John Zywar’s Family Novel Blog
Everyone does it. There are no exceptions. Some people do it
with stamps and coins or other tangible objects like furniture, artwork, model
trains or rocks. Some collect stocks, bonds and real estate. Some collect items
that seem to have little intrinsic value such as string and rubber bands. Some
collect things that have immediate usefulness like food and coupons.
But others collect intangible items. They collect the aches
and pains of the body and the soul. Some collect laughs and smiles. There are
people who collect stories – both their own stories and other people’s stories.
Family stories of bygone days are collected and stored by the family historian.
Sometimes these stories are passed down to the next generation’s family
historian. Sometimes the stories are lost.
1952
“I took John to the doctor today” John’s mother told her
husband.
“His black left thumbnail was getting worse” she said.
“You need to move your tools. He can get to them in that
bottom drawer in the kitchen. He wants the big hammer.” She said as she picked
up the leather handled Estwing hammer off the kitchen countertop. The smooth face rip hammer was of medium
weight 16 ounces in a single piece of forged steel. Not a tool to be easily
handled by a one year old.
“We bought him the little hammer. Why won’t he use that?”
said his father.
“He only wants the big hammer and he keeps missing the nail
and hitting his thumb. I can’t get him to use the little hammer.” she replied.
The little hammer had a straight wooden handle with a small white metal head
that was painted green.
“The doctor scrapped his thumbnail but said that it wasn’t
infected.” John’s mother added.
“Did he cry?” his father asked.
“No, he just watched. He only cries when I take him to have
his picture taken.” said his mother with some consternation.
She proceeded – “The doctor said the nail will fall off but
will grow back OK.”
“I will move the tools to the back room. Is he watching Douglas Edwards With The News now?”
asked John’s father.
“Yes, the news just started so we can put him to bed after
the news is over in fifteen minutes. He will put up a fuss if he doesn’t see
the whole broadcast.” She shook her head.
John was in his favorite spot – swinging in the mechanical
wind up swing - watching and also listening to Douglas Edwards’ unmistakable
voice coming from the blond oak cabinet of the second hand Dumont television.
The round long lasting cathode-ray
picture tube was an invention by Allen Dumont after he graduated from an
engineering school in Troy NY located about two hours up the turnpike and over
the Berkshire Hills from Easthampton.
“I am getting a little worried. John is happy to swing for
hours and just stare off into space.” his mother confided.
“Do you think he is retarded?” his father asked. They both
had been thinking about that question for a while but didn’t dare say anything
out loud because it might be true.
“Well, … at this age Susan was saying a lot more words…and
talking sentences…and watch this.” She turned to John who was still swinging contently
and commanded “John – close your mouth.”
John instantly opened his mouth wider.
Jane started to look away but out of the corner of her eye she
thought she saw a trace of a smile on her son’s face.
No comments:
Post a Comment