Show Me...An Object of Sentimental Value

Welcome to Day 4 of my Show Me...Project. Today, for some of us might get personal. This is where the story behind the object can really make the photograph take on new meaning. That's certainly true in my case.

Below you see an audio cassette. More specifically, an audio cassette from an old telephone answering machine. I've kept this in my nightstand drawer for 19 years now. From home to home, nightstand to nightstand, it's been there. I have not listened to it in at least 15 years I'd say. Contained on this tape are what were most likely my father's last words. I can't bring myself to listen to it again. But I can't, nor do I want to, get rid of it. It's a short message, and I remember it as clearly today as when it was received on June 2, 1989. The only temptation to listen to it is to hear his voice again. I wish I had other recordings besides this. What visually appears to be a dull and obsolete object is my chosen object of sentiment. I long for the day I'll hear his voice again.

Follow the label "My Father" below to read more about and see pictures of him.

The accompanying song today is Finally Home by MercyMe. It goes perfectly with this post I think.

Come back tomorrow to Show me...your favorite view from anywhere in your home! For all the details for tomorrow and the rest of the week, click here.

Memento

Tonight I wanted to shoot something of significance. I also wanted more practice withe my new lighting system. I enjoy my pictures more when I have some connection to them. Hopefully it comes through that tonights post is about much more than a baseball. Yesterday's Superman post was fun to shoot, but made for a very uninspired post.

I did not want to grow up to be a baseball player. I grew up wanting to be a Dodger. It was this little boy's dream to play the game I loved. My early memories of the Dodgers are tied closely to memories of my dad. He taught me the game. He taught me to love the game. My favorite player as a youth was Ron Cey. Like most kids, I was drawn to the home run hitter and Ron Cey surely fit that bill. Not by today's standard's though. I had pictures of him on my wall. I even had a small picture of him cut out from the newspaper that I kept on the outside of my bedroom door. Until my sister ripped it in half during one of our tiffs!

Fast forward to just a few years ago. A friend of mine and I were going to a Dodger game. I got field level tickets. It was a giveaway night. The Dodgers were celebrating their record setting infield of the 70's which included a presentation before the game. In attendance was Ron Cey. Since I knew he would be there, and since we had field level seats, I decided to bring a pen and baseball just in case I had the opportunity to see him. We arrived early, and sure enough, there he was on the field prior to the game. The usher graciously let me approach the rail at the edge of the field. I called out to him and motioned that I had a ball and pen awaiting his signature. He asked me to wait a moment until he finished a conversation he was having. In that time the kind usher was gone and I was approached by a less pleasant usher. Fortunately, after pleading my case, I was permitted to stay and get the signature.

The autographed baseball might have some monetary value. But to me, its value is that of a memento of a boy and his dream, and a boy and his father.

N is for Navy Mementos

I was going through a box of my father's belongings and came across some of his old Navy stuff. He served his country from 1952 to 1956 and did a tour during the Korean war. After high school, I seriously considered joining the Navy as well but never did. It's something I always wish I had done. I have the highest respect for those who serve as my father did. Here are a few pictures of what I came across among his belongings.

Below is my father's Honorable Discharge certificate, his dog tags, and various other items from his days in the U.S. Navy.

This is a close up on my father from a large group photo with his dog tags draped over the frame.

Does anyone remember straight razors?

A sheathed blade and his dog tags below

Please visit Quilly's Pacific Paradise for more Alphabet Photos.


Click HERE for all my Alphabet Photos.

La Mia Famiglia - Part 4

Revisiting family history these past few weeks has really had an impact on me. This post is most significant to me because it focuses on those I know and love best.

From the album my aunt gave to my sister and me, I learned that my grandmother immigrated to the United States from Italy when she was only 6 months old. She "arrived in America in May, 1907; they disembarked on Ellis Island-the arrival point for all immigrants. There the family was registered as immigrants, got health checks, and made New York City their new home."...She "proudly became a U.S. citizen in California in 1937." I never knew of my family's Ellis Island connection. How exciting!

My grandmother met my grandfather while vacationing in Springfield, Massachusetts.

I love this photograph. These are my grandparents back on their wedding day in 1928.

The photograph below is one of the earliest of my father. From left to right: my aunt, cousin Gloria, cousin Gilbert, my dad up front, and cousin Art Jr.

