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It’s ironic and sad that my father died this week; we’re just beginning the holidays...and this was his favorite time of the year. But maybe in another way it’s appropriate--because these holidays are about family and friends...about things we’re thankful for...and things we remember. I was sitting in Doug’s hospital room one night a couple weeks ago...and as he slept, I pulled out one of Alex’s pads of drawing paper--and started capturing all the childhood memories my father made possible for me. In 20 minutes, I’d covered an entire page--enough memories, I thought then, to fill a box. Memories--some intricate, some everyday, some cockeyed--but each of them treasured and deserving of display...much like the ornaments on a Christmas tree. So today, let’s put up Doug’s "memory tree." No artificial tree for him. He’d insist on a Scotch pine...graceful and tall--tall enough to reach the ceiling. But he’d get somebody to chop it down for him. Pay for delivery if he had to. No way he was going out in that cold. Once it got below 60, he’d say, he was content to stay indoors for the winter. Besides...have you ever tried to strap an eight-foot evergreen to the roof of a Mercedes? Next, we’ll put on the lights. They have to be all clear twinkle lights. No colors, nothing blinking. Very elegant and classy--just like the man. Which is kinda odd--considering he grew up a clumsy kid from Jersey who made the varsity basketball team only because he was the one guy in school who could palm the ball. Then, there’s the garland. Two strands--one of them, silver...for the value he placed on hard work and concern for his family and colleagues, right till the end. The other strand is gold...for the excellence he achieved both as an artist and as a father to all of his children. I don’t think he ever said it to me...but by his actions, you could see Doug believed very strongly in the old bromide, "If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well." Now it’s time to hang the ornaments on his memory tree. I’ve got a boxful. But with a tree this tall, there’s plenty of room. Let me share with you three of the most important ones. One looks like a little tape recorder. That’s for the gift he gave me on my tenth birthday. A yellow Panasonic cassette machine that told me--even at that young age--he acknowledged my career goals and he wanted me to succeed. Although we often joked about changing the business name to "Douglas Sidney Graphic Design & Son," he told me just a couple months ago how proud he was of the life I’d made. The second ornament is in the shape of an armadillo. One evening when I was three or four, he came home from work and wouldn’t open his briefcase. Refused to let me near it. He insisted there was an armadillo inside. Now I had no idea what an armadillo was--didn’t even see a picture of one till I was nine...but that didn’t matter to my dad. He jiggled that briefcase...stuck his hand inside...even feigned a nasty nip from the reptile’s sharp teeth. Kept me enthralled for an hour. Why an armadillo? Because it sounded funny. That was my father’s sense of humor. Oddball. A little off-kilter. It touched nearly everyone he knew...and I’m glad it’s genetic. The last ornament I want to show you is a small tiger. I was deeply attached to one particular stuffed animal--Tony the Tiger--from birth till about age 11. And then through an unfortunate set of circumstances he was lost. Forever, I thought. Flash forward to Christmas some 12 years later. My father hands me a present. The label reads one word: "Serendipity." I open the box...and inside is an identical Tony the Tiger. He’d found it in an antique shop in North Carolina while on a photo shoot. After all those years, he’d remembered how important it was. His gifts, his cards, his actions always seemed to convey the right feeling. Those are some of the memories I’ll hang on the tree. And there’s space for yours, too. Maybe you have just a couple...maybe you have a lifetime’s worth. It’s a beautiful work of art, Doug’s memory tree. And wherever he is, I know he’s very pleased with the way it turned out. Delivered November 25, 1997 |
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