There were interesting contrails yesterday afternoon.
Usually, they are straight lines.
So what was that one about?
.
Sometimes we don’t see contrails for long periods. Then suddenly it’s naughts and crosses all over the sky.
Prevailing winds and traffic patterns I suppose. If I was so inclined I could trace them on Flight Radar 24.
But I’m not.
.
When my parents quite suddenly sold their property in Barbados, I negotiated short-term accommodation and brought them to New York.
Dad promptly announced he planned to go no further until the weather warmed.
It was January.
.
Luckily, a nearby studio apartment was available. Overnight, my parents had moved from their open-aired spacious tropical home into two airless rooms.
My mother, who had daily tended her lush garden, had not so much as a window box.
.
Mum had by then stopped smoking, but Dad was still puffing cigars. The atmosphere was a little thick.
My mother was no doubt thankful to have been relieved of the enormous amount of work running an apartment complex had become. She had done it single-handed.
At any rate, she did not complain.
.
In Barbados, my father had his own office, so he was “out of the way”.
In their temporary new home, they could scarcely have been more confined.
Fortunately though, my father found a new interest. Two, actually.
The apartment was just off the beach with a view of the Atlantic Ocean.
Aeroplanes taking off from JFK turned and flew parallel to the beach before continuing their climb, or when the wind was the other way, approaching aircraft descended along the beach on their final approach.
.
Dad went on flight watch. He learned to identify carriers and came to expect certain flights at certain times of day. He often new when one of our flights was off schedule.
Mum probably rolled her eyes at all his announcements, but it kept him busy. It was better than hearing him moan.
As he watched out the window during those bleak winter days, Dad noticed seagulls on the beach and became interested in them too. The gulls, he said, faced only one of two ways and when they turned it was an indication of changing weather.
Dad never showed emotion. He disliked most people, especially children and he didn’t care for animals. But he was intrigued by birds.
.
Dad was always able to talk to my brother about their passion for cricket. But there was no common ground between the two of us.
When Mum told him he should write to me at boarding school, he wrote as if from their budgie which amused me.
He painted pictures of budgies as greeting cards. It was a glimmer of communication.
Very late in my father’s life, after my mother was gone, he came back to live near me. For a few short years he seemed to have mellowed, just a bit.
One day when he was using my computer to read the news, my little cat Yeti came to poke him. When he told me about it later, I could tell he was pleased.
.
When Yeti died in 2003, I was heart-broken. If Dad noticed, he didn’t mention it. But he had not been able to express sympathy when my beloved aunt died either, so why would a cat count for anything?
Did he not care or did he just not know how to express sympathy? Perhaps he was afraid of letting down the barrier even for a moment.
In my presence Dad never shed a tear, but toward the end of his life sometimes there was a catch in his throat when he spoke of certain situations, not people.
All my life I wanted to love my dad but he made it very difficult so I am glad for those few times when I saw a flash of emotion.
.
Somewhere in the great muddle I may (or may not) one day sort out, there is a photograph of Dad and I laughing together when I was 10. I value that, as well as his paintings and the photographs he took.
And I have the memory of a road trip I took him on in Utah when he was 88. We actually had fun together.
Somewhere in there was a man I could have liked.
Thank you, Carolyn, for your moving memories! The sky, as always impressive.
I like the pictures of your father!
Joanna
Wow, the planes were really going in all directions in your skies … maybe that one pilot was trying to make a piece of art in the sky. Most men I know don’t show emotions easily. But they do show that they care in different ways – I guess we women just have to “read between the lines” 😉. I’m glad you have some good memories of your dad after all. I always say a road trip is a good indicator of a relationship between people … and it sounds like you and your father not only “survived” your road trip, but even had a bit of fun … that’s not too bad.
I think there were many men of your father’s generation who were reluctant to show emotions. Your Dad was certainly a talented artist and I love the idea of letters from the budgie!
Your dad was from the same generation as mine, near enough. (Born 1920) My dad was a regular soldier, from 1936-1947. He never forgave my mother for asking him to leave the Army.
In his world, men did not cry. Men knew how to do things, make things, and mend things. Men did not ever answer to women, uder any circumstances. When I turned out very different to him, he didn’t like me at all. And he was not afraid to tell me that.
He left us in early 1976, when I was still 23. His departure was one of the happiest days I can recall.
Best wishes, Pete.
What an intriguing way to write to his daughter! Maybe this was the only way he could show his true feelings. I’d look at it as at least he took a lot of time to create those works of art for you and a lovely memory.
As Peter’s Pondering mentioned, lots of men from that era didn’t like to show emotion. I’m happy that times are changing slowly, and men can express themselves these days. I’ve heard many stories similar to beetleypet’s story – it’s so sad.