 |
 |
| People asked as to my reasoning behind putting these pictures up onto the page. In sincerity, I did it because these were his final memories, and this page is dedicated to his memories and his ongoing life. Though he is gone from us physically, his spirit, his heart, his teachings, his lessons, and his memories remain forever... It is when we forget that a person truly does pass on. So, with that said... Here are a few of his memories.-- Jan-Michael Johnson (Guapo "JJ" Johnson) |
| ~Memories~ |
| "When I was young, I never liked staying in the house during the summers. I damn near hated it, and I remember when me and a few of my friends would pack some lunches and walk eight miles to a water resevoir. We'd follow a track and time would seem to pass by quickly because we were all having a great time. We would spend all day swimming and playing in the water there, even eat lunch there before we walked the whole way home. Summers seemed to be only a week long." "Back home they had the best fish. I remember the Jewish fish stores were always open on Fridays when we couldn't eat meat, and we would go there to eat. Man, they would cut you a huge slice of cod to eat and cook it how you liked it. They also made their own chips in the store with a screen that fried them in the grease. Best fish I ever had-- one of these days we'll go and eat there." 'When I was young, you could spend a dollar and be able to watch a movie, buy pop-corn and soda, and stay in the theater all day long. We would go in when it opened at eight, and then leave at closing after watching all of the movies on our Saturdays." |
| Dad and I would stay up many nights talking-- well, he'd do the talking and I'd do the listening. He would speak of all of his stories and then teach me lesson after lesson in life... all corresponding with the stories he would tell me. Sometimes I wouldn't get to sleep until five in the morning. What got me, though, was how he was almost always concerned with how the family was doing... Why we hadn't all eaten together for dinner, or why so-and-so was working, and small significant things of the sort. He would also tell me many of his clever jokes (often raunchy, heh), and we would both snicker to keep our voices down from the sleeping people up stairs. What I remember so fondly was how he loved to take care of us. He would love waking up and cooking his famous omlettes, or his skillets which always seemed to disappear quicker than they had been made. His spaghetti was border-line legendary and his mashed potatoes undeniably tasty. He cooked because he loved to cook, but also because he loved to see us happy with his cooking... He was happy with how we all turned out. It didn't dawn on me until recently. |