Treasure Chest of Memories

This time of year twenty years ago I would drive, or take the bus or train, to Lynchburg, Virginia where Tass was in school at Randolph-Macon Woman’s College, to drive her home to Apalachicola for Christmas vacation. Those trips, and that she was always so glad to see me, are among life’s most treasured memories. 

December 1990 I went up on AmTrak and had a bedroom for the overnight trip from Atlanta. The porter promised to waken me in plenty of time for the early morning arrival at Lynchburg, which was to be just a slow down and leap off, as I was the only passenger detraining there. As it turned out he wakened me from a deep sleep, in my pajamas, the train slowing down as I heard him say, “Sir, I’m sorry I forgot to awaken you. We’re pulling into Lynchburg station now.” I barely had time to pull on pants and shoes, grab my jacket and jump off in my PJ shirt as he set my suitcase on the platform and the train moved away. It was early dawn, freezing cold, and there was nobody in sight. But life was good as I finished dressing on the station platform and went looking for a taxi to take me to the campus and Tass.  

Deep emotions stir tears, and there are tears of happiness in life as well as of sadness. Scores of videos on YouTube show fathers coming home unexpectedly or early from deployment in Afghanistan and Iraq and surprising daughters and sons, at home or at school or at a sports event. The most emotional ones are when a child sees him, jumps up and runs screaming “Daddy, daddy, daddy,” leaps into his arms, and sobs uncontrollably as she wraps her legs around his waist and clings to his neck. I know about those things.

In her late seventies and eighties at her retirement community, my father’s sister Evalyn, whom we called “E.G.” used to give the residents a presentation that she called “Treasure Chest of Memories.” With different stories each time, E.G. would tell about events of her life that were dear to her, as a way to help residents realize what they could do for themselves to stir a bit of happiness in their aging aloneness. It was a great idea that I enjoy opening myself now and then.

Before graduating from the University of Michigan in 1963, we received our Navy PCS orders for a three year tour of duty in Japan. Just under a month before graduation, Linda, Malinda and Joe took the train home to Panama City to be with parents while I finished up the semester, classes, final exams, and overseeing the moving company packing us out. Then, skipping graduation ceremonies, I drove from Ann Arbor home to Panama City. Arriving in the driveway and parking under trees at the Peters home on Bunkers Cove Road, I stepped out of the car to see Malinda burst out of the kitchen door. Running to me, she leapt into my arms, clinging to my neck so tight that I could hardly breathe, and would not let go. She was just turning five years old.

During the Vietnam War some years later, 1969 and 1970, my ship USS TRIPOLI was on a WestPac cruise, and Linda wrote me that Joe, nine years old, cried through supper many evenings. That cruise, those months away from them, was what made me decide to retire from the Navy the instant I “had my twenty” in. When TRIPOLI arrived home in San Diego at the end of our WestPac cruise, Linda and Malinda met the ship at the pier and drove me home. Joe, nine years old, had been on a school outing for the day, and seeing my dismay that he wasn’t with them, Linda said, “You’re missing that smelly little boy.” Yes, and as we drove up and parked in the driveway, Joe was playing with friends down the street. He spotted me in my blue Navy uniform a block away and starting running, picking up speed with every step until, ten feet or so from me, he jumped, with arms wide, and nearly knocked me over as he leapt into my arms and clung, shaking and weeping.

Life is about loved ones, nothing else matters. Kristen’s parents divorced six months before she was born, and I got to adopt her and raise her as my very own. When she was very little she went to the wonderful day care they used to have at St. Andrews Baptist Church. During that time, Tass was at college in England, and in 1995 Linda and I flew over for a visit of ten days or so, for a memorable, jam-packed itinerary that she planned and was our guide! Most days I would call home to talk to Kristen, whose mother Malinda told me that she had been tearing up at night, saying, “I’m missing Papa.” The day we arrived back in the U.S. from our England trip, instead of driving home to Apalachicola, I surprised Linda by driving straight from Atlanta airport to St. Andrews Baptist day care center. We arrived during nap time. The teacher let me wait just inside the door of the darkened room as she went to wake my child. I heard, “Kristen, Papa’s here” and watched as she jumped up, looked around, spotted me and came tearing across the room to grab and hold as if she would never let go.

Christmas, and the YouTube videos of daddies coming home, and the happinesses of my own life stir all kinds of things. Not surprising for me, each of those memories are made even more vivid by mind pics of the cars that were part of the scene at the time. Dark turquoise Chevrolet Biscayne station wagon. White Ford Thunderbird sedan with a blue vinyl roof. Silver Mercedes Benz 300SD sedan. Two-tone tan and brown Ford Aerostar XLT van. 

Tom 

My heart and prayers this morning are with the Campbell family in NC, and with Kayla. By the mercies of God, may her soul rest in peace.