He used to draw for my brother and me when we were younger. He had a cigar box full of really old-school Sharpie markers (back when they were toxic) and a supply of construction paper. We would make requests, and he'd draw for us. Sometimes we would cut the pictures out and glue them to different colored paper--I figure it was so we could feel involved in the process somehow. I wish I knew where any of those pictures were. I wish I had kept even a few of them. There are certain things that are crown jewels of one's childhood--those pictures were mine, but I've no idea to where the Knights Templar of my life have stolen them away. I can't even name a specific picture I really want; any of them would do. (For my brother, it would be one my dad drew not long after we saw "The Wizard of Oz" on television. He asked my dad to draw a flying monkey with wings--and he drew a monkey in a pilot's cap with wings pinned to his chest. Not what my brother asked for, but one of the coolest memories we have of Dad.)
My dad's "collected works" have never been all in one place. There is a sketchbook he used to have (one of many over the course of his life, I'm told), and it changes hands between me, my brother, and my mom. I need to get it back at some point, even temporarily, and scan the pages so I have them (some of the cartoons in that book are REALLY funny. I know that somewhere there's a portfolio of his more formal work. My mom says it's long since gone missing, but I expect there will come a point when it will turn up. I hope it does, anyway. Until then I'll just have to enjoy what little I do have, and the plethora of memories.
I framed this one for me. I quite like this one, for some reason.
