Memories are what makes up the amazing part of our lives. It is what we lived for and will always do.
I have a short story to share with you by Ted Kruger.
....You never know when you are making a memory
Rickie Lee Jones
I have memories about my father and growing up with him in our apartment very close in location to the elevated train tracks.
Up to 20 years, we listened to the roar of the Train as it passed by his bedroom window.
Late at night, he waited alone on the tracks for the train that took him to his job at a factory where he worked the midnight shift.
On the particular night, I waited with him in the dark to say goodbye. His face was grim. His youngest son had been drafted. I would be sworn in at six the next morning, while he stood at the paper-cutting machine in the factory.
My father had talked about his anger. He didn't want them to take his child, only 19 years old, who had never a drink or smoke a cigarette, to fight a war in Europe. He placed his hands on my slim shoulders. You be careful, Srulic, and if you ever need anything, write to me and i'll see that you get it.
Suddenly, he heard the roar of the approaching train.
He held me tightly in his arms and gently kissed me on the cheek. With tear-filled eyes, he murmured, "I love you, my son." Then the train arrived, the door closed him inside, and he disappeared into the night.
One month later, at age 46, my father died. I an age 76 as i sit and write this.
I once heard Pete Hamil, the New York reporter, say that memories are man's great inheritance, and i have to agree.
I've lived through four invasions in World War II. I've had a life full of all kinds of experiences. But the only memory that lingers is of the night when my Dad said, "I love you, my son."
Ted Kruger
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