thought the story of how my parents had met was one of kismet, and probably the most romantic love story I've ever heard. My Mother, returning from a visit on Cape Cod, was on the train headed toward Boston. Suffering a small heartache from a spurned crush, she was determined to wallow in silence, if only she could find a place to sit on the heavily crowded train. A seat by a young sailor was unoccupied, but his long legs were stretched out on it. When she politely asked him if she could have the seat for herself, the young man teased her, but would not budge. She promptly decided that any seat was better than no seat, and sat down on his legs. Pretty daring stuff for the 1950's... a lady just did not do that, but her will was stronger than the teasing she was receiving, and the young mans charm softened her heart. It was all in fun, and she was quickly over her unrequited crush as they struck up conversation.
As they parted in Boston, he asked to see her again. She gave her address, and invited him to dinner. Because she still lived at home, and her father was from the "old country", with very old fashioned ideas, she had her reservations; but the deed was done, and there was no backing out. She would wait till dinner was almost served before she was able to tell her parents of her invited guest, and hope for the best. The rest, as they say, is history.... and in 1952, my parents were married.

They would have four children, and we became the center of their lives. Being the only girl in the bunch allowed for some, but not many, special priviledges. While the boys had to learn yardwork, I had to learn housework.... all at a very young and age appropriate time. However, it wasn't all work, much of that learning included fun things to do as well. I remember one time in 1963 when my parents had planned a trip to Chicago. My two older brothers were going to be accompanying them, while my younger brother and I, (the "babies", even though I was 6) were in the care of relatives. They were excited because during their stay, they might have a chance to see President John Kennedy, as he was planning to be in Chicago on the same dates. Instead, President Kennedy cancelled his trip and flew to Dallas, Texas that November.

Dad loved airplanes, and even took up flying for a time. He took lessons, and often took me and/ or my brothers up with him. I was banned to go after a few times because I was too distracting, but do remember how much fun it was to look out the window. To this day, I'm still not afraid of heights.... but I have grown a fear of airplanes. The little ones don't bother me, it's the big ones that really do. But Dad loved them all. He once took my brothers out on a helicopter ride in Boston while we were visiting my Grandparents.... I had been shuffled off to do the" girly tea-party thing" with my Mom and Grandmother that day, but there was a TV at this house.... so it worked out good for me too.

Dad was always big on history.... it was the bane of existence. We were to explore everybody's home on the historical register of the state of Connecticut, and leave our names in their guest books..... and there were plenty. One membership to Mystic Village in Mystic, Connecticut allowed us in for free anytime we wanted, and it became a regular place to bring guests on our excursions. Needless to say, we went there a lot. But it never stopped there. Vacations included far away adventures from our norm of New England. In 1969 we took a trip to Montreal, Canada, to see "Man and His World", a leftover Worlds Fair from 1968. From there we traveled the Canadian province to Quebec, and then back down into the states via New Foundland. The next year, we went south to Gettysburg, Washington DC, and even as far as Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. All historical homes, battlefields and monuments bore our names in their guest registries. He even made some fun out of it at Gettysburg by buying relic bullets and hiding them around our campsite. After telling us to go on a scouting mission to find "civil war stuff", we came back with the last laugh, as we had found what we thought to be a cannonhole cover in the woods where he did not "plant" anything. I never did find out what it was we found, but I do remember that Dad was somewhat proud of our eagerness.

The marriage to my Mother lasted till she passed in 1978... and it was the first time I ever saw my father cry. He loved her more than anything, and with her passing, he was lost.
As a triple whammy, that very same time period carried the news that his sister and a fellow colleague had passed as well.... all this within a month. Feeling lonely (I'm sure), he started to see another woman who lived in the same town. Within a year, he had married her. It was the first of my step-mothers.... and she was a spiteful woman. Needless to say, we did not get along at all, but then she was not one that was easy to get along with, as my father divorced her in 1983. At this time, I broke away from New England and moved to Atlanta. Keeping in touch with Dad was now a very long distance endeavor, but we did. He would marry the second of my step-mothers in 1984, and this one would stick. She truly cared for my Dad.... all the way to the end, even enduring his dementia period. He passed in 1998.

What I remember most about my Dad, and my personal memory that didn't include any other family members, was that we would sit in his chair at night together when I was little. He would cuddle me up on his lap, and I would feel safe and secure that life was indeed good.....my daddy loved me, and I was his sweetie-pie; nothing could beat that. But that's just a little girls memory forever; it really never matters how old I grow, his arms around me remains my favorite reminiscence trip back. No longer able to do this for real, I realize how much I miss him, and how much it stings a little everytime Fathers Day rolls around. So very silently, I wish him a happy day, and in my mind I conjure up the image of the two of us sitting in his chair....protected in his arms.

To all fathers out there, a very Happy Fathers Day.