Memories

My brother and his wife took care of my father in his last few years of life. This was all before I became a Caregiver myself. They did this while raising children on their own.

My dad lived in a modified area downstairs in my brother's house. I really do think it was an act of selflessness that impresses me to no end. 

My dad had 'stuff' that he'd brought with him. You know, the usual stuff. Photos, slides, and papers that we like to hang on to.

Recently my brother had to go through my dad's things again and do more sorting for a documentary that was being done on a place my father worked at. 

I opened the box and started going through it. A Time Capsule! There was a photo of me at 18 months old with one shoe on, one shoe off and holding a Mickey Mouse guitar backwards. I guess you can say that my musical abilities were abysmally evident even at that young age.

Then there was a photo of my dad sitting with my brother and I. Dad was wearing a kids' cowboy hat. He looks somewhere between perplexed and slightly embarrassed that his picture was being taken. Or he is just trying to figure out what my brother is trying to do. 

I am just sitting there staring off into the distance:

Eventually a doctor suggested eye surgery to help me see. It was a success and paired with glasses I could see. Not like normal people [I didn't learn until much later that my depth perception doesn't exist], but I got along just fine. 

I was definitely my 'own' person.

One of the most startling items I found was an undated assignment from school in which I must have been practicing cursive writing.

It was a letter to each of my parents.

It is interesting to note what I said to each of my folks then. Dad was the softy, he might scold in a mild tone or let me know that what I'd done wrong was indeed wrong..., but he never raised a hand to me.

My mom for whatever reason seemed to delight in finding things I'd done wrong and being the punisher. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Her anger was swift and punishment immediate on all levels. 

She was very hard to please and I'd said something like that in my cursive assignment. More along the lines of 'I like to make you happy.' 

I wonder why dad kept those papers?

In the letter to him, I mentioned that I liked how 'he yelled at me'. The preference for one parent over the other was glaringly obvious in the two pages I read.

I see it now. I wonder IF they saw it then?

Oh and I wonder if I am reading too much into something written so long ago.

Mom was always difficult for me to please. Dad never seemed disappointed. 
I think I'll just go with that.

I am so tickled to be able to go through this box of items. What a Time Capsule.