The Patriarch Diaries

I apologize for this, and the previous, entry. I don’t mean to be posting such boring and personal stuff, but I really am planning to give my Memory Box to my grandkids, and this really is how I expect them to make sense out of it. And, of course, they are why I started this blog in the first place.

I ended The Memory Box on the tassel of my graduation hat to mark the ending of my childhood days and the beginning of my bigger childhood days. In this entry, I’ll go through the rest of the junk…I mean, treasured memories, that I acquired as an adult, placing them, once again, in roughly chronological order.

This should have gone in the previous entry because it was taken before I graduated. It was supposed to be in my Senior Yearbook—along with the rest of the graduating class—but because I tried to cheap out and use my own photographer instead of going to the official school photographer, my photo got lost in the shuffle and never appeared in the book. That’s what they told me anyway. (Let that be a lesson to you, kids: you get what you pay for. I don’t recall what I paid, however, or where I got that suit jacket. The hair I grew myself. It was the style back then, but I hated it, and had it cut short as soon as I graduated.)

This is a wallet-sized copy of my high school diploma. Everyone got one in my year. I carried it in my wallet for a while, for no particular reason. It wasn’t like I needed to present for entry anywhere, and no one ever asked to see it.

The summer after I graduated, I went with the cult to Mexico. It was an amazing trip, much too much to include here. This is one of the few surviving mementoes: an entry ticket for Teotihuacan, where I climbed the Pyramid of the Moon, and the Pyramid of the Sun. Quite spectacular.

My draft cards. Everyone got one in those days. You were classified as 1H until they called you in for a physical. Mine remained 1H because, before they called me, the draft was ended, and I never had to go.

In the summer of 1975, I was working at the L&B Furniture factory in Stottville, NY, making bar stools. I hated the job, so in August I left to enrol in Columbia Greene Community College to study English and become a writer.

On my last day, Louise, a woman I worked with, gave me her address and I promised to send her a copy of my first published book. I kept her address because I really meant to keep my promise, but my first published book didn’t come along util thirty-four years later, and I figured she’d have move by then.

This is the key to what I thought was my 1966 white Chevy Nova, but the tab on the key says it’s a 1964 model. This was also in 1975 and, yeah, that’s what car keys looked like back in those days. And we had to lock our doors manually.

The hood ornament to either my 1966 blue Ford Falcon, from late 1975, after the Chevy Nova died, or my 1973 blue Ford Pint Station Wagon that I owned in 1984.

When the twins were born, my workmates got a Singing Telegram for me. A young woman dressed in a fancy tuxedo sang this to me. At work.

In 1983 I decided I wanted to be a folk singer. I did a bunch of open mic nights and was playing out in bars by the end of that year. I called myself Merv (long story) and this was my business card. The name Merv stuck with me for many years. Some people thought it was my real name, and there are still a few people around who continue to call me Merv.

This is my singing schedule for 1984. This list of bars includes: The Jet Inn, The Grog Shoppe, Rip’s, Casey’s East, The Lark Tavern, Dulin’s Pub, Sutter’s Mill and Mining Company, The Town House, Dan’s Place, Harry’s and The Old Albany Inn. I sang other places; this was just1984.

Because Albany had a lot of Irish bars, I learned a lot of Irish songs so I could perform in them, which was how I was introduced to Irish Step Dance, and subsequently became interested in all things Irish, culminating in my trip there in 2001.

In August 1986, I was promoted to an Identification Specialist I. That was a pretty big deal for me at the time. If nothing else, I got to work a normal day shift for the first time in ten years. It was also where I was introduced to computers, which eventually lead to a change in my career path.

In 1987 I started a copy business. I ran it from the office in my home in Nassau. The reason for the business was so I could have a copy machine. The customers were an annoyance, I never made any money, I was rubbish at it, and a terrible businessman. But the Xerox machine I owed was great, and it stayed with me for many years.

Around that time—September 1988—my original wife and I split up. This is my original wedding ring.

Single once again, I decided to join Mensa. To qualify, you need to score in the top 2% on an average IQ test, meaning an IQ of 132 or above. I did it because there were a lot of stupid people around and I wanted some intelligent company to mingle with. The Mensa group, however, turned out to be a bunch of prats who sat around trying to impress each other with how smart they were. So I went back to the stupid people; they were a lot more fun. My membership ran out in 1989, so I guess I’m back to being stupid.

In the summer of 1995, the boys and I were camping when a hurricane swept through the campground. We struggled valiantly to hold out but, in the end, we had to retreat to the Crossgates Mall. The next time we camped, I gave the boys medals for having fought in the campaign.

In 1997, I decided to become a SCUBA diver. So, I took lessons, and became a SCUBA diver. Here’s proof.

This was also when Irish culture overcame me, and I started doing Irish Step Dance. These are some of the medals I won.

This is the latest entry into my Memory Box. I don’t put things in it anymore, and have not added anything since I moved to Britain, but this was an exception. After my brother died, the family had some of his ashes put into little bottles, and put the bottles on a necklace chain.

It’s a fitting tribute, and there is no other place for it but The Box.