Description

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From the hard city pavement into the park, we felt the vastness in contrast to our tiny apartment—like a rush of fresh air—freedom.

It was a long trek from our small apartment in Spanish Harlem to Central Park. The excitement built with each step along the way. Mom packed a shopping bag with lunch because it was always a whole-day event. Dad carried his easel and paints. We were happy voyagers all.

Mom and Dad took us to the park on weekends, where we could play near this pond and often bring our own miniature sailboats to set sail as explorers or pirates. We launched our vessels on one side, hoping for a proper breeze, and watched as they drifted out to sea, running after them around the pond until they landed ashore somewhere unknown.

Dad was a simple man with a vision. Each day, he woke with a mission to create. It was deep inside him—pure and unspoiled by commercial aspiration.

On this day, Dad set sail from a hilltop; we were down below. We could see his tiny silhouette, with Mom lying in the grass by his side. We were free—at The Small Lake, called Sailboat Pond. ❤️

Through My Father's Eyes