Father’s Day – always an odd day for me. My Father died when I was about 18 months old. He was Chief Resident at Boston State Hospital, which I believe was the first hospital established in the US exclusively for the treatment of Mental Illness. (Don’t quote me, I could be wrong.) My father caught polio from one of his patients and died from it fairly quickly. My mother was a psychiatric nurse when they met – she later became a psychologist and is still working today.
Looking up the Hudson from the Bay. The building under construction on the right is the “Freedom Tower“
We lived in housing provided for the staff. I think we should have been thrown out after my father died, since it was a perk for the Doctors but, out of kindness or guilt (the polio vaccine was already available to the staff but he had not been given an inoculation yet) or both, they let my Mother and me stay on. We lived there until I was 10/11 and I came back to work there in the summers after I turned 16. Of course many of the staff remembered me but what was stranger was how many patients remembered me as a little boy and remembered my parents and wanted to talk to me about how wonderful my Father had been and how nice my Mother was.
Heading down river to the ocean
As my fellow blogger, Rebekah, over at Colder Weather reminded me, I always hated the card making elementary school ritual. As I remember I was the only kid who did not have a father (again don’t quote me but it felt that way)
and the “oh make it for your grandfather or an uncle” stuff just did not work.
This year was the first year that Abigail was not home for Father’s Day, but we facebooked and made plans to go out when she gets back. Katherine and I took a boat ride from Chelsea Piers through Buttermilk Channel, out by The Statue of Liberty and Ellis island and then back. A nice two hour tour.