The Sunday Memory Drawer - Snapshots of Summers Long Ago : A Photo Essay By My Dad

I can hear his voice now.

"You're going to put my pictures where?!"

On a blog.  For everybody to see, Dad.

As regular readers here will know, there was a period of time, from about when I was age four to seven, that I was literally a photo opportunity for my father.  During those years, he had gotten an Argus Technicolor camera and he became very interested in photography.  Every family event was captured on film and then transferred to slides, which were then run and rerun at all the subsequent family events.  Of course, my mother and I were usually the ones photographed for posterity.  But, sometimes, he just took pictures of scenery.  Or ducks.

When I found the actual slides and the projector about twenty years ago, I had them all loaded onto a VHS tape.  Yes, VHS tapes.  Then, about ten years ago, the slides made their way onto a DVD.

As I look at them periodically, I see an ideal candidate for one of those Turner Classic Movies' restorations.  In many cases, the Technicolor has faded badly.  There's fuzziness.  Oh, and clearly, my dad had some challenges with light exposure.

Nevertheless, while the actual photographs are hazy, the memories still come through as clearly as if they happened yesterday.  Naturally, summertime was an ideal reason for my father to take pictures.  And it all comes back to me now.

Of course, no summer season could go by without my dad taking a photograph of Grandma's rose garden.  That's our back door and the "stoop" in our backyard.  My friends and I spent many a warm and humid night sitting there and talking about the world.  I can also tell you that I also fell down said steps on numerous occasions.

Our summer vacations had to be destinations that we could drive to.  A frequent place to go was the Jersey shore near Atlantic City.  We'd never stay at a hotel.  Instead, we would opt for these small cabins, which, in retrospect, reminded me of the Marines barracks on "Gomer Pyle USMC."

Apparently, this time around in Atlantic City, we had taken my older cousin along for the week.  Either that or Olympic swimmer Gertrude Ederle and gone off-course in her attempt to swim the English Channel.

Here my mom joins me and my cousin in water which looks kind of marsh-like to me.

 My mother has obviously gone to shore.  And, too, has my cousin's torso.

The entire wading incident has totally tired out my mother.  It's hard to see but please note the cigarette burning in her right hand.

Another place to vacation within driving distance was the Catskill Mountains.  Back then, it was a hot spot for a couple of theme parks called "Storyland" and "North Pole USA."  Animals and petting zoos were central attractions in both places.  Here, in one of those parks, a reindeer licks some lint out of my navel.

"Storyland" had a lot of depictions of famous fairy tales and nursery rhymes.  Here I watch as "hickory, dickory, dock, the mouse is running up the clock."   I was easily amused at the age of five.

Here I am with Little Jack Horner.   Or maybe it's not.  Photo tagging was not an option back then.

Noah's Ark.  Years later, my commutes to and from Manhattan on Metro North would have very similar travel conditions.

Little Miss Muffet.  Or maybe that's Minnie Pearl.  Whoever it is, I'm clearly bored out of my mind.

As a latter day Marlin Perkins, my father loved to take photos of me with animals.  Forgetting that while he's snapping this picture, a duck is sticking his beak in my crotch.

This is just one of many snapshots in my dad's collection where he managed to capture the ass of an animal.

Robin Hood was not buried here.  As a matter of fact, he was trolling the streets of "Storyland" that very day.

And apparently on his way to the Gay Pride Parade in West Hollywood.

"North Pole USA" was a completely different theme park.  It gave kids like me a chance to see what was happening with the whole Santa Claus scenario all year round.  At the time, I was probably still buying into the myth.  I doubt I was after this summer sojourn.  Especially after I saw their version of Santa Claus.

The earliest rendition of a child predator.  

This blurry photo is of the North Pole's Post Office.  You could put in your letter to Santa there early.  Ideal for those parents too cheap to spring for a stamp.

It was a little odd to hear Christmas carols sung during the last week of July.  Especially when the sounds were coming from these plastic choir dummies.

If Jesus, Mary, and Joseph have to stay in these positions all year round, they will definitely require the services of Bethlehem's very best chiropractor.

I have absolutely no recollection of this.  But I'm in the back of a tractor with a bunch of kids I don't know.  Perhaps headed to an internment camp for Protestants.

Sometimes, summertime simply meant gatherings and barbecues in our own backyard.  Here's my grandfather and the bald guy is one of Dad's work buddies.  His daughter is in the background with me and my mother.  More thoroughly inappropriate photos to follow.  Because, you know, we had one of those kiddie pools.

Kill me now.  Actually, I would have killed myself then.

This might be the very first screen adaptation of "The Blue Lagoon."  Meanwhile, if I remember correctly, my little friend here eventually became a local TV news anchorwoman in Florida.

Another summer pool party and I'm with two kids I really hated.  Children of my parents' friends.  A rare photo where they weren't holding my head underwater.  And telling me that I was going to Hell because I wasn't Catholic.

It's memories like this why I have not been seen shirtless in public since I was 21.  And why I'm still working on my body years later with a personal trainer.

And, whenever we had a backyard party during the summer, you could always count on my grandmother putting on her coat when the sun went down.  The temperature would be hovering around 85 with 100 percent New York humidity, but Grandma would still feel that chill.

It's always interesting to go through these snapshots.  Good memories.  Bizarre ones.  But images that shaped a child and an adult.  I see myself with lots of kids I barely knew.  Thrown together haphazardly just because our parents were friends.  I did have friends, both in school and the neighborhood.  Yet, I don't see them in any of the summer photos.  Where are my elementary school pals?  Russell, Cheryl, Diane and the like?  Where's my best friend "up the block" Leo?

Great summers captured here on film by my father, indeed.  But, I also remember so much more.  With images that I can only visualize in my mind.

Nevertheless, thanks, Dad, for bringing SOME of it back to me decades later.

Dinner last night:  BBQ Bacon turkey burger at Go Burger.