Here, There and Everywhere

When someone you love becomes a memory,
the memory becomes a treasure!

My Father is in the Hereafter. But it’s Father’s Day and a day to think about him and all the kindnesses he did over the course of his lifetime. Dad’s my Daddy no matter where he is!

My earliest memories of him are somewhat foggy. They’re a combination of photographs I’ve seen, stories I’ve heard, and the actual happening of things. I recall being held by him, being encouraged to eat while in a high chair, sitting in a little (flimsy) car seat between he and my mother, and being carried upstairs to bed.

Now, whether my recollection is that of a five-year-old watching him lovingly care for my little sister doesn’t negate the fact that he did the same for me.

When I saw Mary Martin fly in the air on NBC’s 1954/55 TV production of Peter Pan, Dad began ‘flying me’ into bed. Soon after, he brought home the 33 RPM record, and my love of musicals began. Our entire family enjoyed them, and I think my aunt and cousins did as well because I’ve heard them recite, “Major-General” from Penzance, too. We’d spend hours learning the lyrics that Dad would find and print out for us.

After I got too big for such shenanigans, it was fun to see him fly Andrea, five years my junior and a little lighter, down the hallway. He helped me to understand that it was important to be the big sister, and that new adventures awaited me. I didn’t appreciate his patience when it was shown toward me as a child, but as the years went by and I had sons of my own, I realized what an exceptional man he really was.

Mom and Dad took us everywhere – and made anything an ‘event.’ We brought easels to Washington’s Crossing, made up songs on long car rides, brought picnic baskets to museum grounds where we ‘climbed the rocks,’ sat on the lap of Hans Christian Anderson in Central Park, pretended to lift huge anchors in Mystic Seaport, brought identification books to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden and Tuxedo Park, and little Kodak box cameras to the Bronx Zoo.

He was always there to record the times of our lives with his own Argus 35mm camera: ballet recitals, school concerts and plays, and of course holidays and birthdays. Dad taught us about perspective as he posed us to ‘hold’ one another or a building in the palm of our hand, and composition as we framed photos in the viewfinder without pressing the button (in the days of pricey rolls of film and before digital cameras).

I searched the Internet for the camera Dad owned in the 1950s. I picked it out immediately; I remember it so well. All the little gears, the self-timer lever there on the left side, the heavy substantial feel of it, and the range finder dial.

As I looked at the picture on-line, I could almost see it both in my Dad’s big hands, as well as in my own little ones. I see it on a tripod with the single flashbulb attachment and the little light meter hanging off the case. I hear the sound of the timer and the pop of the bulb which he sometimes had to rub on his sleeve to warm it up first.

And then I remember the magic. Dad turned the bathroom into a dark room and let me watch as he developed the film, enlarged the image and printed the picture. I watched with fascination as moments, frozen in time, appeared before my eyes when he sloshed the paper in the pan. Photos hung to dry on my mother’s clothesline that was stretched across the tub, and an eerie red light bulb made it all seem ‘otherworldly.’ I can still smell the chemicals when I think of it, and have never lost my love of black and white photography because of those days with Dad.

He enjoyed inventing and building things – stereos and models and cabinets and furniture and items to make my mother’s life easier. He built the most amazing headboard for me that was like a dollhouse, which kept me quiet while my baby sister slept and gave my mother a little break.

Andrea can attest to the fact that our Dad was the ultimate father (perhaps a penultimate) – one of the last of a generation that truly taught by example. He didn’t rely on teachers or television to instruct his girls; he took the time to explain, or show, or explore with us. He may have shown my sister how to use hand tools, but he taught me how to do paste-ups and mechanical art which helped to land my first real job as a desktop publisher.

Today, June 2oth, is also my mother’s birthday, and so I must make mention of her amazing influence on my life as well. Mom and Dad were a team. Growing up with them was an adventure. Lest I paint an unrealistically rosy picture of my life, I will add that it had it’s ups and downs. But one thing I know with every fiber of my being is that my parents loved me just as much – if not more – than I loved them.

Oh, the memories are surfacing fast and furiously this morning, bringing a little tear of joy that, although Dad passed in 1986, I can still conjure up his voice, his image, and his love by spending a quiet moment and asking to be with him…

Peter where do you live?
PETER PAN: It’s a secret place.
Please, tell me!
PETER PAN: Would you believe me if I told you?
I promise.
PETER PAN: For sure?
For sure!
PETER PAN: Then I’ll tell you.
***
I have a place where dreams are born,
And time is never planned.
It’s not on any chart,
You must find it with your heart.
Never Never Land.

It might be miles beyond the moon,
Or right there where you stand.
Just keep an open mind,
And then suddenly you’ll find
Never Never Land.

You’ll have a treasure if you stay there,
More precious far than gold.
For once you have found your way there,
You can never, never grow old.

And that’s my home where dreams are born,
And time is never planned.
Just think of lovely things.
And your heart will fly on wings,
Forever in Never Never Land.

You’ll have a treasure if you stay there,
More precious far than gold.
For once you have found your way there,
You can never, never grow old.

And that’s my home where dreams are born,
And time is never planned.
Just think of lovely things.
And your heart will fly on wings,
Forever in Never Never Land.