Memories; now I feel like an only child.
My wife and recently moved into a nice little 2-bedroom house, and as I was going through some boxes, I found some old pictures of my family and me. One was a family portrait of my mom, dad, me and our dog, Debbie. I was about 7 or 8 when the picture was taken, in 1975 or 76.
My mom died in 1980, at 42, after a long illness; my dad passed away 3 years ago this April, of cancer. He was 61.
As their only child, I'm the only one left who remembers certain things; people we knew and events that happened. Only I remember Debbie, Harold the mailman, Simon the Barber, Steve and Alma, Sam the insurance man, Elmer and Ginny Hildebrandt (neighbors)....I mean, I'm not of course the "only" one who remembers these people, but as they related or pertained to my family, I am.
Guy Kane(as a child,I had an irrational fear of this man for a long time; I've never figured out why....he never did a thing to me, but I was terrified of him. Sorry for that, Mr. Kane)..."Popeye" and Ella....Jack and Judy. Mrs. Schaner, Pete and Carol and their kids.
No one left but me who remembers "Big Tits" (I never knew her name, but mom, dad, Elmer and Ginny always called her that....and they WERE big, by the way), "Kissy-Kissy" (another one whose name escapes me, but once again, only I am left with the knowledge of how and why that particular nickname applied to a particular person).
The time my dad, a little worse for the drink, tried to teach me and my friend Tim how to do headstands, overbalanced and fell, crashing through the wall between the living room and kitchen. The time, when I had chicken pox, that he told me that when I went to sleep I'd lay an egg, and to prove it, he put a hard-boiled egg in my pajama bottoms as I slept.
The cool cakes my mom made for my birthdays; the way she always cut my sandwiches "fancy" (corner to corner, instead of across), just the way Ii liked them. Going to the drive-in and sitting in dad's '66 Chevy convertible with the roof down, wrapped up in blankets and feeling the dew fall on your head. The Boulevard Inn....Bachmann's Vending Service.
I know that most of this means nothing to any of you, and that's my point.
I have a stepmother and two stepsisters, and together we made more memories that we can share, but as far as the things that happened before them....well, I have no one to share my memories with who can relate to them directly. When I eventually die, those memories will be lost, and that makes me kind of sad.