Pictures Hung Askew

I've walked thru the front door of my childhood home many times and I've seen it thru many eyes. Childhood eyes that were high enough to see through the mailbox cutout in the door. Adolescent eyes that finally where able to see in and out of the little window on the top half of the door. I've noticed the change. Now with my adult eyes, I open the door and announce my arrival. I walk passed familiar scenes that have greeted me for 50 years. The paintings that hung on the left wall, were done years ago by my mother. Her art has always cover the walls. They remind me that the artistic talent I carry around in my soul, was created in the womb of my mother.

The scene has changed recently, and not in small ways. My dad has taken down some of the all too familiar paintings, and nailed an old black and white portrait of himself from his younger years, with stoic photos of his mother on the left, and his father on the right. These are not hung on a nail with a wire. They are pounded securely to the wall with large construction type of nails. Those pictures aren't going anywhere soon. Reminds me of photos hung in popular restaurants, where they can't possibly be stolen. The fireplace that has the african masks lined up, now displays my dad's navy uniform, also pounded securely to the bricks and his name is visible on the inside collar. The top of the TV, that was a showcase for small pieces of art and sculpture, now has my dad's passport, and any other photo document that bears his face. These reminders of who he was are all askew kinda like my dad. He's nailing his life to the wall. His photos tell me where he's come from, and what he has done in his life. He doesn't want to loose himself. I'm sure there was a time where he realized he was loosing his memory. I've never heard him speak of it with his words. But his actions speak so much louder. Don't forget where I've come from. Don't forget who I am. Don't let me get lost . That's why he's nailing his life on the wall. So his kids and family won't forget. So he can have some tangible reminder of who he is. Every time I visit, and walk in the door, I stop and look and listen to him tell me all over again who those people are and who that guy is in the middle.. It doesn't matter if it was 30 minutes ago. I stop and listen. I won't forget you dad. I won't. And those nail holes on the wall? Someday when you are gone, someone will probably want to fill and covered them up. But I won't be the one to do that. Not me. I will carry those holes in my heart always.