Two Dad Stories

I always loved going to Portland, Oregon to visit my Grandma Owen, and to spend time at my Uncle Bob & Aunt Ruth Owen's house, also in Portland, and my Aunt Lois & Grant Gibson's house in Hillsboro, outside of Portland. (About 220 miles from where we lived in Richland, Washington.)

My mom, Eileen on left, Uncle Bob, Aunt Lois, 

with Grandma Owen in front, 1964

One of the favorite things I remember about Uncle Bob's house was playing with my much older cousins' Barbies. They were the early Barbies that looked different than the ones I played with at home plus they had such unique accessories. And I don't mean things to wear. Just cool stuff.

Vintage Barbie, 1959

At the Gibson's one of my favorite memories is of their huge cherry tree in the front yard, and sitting in it to pick cherries and eating most of them as I went. I can't eat a Bing cherry without thinking of summer vacations spent there.

Anyway, for Father's Day I have two stories. One at Uncle Bob's and the other at Aunt Lois's.

On one visit (maybe I was 7 or 8) I developed a painful earache while we were staying at my Uncle Bob's house. I remember being put to bed in an upstairs room and my dad and Uncle Bob laid their hands on my head and gave me a priesthood blessing. I fell asleep soon after and in the morning I felt all better. I'm sure I received other blessings as a child but this is the one that stands out in my memory because I remember such a feeling of peace surrounding the event. And when I woke in the morning, pain-free, it made an indelible impact that I have never forgotten.

When I was 8 or 9 years old we did a trade with the Gibsons. Me and my sister Robin went to spend two weeks at my cousins, and my two favorite cousins went to our house. (I call them my favorite because they were closest to my age--Dan was just older, Evan just younger. They are also the two that I have had the most contact with since becoming an adult and the only cousins of mine your Ipson parent has met. Also, they are amazing people. Side note: they happen to be the only boys in a family of ten siblings--they had 8 sisters!)

Gibersons, Gibsons, and Owens in front of the cherry tree, 1966.

That's me toward the right side in front, with Danny on the left and Evan on the right.

Anyway, this is my second "Dad" story, so I will continue...

As mentioned I always loved spending time at my cousins' house, and this time was no exception, but I will never forget what happened when that two weeks was over and my family came to pick us up. All I remember is they arrived, the front door opened, and there was my dad standing there and I just started crying. I was so happy to see him, and he came right in and hugged me tight. In those two weeks I hadn't realized how much I missed my parents and my brothers and sisters. In that hug I felt such a sense of LOVE and HOME. 

I think it's true that there really is no place like home, and there's no place like your very own family. 

My Earliest Memory

I have a memory of when I was very small eating ice cream cones with other kids in front of a big house. But not just any kids and not just any house. I always thought the kids were some of my brothers and sisters as well as some of my cousins, and that the house was my Grandma Owen's.

I consider it my earliest memory but I don't know how old I was, and it's not really that specific. Like if I said, Remember when we ate ice cream cones at Grandma's big house my siblings might say, Um, sure. We probably did that.

Recently I was looking at family photos on FamilySearch.org and was in the Memories section for my grandma, Olevia Owen, and I discovered a picture of her in front of a house.

A big house.

I got excited.

This was the house in my memory!

But I had to verify it because Grandpa Owen is in the picture and he died in 1959 before I was born, and he is holding a baby that I knew immediately was my cousin Ed who is way older than me. What were the chances that Grandma still lived in this house when I was born and long enough after that so I could be eating ice cream there?

The big house on Weidler Street, Portland, Oregon

Grandma & Grandpa Owen with Eddie Owen 

(the home was divided up and they rented part of it)

Well, I emailed my siblings, and then my cousin Dan who grew up in the Portland area and visited our grandma way more than I did. He confirmed that she lived there at least until 1965 or 1966. I was born in 1961.

My earliest memory is real! 

Piano Prequel

There's more to the story about my mom Eileen Owen (that's her name before she married) and playing the piano. This goes back to her childhood so we'll call it a prequel.

As mentioned before, her father was quite a bit older than her mother so when he retired, her mom went to work. Eileen didn’t like making dinner so when she heard the bus that her mom took home from work, she would sit down at the piano to begin her lessons. Her mother would come in and find her practicing and couldn’t bear to make her stop to help with dinner. That’s how my mom never really learned to love cooking but also how she became an amazing pianist. 

Now she would never call herself amazing, but her talent and skill went on to bless the lives of many, many people. And in case you were worried about it--I was always fed while growing up. As I said before, my favorite thing ever was listening to her play the piano, and I wouldn’t change that for all the gourmet meals in the world!