“Remember…”
That was the word Spock said to Dr.
“Bones” McCoy in the film, “Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Khan”, in 1982. He was
doing his famous Vulcan Mind-Meld with Bones in order for the doctor to retain
his consciousness. Later, in “Star Trek
III: The Search For Spock”, McCoy referenced Spock being “in my head.”
So, all of this begs the
question, “What does this have to do with remembering
something from 1982? I’m glad you asked.
It’s not so much
about Spock, Bones or Star Trek, in general, but rather about remembering those
individuals close to our hearts whom we have lost over the years. In my case, it’s specifically my parents,
Barbara and Bernard.
That’s me in the front. My father, Bernard, behind me. My younger
brother, Daniel, and finally my grandfather, Robert. Yes,
it’s a very old picture, probably from the 1700s, or the 1960s… either one.
That was part of our little
family of five before things went sour.
We were young, happy, full of hope, full of life, and just generally
happy to be alive. For me, personally, it’s
one of the few images I have of my late father.
He was a very good dad, but not a
very good father. Let that sink in for a
moment. He was a good dad, but not a very good father.
A dad or daddy, is the one that you have fun with: playing catch,
learning how to hit a baseball, playing tag and hide-and-seek… you get the idea. A father, he’s the one who’s around for those
touchy father-son talks about girls, bullies, teaches you how to drive a car
for the first time… you know, “father” things. Man to man.
That man, when I was 5 years old,
around the time of that picture, he left us.
Our parents got divorced and he not only wanted out of our lives. Oh no,
much more than that. He didn’t just move
across town, he moved out-of-the-state.
We wouldn’t see him again for 4 or 5 years. We took a train from Portland, Oregon to
Ketchum, Idaho. Ketchum, at that time,
was home to Adam West of Batman
fame. I didn’t make that connection for
many years later. Curses, foiled again, Batman!
It was a dreadful trip, that
first one, because not only was it the first time we’d seen him in several
years, but it was also the first time we’d met his new wife, our new
stepmother. To be clear, she’d never had children of her own or spent
any amount of time around little kids like us.
And here we were, a million miles from home (not literally), and well, yes, very scared and afraid.
Those were the things I
remembered and that’s who she became to us through her words and actions for years to come. I’ll spare you the specifics and save that for another time.
What it comes down to, for me at
least, is that my father didn’t want to have anything to do with us and just up
and left. So, here we were, our mother and two brothers (and me), our little
family all alone in the world and starting a new chapter.
In steps Mr. McJury. Russell.
I don’t know the specifics about
the circumstances around how Mr. McJury met our mother, but they hit it off
famously and soon we were moving from our Cedar Hills apartment to a lovely
ranch style home in the West Hills. That
house, still there on SW Arborcrest Way, sits on a half acre of old growth
timber, with an in-ground pool. It was
an amazing home that Mr. McJury built in the 1960s. It was our home, our family for only 12 short
years.
I have only good, loving memories
of Mr. McJury. He took us in, gave us
security, warmth, and lots of love. We
were instantly his new family, lock,
stock and barrel.
This was my stepfather, Russell,
and my mother, Barbara, in our living room, circa 1970s. It looks like she is crocheting squares in order to make covers for the
throw pillows.
Those are just a few of the
wonderful memories I have of him, my mother and that brief amount of time that
our lives crossed, intertwined, and meshed as a family.
My paternal father, Bernard, I
wish I could say that I have similar memories of him. Even now, years after his passing, I still
don’t have any of those feelings for him.
Our mother, Barbara, she left
this Earth far too soon, just shy of her 45th birthday in 1977. Lung
cancer from smoking up to 2 packs of cigarettes. It was very fast at the end. She went into the hospital around
Thanksgiving, 1976, came home for Christmas later that year, then back into the
hospital. By that time, sadly, she
simply didn’t look like the vibrant, active mom that we’d known just a year
before.
I don’t know exactly when she was
diagnosed with lung cancer, or the severity of it, but when it showed up, it
hit her very hard and very quickly.
Then pretty soon after January
1977 (I was only 18; my brothers were 14 and 21), our little family was blown
out of the water, scattered to the four corners of the Earth. I was to start university in September, my
younger brother, Daniel, went to live with our paternal father, Bernard (again, remember, we did NOT know him very
well), and my older brother, Barney, went into the Air Force, stationed in
London, England. I moved in with our
grandparents, Charles & Emma Brown who had a lovely home across town. I was the lucky one, and I always felt bad
for my younger brother, Daniel, because he didn’t have a say in where he was to
live, only that our stepfather, Russell, didn’t want any of us living with him
after our mother’s passing. I
understood, but not for a long time after that…years, I believe.
So, where is all of this
back-story leading? I’m glad you
asked. I think my point(s) here is that
we need to remember those good,
loving, warm, happy times and the people who were there to share it with us –
mothers, fathers, step-parent(s), aunts, uncles, grandmas, grandpas, and even
our beloved pets: Beau, Morris, Bill, Felix.
We need to remember but not dwell
on the negative times – broken limbs, broken hearts, lost pets, loved ones long
gone. When we dwell on those things that
hurt us, we lose a bit of ourselves, yes, but we stop growing and moving
forward. That’s what life is all about,
moving forward. Those loved ones who are
no longer with you; they would want you
to be happy.
Only in the movies do we get to go back in time and
relive the past.
“Remember…”
