Above you will see what is, without a doubt, my favorite picture of Dad and me. My step-mother Karen was kind enough to mail it to me. It was during my 7th grade year. It is not just the times we had at Six Flags over Georgia that is represented, oh no, ‘tis so much more.
It represents every Atlanta Braves game we went to, both at Fulton County and Turner Field. It conjures up memories of listening to the games on WSB 750 A.M. in Atlanta (when we didn’t feel like staying for the whole game); we would stop off at Dairy Queen and get banana splits and strawberry shakes.
It brings to mind long lectures when I had done wrong and a “good job” when I had done ‘em proud. A time when he would show me little things around the house to help make me more self sufficient. It reminds me of long lazy summer days recreating W.C.W. wrestling matches on an old trampoline in the backyard, and the time he bought me tickets to a live W.C.W match in Atlanta. (I still remember Bill Goldberg defeating “Hollywood” Hulk Hogan for the title)
Perhaps it was creating the giant whirlpools in the above ground pool that I miss so much (our last real meaningful conversation was in an above ground pool). Or maybe the way he would always grab my leg and laugh at me during the scariest part of a roller coaster is what I long for.
The truth is, there are many things I miss about my father. Pictures capture so much more than just a moment, they freeze time, they describe an era, the rekindle the spirit. Though Ernest G. Cormier is strolling along streets of gold, his memory is but a snapshot away.
