You may wonder why, of all the Father’s Days that have come and gone, I particularly remember Father’s Day 1962.   I still remember it vividly because it was the first time in almost a year that my family laughed.

On July 28, 1961, my mother, May Blieden, succumbed to colon cancer after a 9-month battle.  When she died that miserable day in July, her four children were ages 14 (me), 10, 7, and 2.

She died early in the morning in a New York City hospital while my father, Bernard Blieden, was still en route.  When he returned to our Teaneck, New Jersey, home later that morning, the first thing he did was to take all four of us around in a big hug and while we all cried, including him, at the devasting news, he promised that we would always stay together.  It was a promise he more than kept. 

However, although we were together, there were things we never spoke about because they were just too painful.  We never spoke about our Mom and we never put away her things.  Her apron still hung on its hook by the stairs leading down to the basement when my father died 12 years later.

It was a sad time for all of  us, and we just barely got through the days that first year.  As Father’s Day approached, Ira, my brother, had the great idea to get Pop a charcoal grill.  We pooled our money to make it happen. Ira was very handy, and since our father was not, Ira not only picked the grill out but put it together and hid it in the detached garage at the back of our property.  It was too big to wrap up so what could we give Pop that he could open?  We decided to wrap up the large bag of charcoal briquettes.

We placed the wrapped bag on the kitchen table and called Pop to come in.  When he did, we called out “Happy Father’s Day” and pointed to his gift.  He commented on the large bag and then went to lift it.  “What is this?”  he bellowed gloomily, “It is so heavy.  What did you give me?  A bag of bricks?”

He then opened the bag and saw that it was bricks – charcoal bricks.  He started laughing.  Then we started laughing.  We were all laughing so hard, tears were pouring down our faces.  We then led Pop to the backyard where Ira showed him the grill.  He couldn’t believe that Ira, at 11 years old,  was able to put it together, but was really thankful he had. 

charcoal grill circa 1962

We had many delicious cookouts with that grill as Pop acquired the new skill of grilling.  The grill and the “bag of bricks” provided a turning point. Although we still never spoke about the past, at least, now, we had a present and a future.

My family, circa 1968

Another Father’s Day – a few years later in 1968

Post Author: trothman

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