| Posted: 04 March 2011 at 2:47am | IP Logged | 5
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Tonight was my sister Marie's birthday, and we localized family members got together once more to celebrate.
There was food, cake, gifts, and a Tequila Toast, which is becoming a ritual.
Inside the card from my Mom & Dad was a picture drawn by my Father.
A picture of me.
Hugs were inevitable, and then Dad asked me a few questions. What pens do YOU use? What's the finest tipped pen they make? Where can you get them? A quiet conversation that never got past logical, one sentence answers. I told him I'd pick some up for him, and we got back to the party.
I first learned of my Dad's art a month ago, and, as you can see, the technical prowess is overpowered by the charm and whimsy. Complete lack of any cynicism.
I've been drawing since I was a toddler, and while I have put the guitar away for extended periods, forsaken the television for 5 years, etc., etc., I've ALWAYS been creating some kind of art, be it with pencil, pen, or computer. My Dad, on the other hand, has never shown any interest in drawings of his own, as far as I know. And I'd know.
So, when the three drawings came my way in February, I was intrigued. They were so creative, so cute, I was blown away.
I was so proud, that I immediately scanned them in for the world to see. 
Back to tonight. The night ended, and the three young 'uns were all that was left. My niece Ambyr, her husband Justin, & I. The cell rings, and it's my parents, specifically Mom who is frantically screaming into the phone (Ambyr heard her from 10 feet away) about the plastic farm animal miniatures I found for her in Northampton, MA that she needs for a 5 yr old boys birthday cake this Saturday. The fun we were having tonight made us forget about that little exchange. I'd have to drive down to the house and drop them off tonight.
Boy, am I ever glad I did.
I got there in twenty minutes, and helped Mom decide what the cake should look like, and then quickly painted a figurine's shirt green to differentiate it from the similar figurine also going on the cake. I was about to leave, when my Dad, who normally has an impervious Poker Face, nodded towards a bound picture album on the kitchen table.
It was like opening a treasure chest.
Page after page after page of small vignettes, some no bigger than one inch by one inch. The largest around nine inches long and four and a half inches high. It seems my Dad takes every piece of junk mail that they receive and uses the blank sides of the paper, torn in thirds, sixths, what have you, and draws.
He uses a black gel ink fine point, and then colors them in with liquid colored pencils he'd seen at the Art & Craft Store when he was there with Mom while shopping for cake stuff.
I leafed as slowly as I could, which was hard, as they were precious scenes of children playing, adults raking leaves, clothes lines strung from brick buildings, babies of every nationality in a 'baby land' watching a clock for their time of birth....endless delights! Each page having two, sometimes three, or four sweet scenes. Colored so simply, yet, beautifully.
By my Dad. I felt like crying.
Mom explained as I studied them how Dad had been doing this for a little less than a year, (he retired in 2008 after 40 years as the Foreman of Public Works in our hometown) but, only recently had become enthralled by the process. Dad just sat there, looking like a ten year old who just did his first wheelie on his first training wheel-free pedal bike.
It was funny. He started explaining the scenes to me, but, I certainly didn't need explanations. They were all self inclusive and most had a simple caption. "Reggie rakes the yard." "Joe plays for the kids." (Having done the pics he gave me, (above), he RE-did them, and gave me the copies, so he could have a complete 'run' of his 'toons. Seriously?)
I tried not to gush, like I'm doing now. I didn't want to seem patronizing, and instead, rethought the conversations about pens from earlier in my head, and sat down with him to expound a bit more about the pens I use, including the brush pens which I find so incredibly difficult, yet satisfying, to use.
I hated to leave.
I wanted that book! I wanted that book like I wanted that hardbound PEANUTS Collection when I was a kid. I wanted that book like I wanted the FAR SIDE Collections when I was a teen. I left him with an order.
"Finish that album. I'll take it home and scan every one of those."
A non-internet household, they both said, "For what?"
I didn't answer. At least, not in specifics. "I just will."
But, Dad understood.
Hugs were inevitable.
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