The first isolated memory I have of my father was from the night before I started 2nd grade. By isolated, I mean just the two of us. It isn’t a memory that was fed to me over the years in the form of a story that someone else told. It isn’t a memory that is captured in a photograph in one of the hundreds of albums or collages that my mom has put together. And it isn’t a memory that anyone else knows about. Just me and my dad. And I’m sure just me. I don’t think my dad would even remember it if I told him about it. Or if he was to read about it somewhere in one of my diaries. Or if he was even to read it right here in this printed piece of paper that he is holding in his hands.
First off, it’s nothing monumental. It’s not a memory of a first bike ride, or a first homerun, or an outburst of anger. In fact, it’s quite simple. I don’t even know why it has always captivated me. Other than the fact, that it was a rare moment that my dad was there.
Dad traveled a lot when I was young. He was an important business man in an important building in important downtown Los Angeles. I remember the building, but I don’t remember what he did. I know he had a secretary, and that she always brought me candy, but I think that she did other important things too. I never wanted to touch anything--not even sit in the couch--because I knew everything was important. Yes, he had a couch and living room area in his office. Like I said, he was important. Until he lost the election.
I was in the 3rd or 4th grade and I didn’t know what that meant; just that he would no longer be in that big important office. He seemed sad about it at the time, but later he said it was the best thing that ever happened to him; caused him to slow down, reassess life, and make new priorities. But hearing the news that my dad had lost made me sad and I wanted to give him comfort and confidence as he had done for me the night before I started 2nd grade, so I wrote him a letter and left it on his pillow.
Dear Daddy,
I’m sorry you lost. But I love you and I am very proud of you. Just be yourself and you will be happy.
Love,
I added my signature in slow cursive, Lisa Mayme.
Those were the words my dad spoke to me while he was giving me a bath the night before I started 2nd grade at a new school. “Big second grader tomorrow, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you scared?”
“A little. I don‘t know anyone.”
“Don’t worry. Just be yourself and you will be happy. I’m proud of you. It takes courage to start a new school.”
And that’s it. That’s all I remember of the memory. Just those few words spoken and my dad giving me my nightly bath. Maybe it was so odd and memorable because my mom normally gave me my bath. Maybe it was because that’s the only time I ever remember my dad giving me a bath. Whatever it was, it’s a poignant memory that remains forever in my heart.
First off, it’s nothing monumental. It’s not a memory of a first bike ride, or a first homerun, or an outburst of anger. In fact, it’s quite simple. I don’t even know why it has always captivated me. Other than the fact, that it was a rare moment that my dad was there.
Dad traveled a lot when I was young. He was an important business man in an important building in important downtown Los Angeles. I remember the building, but I don’t remember what he did. I know he had a secretary, and that she always brought me candy, but I think that she did other important things too. I never wanted to touch anything--not even sit in the couch--because I knew everything was important. Yes, he had a couch and living room area in his office. Like I said, he was important. Until he lost the election.
I was in the 3rd or 4th grade and I didn’t know what that meant; just that he would no longer be in that big important office. He seemed sad about it at the time, but later he said it was the best thing that ever happened to him; caused him to slow down, reassess life, and make new priorities. But hearing the news that my dad had lost made me sad and I wanted to give him comfort and confidence as he had done for me the night before I started 2nd grade, so I wrote him a letter and left it on his pillow.
Dear Daddy,
I’m sorry you lost. But I love you and I am very proud of you. Just be yourself and you will be happy.
Love,
I added my signature in slow cursive, Lisa Mayme.
Those were the words my dad spoke to me while he was giving me a bath the night before I started 2nd grade at a new school. “Big second grader tomorrow, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you scared?”
“A little. I don‘t know anyone.”
“Don’t worry. Just be yourself and you will be happy. I’m proud of you. It takes courage to start a new school.”
And that’s it. That’s all I remember of the memory. Just those few words spoken and my dad giving me my nightly bath. Maybe it was so odd and memorable because my mom normally gave me my bath. Maybe it was because that’s the only time I ever remember my dad giving me a bath. Whatever it was, it’s a poignant memory that remains forever in my heart.
Me and dad when I was 7
RSS Feed
