There's a strong canine presence in my memories.
Strangely, my father is present in all four of my first memories. My mother is only present in one of the four, which does not accurately reflect either parent’s absence/presence in my more recent life, because they have both been extremely and equally involved.
Three of my primary memories are from when I was two years old. This is the year my father divorced my mother, yet I still saw him frequently. I don’t have any memories of
When I was two years old, I somehow fell off of the top of the sliding board attached to a blue striped swing set, once nestled in the depths of ivy situated in the backyard of what is still my mother’s home.
I broke my arm in two places.
In retrospect, I have no idea why a two-year old was left unattended on the top of a slide. As I recall, the swing set was the size of a pirate ship, or something equally large and impressive. In reality, it was probably five feet tall, which still qualifies as dangerous heights for a toddler.
My father was throwing a stick with our then family dog, Chance II (more on Chance I in a bit). Chance II was some sort of large terrier that had brown and black curly, short hair. He was a male dog, and when my father left the house, he became unmanageable without another male to discipline him. He would rip my mother’s furniture to shreds, and so he had to stay outside in the yard. I remember the frequent desperation in my mother’s voice, begging my brother and me to go play with Chance II outside, because she felt he wasn’t receiving enough attention.
He would dig himself holes under the fence that surrounded the perimeter of the yard, and run off to play in one of the busiest streets in Greenville situated unfortunately close to our home. Eventually, he never came back alive. I think my mother felt a lot of guilt from this, which is ironic, because it seems it was my father’s dog, and that he should’ve taken the dog with him to his new house.
Anyway, when I fell, my father (who happens to be a very statuesque person) had his back to me. I can recall the exact image; his impressively tall, lean frame silhouetted by the sun as he cocked an arm, throwing the stick for the dog. As I recant this, it's now obvious that perhaps I was so impressed by this strange giant that I became distracted and fell off of the slide to my injury.
My father took me to the hospital, where I received a Care Bears-printed canvas sling, and a large, hard-covered Care Bears book. I now wonder if the hospital gifted me with these items, or if my father bought them for me after the visit.
Three of my primary memories are from when I was two years old. This is the year my father divorced my mother, yet I still saw him frequently. I don’t have any memories of
When I was two years old, I somehow fell off of the top of the sliding board attached to a blue striped swing set, once nestled in the depths of ivy situated in the backyard of what is still my mother’s home.
I broke my arm in two places.
In retrospect, I have no idea why a two-year old was left unattended on the top of a slide. As I recall, the swing set was the size of a pirate ship, or something equally large and impressive. In reality, it was probably five feet tall, which still qualifies as dangerous heights for a toddler.
My father was throwing a stick with our then family dog, Chance II (more on Chance I in a bit). Chance II was some sort of large terrier that had brown and black curly, short hair. He was a male dog, and when my father left the house, he became unmanageable without another male to discipline him. He would rip my mother’s furniture to shreds, and so he had to stay outside in the yard. I remember the frequent desperation in my mother’s voice, begging my brother and me to go play with Chance II outside, because she felt he wasn’t receiving enough attention.
He would dig himself holes under the fence that surrounded the perimeter of the yard, and run off to play in one of the busiest streets in Greenville situated unfortunately close to our home. Eventually, he never came back alive. I think my mother felt a lot of guilt from this, which is ironic, because it seems it was my father’s dog, and that he should’ve taken the dog with him to his new house.
Anyway, when I fell, my father (who happens to be a very statuesque person) had his back to me. I can recall the exact image; his impressively tall, lean frame silhouetted by the sun as he cocked an arm, throwing the stick for the dog. As I recant this, it's now obvious that perhaps I was so impressed by this strange giant that I became distracted and fell off of the slide to my injury.
My father took me to the hospital, where I received a Care Bears-printed canvas sling, and a large, hard-covered Care Bears book. I now wonder if the hospital gifted me with these items, or if my father bought them for me after the visit.
They were my favorite. I've always had a thing for enticing colors and the translation of "cuddly."
