Hal O'Brien

Or so it says on the back of the photo. This is one of the pics I brought back home from my visit with my cousin Jarda, back in January.

That's my half-sister. We've never met (to my knowledge). I still think she's a cutie here, though.

Dad married his first wife, Jean, in May 1954 (per a note on the back of one photo). They had three children: John Francis O'Brien, Jr., Donald Muldowney O'Brien, and Elizabeth Susan O'Brien. Aka, Johnnie, Donnie, and Suzy.

I'm still working on tagging everything, but I've now scanned in all the physical photos Jarda was kind enough to let me have. They're all in my "Family" set. In addition to the first time I've seen my half-sibs and their mother, they include a picture of my uncle Harold (whom I also don't remember having ever seen), my grandfather Harry, my great-grandfather John, aunt Jaye, mom, dad, and from my mother's side my uncle George and grandma Doris.

I also have digital pictures I took of many things Jarda kept. Those will be coming later.

All in all, quite the haul. Thank you, Jarda. I'm very grateful for your kindness, and also that Jaye was such a pack rat. :)

When I was a kid, I was known as Sandy. That was mostly because of my hair (see earlier photo), but also because while I was named Harold after my grandfather, my mom hated the name Harry.

Anyway... No one calls me either Sandy or Harold any more -- but with my dad, that's how I think of myself.

I remember dad being my private jungle gym throughout these years.

Today is the 38th anniversary of perhaps the most influential event in my life -- the death of my father.

Because quirky_teal is, well, quirky, this is one of very few extant photos of my dad. It was taken for our family passport, sometime early in 1970 (before our trip to Europe, which was in July that year). That's my mom on the right, and yr humb'l narrator in the center. Dad died only a few months after this picture was taken.

The irony of his dying on Pearl Harbor Day was great. One of the stories he would tell -- among his many stories -- was he was listening to the shortwave that day, and heard someone broadcast from Pearl Harbor as it was bombed, in real time. He then told his family and neighbors, and no one believed him... Until the news broke in more conventional channels.

I often think of the alternate universe where Dad lived longer -- how it would have affected me. Smart as he was, personable as he was, funny as he was, I think I would have learned from him, and been much more conventionally sociable. On the other hand, I suspect we would have fought each other, in a way I never really did with my mother. And of course, I almost certainly would have grown up entirely in Boston.

I remember a quote, I think by Faulkner, along the lines of, "A son whose father is alive will push towards the future; a son whose father has died has to be pulled into the future." I wonder who I would be if I pushed more.

G'night, Dad. I miss you still.