September 24, 2003

• Chapter Two (cont.) – story begins 9/8
  
  In the few other little photos from this period we look like vagabonds, sitting at picnic tables in the park. I was to have my own drifting years to come and these images of my parents represent for me a link from my own history to theirs.
  
  During these Second World War years, I am unsure why my father was not sent to fight. In my mind there is a story that at some time he had wanted to enter West Point and had been disqualified for physical reasons, perhaps that he was too thin to float in water. It is a vague memory. What I do know is that after New Mexico we came to Portland, Oregon and here my father worked in the shipyards, learning the skill of drafting which would enable him to create complex buildings on the farm in later years. He was gifted at this, as he was at many things, and I think he sometimes wished that he had turned to architecture rather than psychology in school.
  
  My mother also contributed to the war effort. She was granted a War Emergency Certificate to teach nursery school in Vancouver, Washington, minutes across the Willamette River from where we lived, and she also organized Victory Gardens in our precinct of Portland. (to be continued)
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  Deep Thought: Fear can sometimes be a useful emotion. For instance, let’s say you’re an astronaut on the moon and you fear that your partner has been turned into Dracula. The next time he goes out for the moon pieces, wham!, you just slam the door behind him and blast off. He might call you on the radio and say he’s not Dracula, but you just say, “Think again, bat man.”
  
  

  • 9:26 am
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