This particular memory ends here, but it leads me to the next that couldn't have been but a year later. My father called my mother's house to speak with me. I took the phone call in my mother's room, and I sat on her bed while he told me he was in Atlanta and had just bought a puppy. He named her Modine, Modine the Beauty Queen (I kid you not). He told me I'd get to meet her.
X amount of time later, I recall entering the house that I considered one of my two homes growing up; my father and step mother's house that was only a mile from my mom's until I went to college. I now believe that he had just moved in, because I only remember a stark white kitchen with a small dog crate in the middle of it. Not the wire kind, but the plastic kind with a wired door. It also now seems like an opportune time to purchase a new puppy (this was before Chance II had died).
My father leaned over to unattach the crate door and release one of the most wonderful things I have ever seen. It was a tiny tri-colored collie, primarily black with white and tan markings--the exact dog that, two years ago, I chose as my first personal dog. She walked slowly out of the crate into the kitchen, and I fell in love.
A few years after this incident is when Chance II died. This is one of the very few times after I was two-years old that my father ever came to my mother's house to do anything besides honk his horn in the driveway. He came over with a shovel and dug a grave in the backyard beside the now absent swingset, interrupting the tangle of ivy with it's periwinkle flowers.
I remember watching him from these picture windows that overlooked the backyard, and my mother saying, "Why don't you offer your father a large glass of ice water?" which he accepted from a plastic cup bearing "The Simpsons" on it.
I remember a strange feeling when my mother instructed me to that action. Not strange in a negative way, but it obviously struck me that my mother cared about my father's thirst. I think I enjoyed that, at least for a moment.
From Modine the Beauty Queen onward, my father's house was full of dogs. Many were collies, which will forever have my devotion as a breed. My collie that I have now is named Shiloh.
This particular memory ends here, but it leads me to the next that couldn't have been but a year later. My father called my mother's house to speak with me. I took the phone call in my mother's room, and I sat on her bed while he told me he was in Atlanta and had just bought a puppy. He named her Modine, Modine the Beauty Queen (I kid you not). He told me I'd get to meet her.
X amount of time later, I recall entering the house that I considered one of my two homes growing up; my father and step mother's house that was only a mile from my mom's until I went to college. I now believe that he had just moved in, because I only remember a stark white kitchen with a small dog crate in the middle of it. Not the wire kind, but the plastic kind with a wired door. It also now seems like an opportune time to purchase a new puppy (this was before Chance II had died).
My father leaned over to unattach the crate door and release one of the most wonderful things I have ever seen. It was a tiny tri-colored collie, primarily black with white and tan markings--the exact dog that, two years ago, I chose as my first personal dog. She walked slowly out of the crate into the kitchen, and I fell in love.
A few years after this incident is when Chance II died. This is one of the very few times after I was two-years old that my father ever came to my mother's house to do anything besides honk his horn in the driveway. He came over with a shovel and dug a grave in the backyard beside the now absent swingset, interrupting the tangle of ivy with it's periwinkle flowers.
I remember watching him from these picture windows that overlooked the backyard, and my mother saying, "Why don't you offer your father a large glass of ice water?" which he accepted from a plastic cup bearing "The Simpsons" on it.
I remember a strange feeling when my mother instructed me to that action. Not strange in a negative way, but it obviously struck me that my mother cared about my father's thirst. I think I enjoyed that, at least for a moment.
From Modine the Beauty Queen onward, my father's house was full of dogs. Many were collies, which will forever have my devotion as a breed. My collie that I have now is named Shiloh.
The Westminster Dog Kennel Club breed information says that one of collies' strongest qualities is their loyalty, and that "they are especially well suited for family life...An exceptional dog with children, the Collie's devotion to his family is legendary."
Dogs are an icon of my childhood and punctuate many of my strongest memories just as I show above--particularly collies. The entrance of the first collie into my life marked the official exit of my father from the home we once all shared together with my mother.
A montage of family member canines (and family members with their canines):
Dogs are an icon of my childhood and punctuate many of my strongest memories just as I show above--particularly collies. The entrance of the first collie into my life marked the official exit of my father from the home we once all shared together with my mother.
A montage of family member canines (and family members with their canines):
