Journal Entry #4 -- September 17, 1975

Last night as I tried to sleep at 11:00 pm, I wished my father would stop working in the basement. He was sawing and hammering and although I sleep on the top floor of the our two story house the sounds came up through the register and sounded like my father was in the next room. Buzz, buzz, pound, pound -- so late at night. Then I stopped, "Hey wait a minute." This is the only time he could work on the basement room. He works all day and moonlights after dinner. Then my mind wanders to other things he's done here late at night.

My room was built with that perseverance. He would be found pounding nails or sawing wood in the attic, transforming it into the beautiful room I call mine.

I never thought cleaning my room could be so enjoyable! It is so great to be back here -- I've got so many memories stored in every crevice. Even the carpeting is memorable. I know I had to give up my room to Jeremy for 6 weeks while he was visiting because it

Note: The entry before the crossed out paragraph was surprisingly compassionate for me during this time. It's pleasant to look back on it to see that I did understand what my dad went through to make us comfortable.

Not sure why I crossed out the last paragraph. Maybe I ran out of time to finish my thoughts?

June 12, 1975 In which I write a bit about my father

Thursday

Father -

A masculine, happy man is my Dad.

I hardly remember him in the first few years of my life. His appearance wasn't sudden. He sort of melted into the picture.

Note:
Considering what's become of my father, this is a bittersweet entry. I wish I'd written more at the time. I think I did write something somewhere, about my relationship with my dad. It will be interesting to read it if I find it.