We brought down the boxes from the closet. We made the coffee. We found the scissors. And upon opening the boxes for the first time in over a year, we brought out each folder and piece of my dad's stamp collection with reverence and excitement.
My dad was an avid stamp collector from youth. It's funny how he seemed to infect others with the hobby of stamp collecting, but never did get around to telling me why he himself loved it so much. When I was a child, I remember him getting big envelopes of brand new first day covers in the mail. Oftentimes, he would wait until I would get home from school so we could open and discover, together, what this month's delivery would be. I remember the big blue binders for the first day covers, his green tackle box full of discarded papers from stamp stickies, and his excitement in sharing his collection with me.
Then I became a teenager. And I'm sorry to say that I wasn't interested in stamps or the art of collecting them anymore. I'm also sorry to say that in my early twenties my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer and after fighting valiantly and bravely for six years, died in March, 2006. I used to think it was too late for me to share the love of stamps with him, but after digging out his collection and sharing it with my friend, Judy, I know that I actually can share it with him again.
Which brings us back to today. After the boxes were breached (I had meticulously sealed every cranny with packing tapes months ago) we lifted out each folder and item with care and spread them all out over the table to see what we had. And we had a lot!
The tackle box was opened! Inside we found unsorted stamps from all over the globe. Dating from 1907 to the late 70's.
Many, many folders already filled with stamps my dad collected from who-knows-where. My finger's in there to get some perspective as to how stuffed each folder is.
A sample of some favorite stamps. Some are plain and some very ornate, colorful, and beautiful.
Another one I really enjoyed. I really love the vibrant colors and precision.
The best of the day was actually not a stamp, but a letter we found. It was written by my dad, at the age of twelve, with his meticulous handwriting already evident. It was to my great-grandparents in Texas and other than outlining how the Padres won the pennant against the Stars in minor league play that summer, he also went into detail about getting a shot "in his end" and his inability to sit down for a couple days.
It was how he signed off at the end of his letter that was very magical. I read it and realized that not only was it written for my great-grandparents over fifty years ago, but it was also written for me... today. It gently and innocently asks to please write again, to continue our relationship through the memories, which, I believe, the stamp collection now facilitates.
We will, Dad. Thank you for the collection.
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My dad was an avid stamp collector from youth. It's funny how he seemed to infect others with the hobby of stamp collecting, but never did get around to telling me why he himself loved it so much. When I was a child, I remember him getting big envelopes of brand new first day covers in the mail. Oftentimes, he would wait until I would get home from school so we could open and discover, together, what this month's delivery would be. I remember the big blue binders for the first day covers, his green tackle box full of discarded papers from stamp stickies, and his excitement in sharing his collection with me.
Then I became a teenager. And I'm sorry to say that I wasn't interested in stamps or the art of collecting them anymore. I'm also sorry to say that in my early twenties my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer and after fighting valiantly and bravely for six years, died in March, 2006. I used to think it was too late for me to share the love of stamps with him, but after digging out his collection and sharing it with my friend, Judy, I know that I actually can share it with him again.
Which brings us back to today. After the boxes were breached (I had meticulously sealed every cranny with packing tapes months ago) we lifted out each folder and item with care and spread them all out over the table to see what we had. And we had a lot!
The tackle box was opened! Inside we found unsorted stamps from all over the globe. Dating from 1907 to the late 70's. 
Many, many folders already filled with stamps my dad collected from who-knows-where. My finger's in there to get some perspective as to how stuffed each folder is.
A sample of some favorite stamps. Some are plain and some very ornate, colorful, and beautiful.
Another one I really enjoyed. I really love the vibrant colors and precision.The best of the day was actually not a stamp, but a letter we found. It was written by my dad, at the age of twelve, with his meticulous handwriting already evident. It was to my great-grandparents in Texas and other than outlining how the Padres won the pennant against the Stars in minor league play that summer, he also went into detail about getting a shot "in his end" and his inability to sit down for a couple days.
It was how he signed off at the end of his letter that was very magical. I read it and realized that not only was it written for my great-grandparents over fifty years ago, but it was also written for me... today. It gently and innocently asks to please write again, to continue our relationship through the memories, which, I believe, the stamp collection now facilitates.