Below: my grandpa, grandma, dad, and aunt in 1935.




Below is my dad in 1936. This is one of my absolute favorites of him. I can't believe that's my dad!

Here is my another of my aunt, grandma, grandpa, and dad, this time in 1938. Look at that car!

This is my aunt back in 1944 when she was 15. Don't do the math!




Here are my grandfather and my dad doing some yard work in the early 1940's.

What a great shot of my dad in 1958. I wish I knew the occasion of this studio portrait.

Look at these kids! Mom and dad on their wedding day in 1961.



Grandpa and my sister, Ellen in 1963.

Me and my grandma in 1967.
The picture got some water damage so there are some off colors here but I wanted to show it anyhow.

My grandma died in 1970 at only 67 years of age. My grandpa never really got over her loss. My aunt tells me she wishes I got to know him better prior to this because of how much he changed.

After my parents divorce my father went and lived with my grandpa in the family home in West L.A. After high school I took a job in Century City. During the work week, I lived with my father and grandfather and on weekends went back home to my mom's house. I won't say it was a joyous time, especially because of my father's deteriorating health and my grandfather suffering from emphysema, but there was something special about the three generations of men living together.

With most of the people within the pages having died, this album is such a wonderful treasure. I am so grateful to my aunt for having done this for us.

The Gift - La Mia Famiglia-Part 1

About two weeks ago, in the course of general chit chat during one of my calls home from work the following conversation transpired:

"You got something in the mail today."

"I did?"

"Ya, from your aunt."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. I didn't open your mail."

"Well open it, open it!"

"Oh WOW! It's an album. Wow! It's about your family."


So obviously I was quite anxious to get home. When I got home I briefly perused the 52 pages within the three ringed binder, mostly taking in the pictures. But after dinner, and after we put Lily down for the night, and after getting things ready for the next day, I sat down with it and read it cover to cover. Last year, in my tribute to my father, I wrote briefly about the family background. This album really filled in the gaps, and corrected some things I had wrong, and left me confused on some other things.

This is the picture that inspired the making of the album:

Laguna Beach, CA 1938

Front row left to right: My grandpa, dad (6 yrs old), grandma, and aunt (the one that made this album); Great Grandmother in the center (Grandma's mom); cousins Gilbert (see below) and Gloria, Uncle Frank and Aunt Frances (Grandma's sister).

Back row left to right: Uncle Jim (Grandma's brother) and Violet, Art Jr. (Uncle Artie's son-more to follow in a future post about Artie) and Lilian, Uncle Larry, Aunt Pat (Grandma's sister) and her friend.

Following the death of Gilbert, my first cousin once removed (it took me about 15 minutes of research to finally figure out officially what our relationship was) in September, 2006, we saw the picture above at his funeral. It belonged to his son, Frank. Later, we asked my Aunt if she would contact Frank and see if we could get a copy of the picture. And I guess that's when my sister and I really began to fire off questions about our family's history. It was at this time that she decided to do this album for us. Filled within were stories and photographs of many family members, mostly all from my grandmother's side of the family.

Pictured above: Cousin Gilbert and his wife Beverly and the first two of their four children, Frank and Susan in 1953.

I'm seeing now that this will require quite a few posts to
A) adequately cover
B) not drive you crazy with too many photos and details all at once.

More to follow.

Finally Home

I've admitted a few times too many in here about getting teary eyed about certain things. So with no admission of anything of the sort (I have my reputation to maintain...ha ha), I wanted to share a song that, from the first listen, had quite an impact on me. The song is Finally Home by MercyMe. Julianne was surprised because she knows I rarely "hear" the lyrics for some time; she knows I tend listen to the instrumentation above all. But like I said, not this time. As I read in a review, the song is a follow up to I Can Only Imagine written after the passing of singer Bart Millard's father. Posted below are the lyrics followed by a short sample video of the song. Read, listen, and take it in.

Finally Home
by MercyMe

I’m gonna wrap my arms around my daddy’s neck
And tell him that I’ve missed him.
And tell him all about the man that I became
And hope that it pleased him

There’s so much I want to say
There’s so much I want you to know

When I finally make it home
When I finally make it home

Then I’ll gaze upon the throne of the King
Frozen in my steps
And all the questions that I swore I would ask
Words just won’t come yet

So amazed at what I’ve seen
So much more than this old mind can hold

And the sweetest sound my ears have yet to hear
Voices of the angels

"Hey Dad, you wanna have a catch?"

