WATERMARKS
Sometime back the idea of watermarks flashed across my mind while contemplating some childhood memories. The idea seemed to fit how I look at my life.
Why watermarks? Formal documents are often decorated with a watermark. Some appear to be a small stain. Most frequently, you have to hold them in a particular light in order to see them. Most forms of US currency have some kind of watermark in order to prevent duplication as well as to establish authenticity. So it is with a life, in certain “light” a life observed becomes uniquely real. Experiences provide a backdrop for respect, appreciation and deeper understanding.
The first time I really began to understand what I just wrote is while my children (Caleb and Lacy) were asking their Grandmother questions about her childhood. She was reluctant to go very deep, but I knew the deeper reality of her unfortunate upbringing. As guarded as she was with my children they too understood the power of life events on personal history.
That day, I also got a glimpse of another form of watermark; this one much more distinct and visible. Like lines on a building denoting the flood levels reached in a storm, I saw the impact of pain, deep pain and sense of loss. Those waters in her life had long receded, but the marks were real, all too real. Etched into the landscape of her soul was her history. Yes, the marks had long faded, but the memory of such pain was still evident. Sadly, eighty years gone, and so many had not gone to the well of her heart to taste her sweetness, myself included.
What is to follow are simple and crude excerpts from memories and life events that I am compelled to share with you my children. Why? History! Personal history. I know so very little about my father and mother. For one reason, I failed to inquire about their life. I am not writing to peak your curiosity, but rather to pry the lid off my own heart and soul and give you something to pass along if so inclined. My memories are fragile and often pastel in color, rather than high definition. Sometimes along the way, I might interject a life lesson or two… “keep the meat and throw away the bones” would be good advice for those times. Keep in mind that I am not gifted with words. So I trust love will cover a multitude of sins in that regard.
You may receive these little parcels in a jumbled up order. It is sort of how memory flows, rarely in a strait line, but sporadic and faded. I hope to somehow bind them together somehow someway.
Love,
Dad
Sometime back the idea of watermarks flashed across my mind while contemplating some childhood memories. The idea seemed to fit how I look at my life.
Why watermarks? Formal documents are often decorated with a watermark. Some appear to be a small stain. Most frequently, you have to hold them in a particular light in order to see them. Most forms of US currency have some kind of watermark in order to prevent duplication as well as to establish authenticity. So it is with a life, in certain “light” a life observed becomes uniquely real. Experiences provide a backdrop for respect, appreciation and deeper understanding.
The first time I really began to understand what I just wrote is while my children (Caleb and Lacy) were asking their Grandmother questions about her childhood. She was reluctant to go very deep, but I knew the deeper reality of her unfortunate upbringing. As guarded as she was with my children they too understood the power of life events on personal history.
That day, I also got a glimpse of another form of watermark; this one much more distinct and visible. Like lines on a building denoting the flood levels reached in a storm, I saw the impact of pain, deep pain and sense of loss. Those waters in her life had long receded, but the marks were real, all too real. Etched into the landscape of her soul was her history. Yes, the marks had long faded, but the memory of such pain was still evident. Sadly, eighty years gone, and so many had not gone to the well of her heart to taste her sweetness, myself included.
What is to follow are simple and crude excerpts from memories and life events that I am compelled to share with you my children. Why? History! Personal history. I know so very little about my father and mother. For one reason, I failed to inquire about their life. I am not writing to peak your curiosity, but rather to pry the lid off my own heart and soul and give you something to pass along if so inclined. My memories are fragile and often pastel in color, rather than high definition. Sometimes along the way, I might interject a life lesson or two… “keep the meat and throw away the bones” would be good advice for those times. Keep in mind that I am not gifted with words. So I trust love will cover a multitude of sins in that regard.
You may receive these little parcels in a jumbled up order. It is sort of how memory flows, rarely in a strait line, but sporadic and faded. I hope to somehow bind them together somehow someway.
Love,
Dad
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