Jack Be Nimble

A number of my gentle readers have approached me in regards to the previous post about my father and have expressed a curiosity in hearing more. It's a story that's buried like an old bone behind the shed. But it's not buried deep and, if I clear away the weeds and overgrowth, it's easy to unearth. My own brother was surprised to read about my very first memory: my father leaving. He is 3 years older than I. My sister is 11 years older.

I don't have many stories or much information about my father or his family. My grandmother never saw us again either, even though she lived to be well into her nineties. But the stories peppered about casually have been gathered by this girl and hoarded like mementos in a special drawer . The time he called The Pentagon to give his input on an international crisis. The time he showed up with a (surprise) new Jaguar. The time he showed up with a (surprise) new Porsche...well, you have the idea.

Then there was the time he embarrassed her with her newest new friends in yet another new city for his yet-another new position at General Electric. He finally pushed her so far that she hit him over the head with an iron frying pan. She didn't speak of him often, and she didn't degrade him. But I clung to the stories as clues to this mysterious person who shared in making me and then disappeared.

My parents met at Cornell. He had been a Classics major and went on to get his MBA there also. He was a rower in an 8 that made it as far as the Olympic trials. He tested into GE's prestigious sales program. Our family moved frequently before I was born, which was stressful both for my mom and my sister. Things got rocky when they lived in New Hampshire and he commuted into Winter Street on rt. 128 near Boston. He eventually lost his job and came home with the grand idea that he would become a candle-maker. He bought vintage pewter molds and set up a fragrant laboratory of sorts in the basement. He would pack up the tapers and load them into the tiny trunk of his Jag and knock on doors in certain tony Boston suburban neighborhoods, charming the housewives with his good looks and charisma. This endeavor only lasted for one short holiday season.

Soon they moved to Schenectady, where my birth was yet another surprise arrival, and then Louisville, and then Zurich. I think we know how Zurich turned out. My mom knew this was no "business trip." With no money, three kids and that grey dog named Rima, we headed back to the States.