It gets me every time I hear it. The second to last line in Field of Dreams. The last five minutes make it my favorite movie. For those of you who have not seen it, you must. If you've seen it and have lost your father as I have, you know what I mean already.

If you are not familiar, I'll give a synopsis. Based on the book, Shoeless Joe, by W. P. Kinsella, (a case in which the movie is far superior to the book) it's the story of an Iowa farmer, played by Kevin Costner. It opens in a narrative in which Costner's character, Ray Kinsella, gives brief details of his life leading up to the events of the movie which include the severed relationship between he and his father prior to his death. Living a most ordinary life, Ray hears a voice; the first of a series of three messages-"If you build it, he will come." He concludes that if he plows under a major portion of his corn crop and builds a baseball field in its place, former and deceased baseball player, Shoeless Joe Jackson, will come back to play ball. Throughout the film, the story of his falling out with his father gets further explained and supported with details. Eventually, Shoeless Joe, and other ballplayers from the past return to play on the field Ray builds.

The final five minutes of the film is where I always lose it. It was on TV last night. I usually never watch movies on television because I hate the commercial breaks, but I watched last night on AMC because at the base of the screen was displayed background information regarding the film. At the opening of the film, the notes stated that it's the only film guaranteed to make a grown man cry. I'm no exception. The film concludes with the revelation that the "he" in "If you build it, he will come" was not Shoeless Joe. As the ballplayers clear the field for the day, one player remains. Seen in the distance is the catcher removing and storing his gear. As he removes his mask, Ray gasps at what he sees: the catcher is his father, much younger than he had ever known him. The catcher, Jon Kinsella, approaches his son. With so much that could have been said, very little is spoken. Small talk and a brief introduction to his wife and daughter are given. The viewer is left wondering if his father even knows he is speaking to his son. As his father turns to leave, son calls out to father such a simple line that speaks volumes, "Hey Dad, you wanna have a catch?"

Updated 4/23/08
I just found this video and had to come back and add it in

The ultimate second chance. A chance to mend. A chance to say all the things he wished he said before his father died. A chance to heal all the things that had tormented him all these years since. Another of the voices Ray heard in the story stated, "Ease his pain." We don't find out until the end that it was his own pain that was to be eased.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about my father. I'm fortunate to have had a very close relationship to him unlike the characters in the film. But it is not without regret. Although we spoke on the telephone quite often, I had avoided seeing my father for the last two months of his life. Intentionally. His mental state as a result of his failing health made it so difficult for me to be around him. Granted I was an immature 22 year old, but I wish I had been able to better serve him in his time of need. How wonderful a field of dreams in real life would be. Oh to see him again. To tell him how I've missed him. To introduce him to Julianne, and place his beautiful granddaughter, Lily, in his arms. To have a catch of our own.

Just a fantasy, right? That's where the good news begins. According to scripture, we have the promise of seeing each other again some day. Knowing my father died a believer in Christ settles my spirit greatly.

Pictures from the actual Field of Dreams
While visiting Julianne's aunt and uncle in Iowa in 2003, we drove to Dyersville to see the actual Field of Dreams movie site. Although we found out when we arrived that they were closed, we got some pictures of the field and the house.

My Hero - A Tribute to My Father

June 2, 1989, I lost my hero. I don’t think I’ve ever used that word to describe my father before, but nothing could be more fitting. How could I possibly capture all he was in my twenty two years, seven months, and five days with him into several paragraphs? (In actuality, he is in my thoughts everyday, so the clock is still running.) At the risk of failing miserably, this is my attempt.

(Right: Dad in 1961 Honeymoon in Montreal)
(Below: Grandma, Grandpa, & Heidi 1964)
It’s hard for any child to imagine his parents actually had lives before his arrival. To the best of my knowledge, here are some of the “before me” years. My father was born in Springfield Massachusetts on November 14, 1932 to Italian immigrants. His father worked several jobs but most notable in my mind was his work as a grip at MGM studios. His mother ran the house. She passed when I was quite young. My sister and I often comment that she had a face that looked as if it belonged on the bottle of authentic Italian pasta sauce. When he was a child, the family relocated (some have said fled due to Uncle Arty's mafia involvement) in California. My father attended parochial school through eighth grade and then attended Hamilton High School in Los Angeles. Upon graduation, class valedictorian if I recall correctly, he enlisted in the United States Navy at the height of the Korean War. Serving on the U.S.S. Philippine Sea (below), he worked with the carrier’s catapult and arresting gear.

