Rec Room Tree

My Dad created a photo album for me when I was little. The album differed from the two annual albums—one color and one black-and-white—into which he arranged the year's family photos. The "little Irene" album featured photos that my Dad thought I, as a little girl, would enjoy seeing repeatedly. For example, the album had a photo of my favorite toys. There was a snapshot of me hugging a cherished doll. Dad even included several photos that he took of the television screen while Dr. Kildare aired because he knew I had a crush on Dr. Kildare. The album had multiple black-and-white shots of zoo animals.

The "little Irene" photo album is in rough shape because I flipped through it a lot when I was a kid. Photos are missing, pages are frayed, and the cover is worn. But the album remains a goldmine because each time I spot a photo, I remember something about way back when. It also gives me a special feeling because it causes me to reflect on what my Dad found important and interesting in my childhood.

Today I ran across this photograph of a Christmas tree. The tree stood in our Rec Room before my Parents redecorated the room. It's easy to see the avocado-green floor tile and the hot-water heater registers. The lamp on the left had appliquéd butterflies on it. My Parents were tight with cash, and they couldn't spend money on artwork. So on the walls, they hung paint-by-number canvases that my maternal Grandfather, Jake, had done. I remember that one of the paint-by-numbers was of two Springer Spaniels alerting to some ducks in flight. I fixated on that image. After the Rec Room got updated, the paint-by-number artwork moved to the basement.

I don't remember that a Christmas tree ever stood in the Rec Room, so this photo didn't trigger any holiday memories. I think Dad included it because one of my little handpainted chairs from the play table stands in front of the tree. Who knows—maybe he was trying to get a picture of me sitting in the chair in front of the tree, and I bolted.

Suburban Chicago, December 1961. The next year, the tree stood in the living room.