Father, June 4, 2009

Joanne Murray is my cousin.  She sent me a book her son made for her 75th Birthday.  It contained essays that Joanne had written.  In the interest of bias, I am definitely biased so let's get that out of the way.  But once you and I get passed my bias you come to realize as I have that these essays are something very special especially to her family and THAT IS THE POINT.  As I read them the one of many thoughts that crept into my mind was "why haven't I been doing this?"  Why indeed!  These are thoughts of a daughter, a granddaughter, a mother, a wife, a cousin (like in my case), an aunt etc.  Most who will read these essays have that in common with Joanne.  There are people you know who might enjoy knowing what you think and what experiences you have been exposed to.  Wouldn't it be nice if you let them know by writing them down as my cousin Joanne has done.  It's never too late to get started.  I will be posting them here about one a week and do so with Joanne's permission.  Hope you keep coming back.  Leave your comments below.    Jim "Gymbeaux" Brown

Father

June 4, 2009

He was never a part of my life, although I thought of him often and yearned for his attention.  He was my father.  He and my mother separated when I was about 3 years old.  A memory has always stuck in my mind, and I believe it is one of my earliest.  I was standing in front of a floor model radio, playing with the dials and listening to the commotion behind me, which I have always believed was when my mother and I were leaving the apartment.  I remember a sense of something happening.

My mother and I moved in with her parents until she could find other living arrangements for us.  From then on I have only one memory of my father.  I was about 8 years old when he came to see my mother.  I don't remember anything about the visit, only seeing him standing in the doorway.  I know of only 2 gifts he gave me, a $25 war bond and later a gold locket with a rhinestone cross in the center.  My name was engraved on the back.  Years later, I mentioned to my husband that the clasp needed replaced.  He insisted on having it done for me.  When I asked him about it later, he sheepishly told me he lost it.

My mother, my grandmother, came to see me one Easter and brought me a basket.  I remember no interaction with any of them.

I forever dreamed of a dramatic reunion with him when I got older.  I would find him and announce, "I'm your daughter,"  He died at age 39.  I did not go to his funeral.

We were told he remarried and had a daughter named Mary Ann.  Somewhere I have a half sister.