Following an honorable discharge he lived in New Jersey where he later met and married my mother (below: Mom in 1961-Honeymoon in Boston) My sister was born in 1963. Following their move to California, I came along in 1966. Here in California, my father worked for Hughes Aircraft Company. He rarely talked about work but I know he worked with data processing. He remained employed by Hughes until he was unable to continue working shortly before his death. These details are of course just a quick overview of some of the specifics in his life. I’d have to consult my aunt for more specifics. What follows are my memories.

Everyone loved my dad. Everyone. He was in every sense of the word, a gentleman. By no means was he perfect and his humility would have him be the first to tell you this. As with most boys, I perceived my dad as larger than life. He was strong and could seemingly do anything. I don’t mean to have this viewed through rose colored glasses. We were not the happiest of families, made evident in the divorce of my parents in early 1981. Through all of this, however, there were indeed shining moments.

Baseball
I’m a baseball fan. More specifically, I’m a DODGER FAN. Why? My dad. He introduced me to the game. He explained the rules. He taught me to love the game. He took me to Dodger Stadium to watch the team. I don’t have a specific memory that stands out. I think they all just rolled up into one. I really enjoyed the movie, 61*. But it wasn’t until the behind the scenes footage on the DVD that I loved the movie. In it, Billy Crystal describes his love for the game because of his dad. Similarly, it’s why I fall apart every time I watch the last 5 minutes of Field of Dreams.

Indian Guides
I never realized all the things my dad sacrificed for me. He took me faithfully to our weekly Indian Guide meetings. He even wore the ridiculous outfit that we kids wore. He built the coolest cars for me to race in the annual Pine-wood Derby.

Sundays at the Beach
Every Sunday we moved to the beach. We packed our car full with all the paraphernalia we’d need (and not need) for our weekly outing. Hoisted high upon his shoulder was the ice chest. I think this is where I got my early impression of how strong he was.

These simple memories might not sound to be anything extraordinary. Perhaps not. In fact, some would call them mundane. But I would not trade them for anything.

I don’t know exactly when my father was diagnosed with diabetes. I believe it was when he was when I was much younger. I don’t think I was fully aware of his disease until he suffered kidney failure in 1981, resulting in him becoming a dialysis patient for the rest of his life. Over the next eight years my father experienced just about every major complication that comes with the disease: toe amputations at first, open heart surgery, right leg amputation just below the knee, and countless hospital admissions. Had he lived longer, he would have gone blind. Witnessing this man-my father; Daddy,-deteriorate in body and at times in mind was the most painful thing I have ever endured.

Although broken in body, my father’s faith endured to the end. During this time, I came to accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior. I invited my father to attend church with me. He showed an interest right away. He had been raised in the Catholic Church but as an adult, did not pursue it. During one Sunday service, the pastor gave an invitation for anyone that wanted to acknowledge Christ for salvation. Those responding were to remain standing while the rest of us were seated. Descending to my seat, I nudged my father as if to say, “We’re supposed to sit now.” But he stood firm. My father had received Christ. What an absolute joy. Although he went through bouts of doubt, and he wished he knew the bible better, his faith never wavered.

On the Easter before his death, I had the opportunity to sit and talk with him for numerous hours in his room. We talked about many things. I am most grateful that I got to tell him how I felt. He had expressed his grief over how certain things had turned out, namely his illness and the break up of our family. In response, I told him that he was the bravest man I knew. Although he felt horrible most of the time, my father was not a complainer.

Two days prior to his passing, I prayed that God would either heal him, or take him home. On June 2, 1989, Jesus took my father home. Although I would have loved more time with him here, his time here was done. Oh how wonderful for him to have heard the words, “Well done my good and faithful servant.”

I love you, Dad and miss you every day. I long for the day to see you again in the presence of our gracious Lord.

(Dad in August 1981)