proteanme

Truman with James in Washington D.C.

Originally uploaded by proteanme
My sister and I are exchanging emails with subject lines, like “burial” and “obit”. It’s a mad race to mine our brains for the details we might be overlooking before we set in to motion the actual plans. And everyone’s got their way of tackling the task. My sister’s started a word doc with her list of things to do. My mom is gathering her info in an actual notebook. And me, I’ve just stapled together pieces of scrap paper with my notes and created a “dad” label in gmail and “dad” tag in delicious. Tomorrow I’ll be doing things like calling the coroner and the fire marshall and the post office and the veteran’s affairs office. But tomorrow is a historic day. And I don’t believe I’ll have much luck with any of these calls because all eyes and ears will be turned on Washington D.C. History, with a capital “H” is happening tomorrow.

But history with a small “h” doesn’t really care. Not the history that is happening in my life.

My dad grew up in D.C. Or at least grew up there until he was in high school. He lived in D.C. because he was adopted by his grandparents after his parents divorced and his mom died. His grandfather, my great grandfather, was a federal judge. And I’ve heard rumor my dad watched inaugural parades from his grandfather’s office. As an aside, I’m also proud to say (in that strange and irrational way that one takes pride in one’s ancestors and lineage) that my great grandfather was also the Dean of Howard Law School and worked to get the law school accredited.

The picture here is of my dad with James. James worked in my dad’s house. And if you asked my dad, he would tell you that James and his wife Sally helped him raise him. This might be as close to a father son photo as there is of my dad.