esrosedotblog

My early life is recorded, now indelibly, in home movies.

My Dad was a busy man with an 8mm movie camera.

My son Dave inherited all the films and has committed most or all of them to disc.

So, we watched them (again) last night.

Endless loops of life in those times. The kind that shows up on home movies. Birthdays, travel, mostly mugging by kids and adults. Responding to the whir of the camera.

The camera was a hand wound device with only a short filming period. So everything is blessedly short.

I do not cringe at the sight of my little self anymore. There were years when I left as the home movies came out. My Dad never lacked a reason to show them if there were more than 2 people assembled, including him.

But now, almost 60 years later, I do not cringe. I enjoy the memories. The movies make these things seem as only yesterday. Which in the mind, of course, it is.

And the mugging is not nearly as cringy as I remember it. We are a nice American family living a good life in the Fifties.

And my Dad. Such a handsome man. He had character and charisma. He was a little guy but packed with energy. He loved to star in his own films. I was often the cameraman. My Mom was a little too shaky with it and bored very quickly.

I even got through some of his deer hunting pictures. I used to hate them. Probably because I was not there. Not something that his son could do or wouldn't. I thought he was disappointed in me but decades later he said that he was not disappointed. Not really.

By that time I had done so many things to compensate for him, and for myself, that he could hardly complain.

My Dad is my hero. Is and was. There were the few years of rebellion but they did not last long. We loved each other very much. I knew that early enough to savor it for the rest of our lives together.

It is a real gift to see him there on film. I have my own copy now.

Well, it is on a chip or whatever you call those things plugged into the back of the computer.

Labels: life