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    A Family Scrapbook
    A Family Scrapbook
    A Family Scrapbook
    Ebook90 pages30 minutes

    A Family Scrapbook

    By Ralph Pitman

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A Family Scrapbook is a collection of poems that trace the arc of 5 generations of a family; from the death of the author's grandfather on a cold winter day in Sioux City, Iowa to the birth and childhood of his 5 grandchildren. The poems are based on real people and real memories, but there is also something universal about the experience of growing up in families. They are behind us and in front of us, our history and our future. The author says that these poems are prayers: family prayers, prayers of thanksgiving, prayers of repentance, and prayers of intercession. But these poems are also little stories about the people who make up one American family. The collection is also an invitation to pull up a chair and share your own family scrapbook.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateMay 15, 2021
    ISBN9781098375355
    A Family Scrapbook
    Author

    Ralph Pitman

    Kip Shaw is an artist, designer, photographer, entrepreneur, and musician. He and the author are lifelong friends and creative collaborators. At one time they sang together in a folk duo known as Pitman and Shaw. Kip designed the layout of Dream You as well as the cover art. In fact he even suggested the title which is based on a pivotal poem in the book. He can be reached at sunnywebshops@gmail.com.

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      Book preview

      A Family Scrapbook - Ralph Pitman

      Margaret

      WE DON’T LOVE YOU

      We don’t love you because you are smart

      Because you can throw a ball

      Because you can run very fast

      Or because you can count to ten.

      We don’t love you because you can sing

      Because you are pretty or handsome

      Because you make us laugh

      Or for any way you make us feel.

      We love you because

      Just because

      You are you.

      DIVINITY

      When I was young, my father would place chunks of coal in the fireplace of our living room at 1828 Delancey Place in Center City, Philadelphia. The coal burned slowly with no flame and very little smoke. It seemed to be stubborn with a will to endure, unlike the dry firewood that offered itself so willingly to the flame. I would sit and watch it for hours, carefully placing another coal on the fire when it was needed.

      Through much of my life God has been like one of those burning coals, burning deep within the events of my life. I believe in free will, and I have certainly exercised more than my share, but I have never been able to resist God’s enduring presence. And nowhere has God been more present than in my family.

      Lately, Janie and I have been digitizing our snapshots. They go back to childhood and beyond; parents, and parents of parents. We struggle to remember exactly who that was in the faded picture, or when that event happened, or which birthday that cake celebrated. With each picture we tell each other stories; many we have told before, and a few are new. The work is tedious, but the effect is, simply, gratitude.

      These poems are not a substitute for the 5,000 pictures we (mostly Janie) have scanned. They are not an autobiography, although they are autobiographical. They are certainly not all inclusive. Rather, these poems are my memories. I think of them as prayers: family prayers, prayers of thanksgiving, prayers of repentance, prayers of intercession. Janie and I pray that our loved ones who live after us may one day gather and treasure their own memories, and, from time to time, catch a glimpse of the divinity that burns deep within them all.

      THEIR WEDDING DAY

      Mom and Pop were private people.

      They told few stories

      about their lives before us.

      But today,

      in her Houston home,

      our daughter, the family archivist,

      opened an envelope

      she had received in the mail.

      It contained an accordion wallet

      of black and white snapshots

      of my parents’ wedding day.

      On the back of each

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