PLYMOUTH — Cousin Al in California sent me a package this week, and it was really special.
Inside the package, wrapped in bubble wrap, was a framed photo of members of the O’Boyle family.
My grandfather, William O’Boyle, whom I never met, with his mother, my great-grandmother; his sisters Margaret and Martha, my great aunts; and my father and his brother and sister and their cousin, Al Sr. — cousin Al’s dad.
The picture is attached to this column.
I’ve been looking at the photo every day, and there is one thing about it that jumped out at me from the first time I saw it — my dad had his two legs. In the photo, he appears to be less than 10 years old.
I never knew my dad when he had both his legs — he lost his right leg when he stepped on a mine when he hit the beach in Normandy, France, during World War II.
Dad wore a cumbersome wooden leg most of his post-amputation years, opting for a more flexible one later in his life.
My mom wore a brace on her left leg all of her life due to contracting polio as a child. As I have often said, we were a family of three with four good legs, two of them mine, and I was — without a doubt — the least productive member of our family.
I learned at a very early age about the abilities of people with disabilities because my parents never allowed their disabilities to prevent them from being active in their lives.
And, most impressive, they never complained about it.
My dad was a coach, a disciplinarian, a supporter, a critic, a friend and a resource who I could go to with any question or problem.
He was a constant inspiration — as was my mom. She provided the wisdom and humor in our house, and she was a great cook, baker, cleaner and community volunteer.
I really miss not being able to call them five times a day just to see what they are doing. To hear their voices. To hear them laugh.
I think of my dad and my mom every day — about the times we had together, and I wonder about the times we never got to experience — the memories that were never made.
Mom was 42 when she passed on the day before Mother’s Day in 1968. Dad was a week shy of his 73rd birthday when he left this world in 1995.
And even though all those yesterdays are gone, my dad and my mom are always with me.
One thing I will never forget about my parents is how they walked.
Dad’s big wooden leg required him to walk with a very pronounced limp.
Mom’s brace on her left leg made her limp as well.
As clear as I can still see my Dad walking with that limp and that wooden leg, that’s surely not all I remember about my Dad.
And my memories of Mom go far beyond that cumbersome brace that brought stares from adults and kids who, looking back, probably marveled at the ease with which she got around.
Mom and Dad never allowed their disability to slow them down or keep them from living full, productive lives.
They always walked proud.
I miss them so damn much.
So when I looked at that picture Cousin Al sent me, it made me think about my dad and how active he must have been. I have been told stories of my dad about how athletic he was and how he could run like the wind.
And that picture gave me a glimpse of him when he was that active, two-legged kid who won roller skating contests, but couldn’t stay on his feet on ice skates.
Dad played baseball, basketball and football. He ran all the time. His life as a kid was like all of his friends.
And dad was a patriot who went off to war to fight for his country. Like so many other young men and women, he engaged the enemy, and he was prepared to die for his country — for us.
And when he returned home, he did what he had to do. He was fitted for that wooden leg, and he learned how to walk with it. He went to work every day. He coached baseball. He co-founded Plymouth Little League. He was active in veterans organizations, and he even danced with my mom at weddings and other events.
And dad would play catch with me in our side yard on Reynolds Street. If I even thought of throwing the ball easily to him, he would scold me and tell me to throw as hard as I could.
At a Little League picnic one year at Melody Park in the Back Mountain, dad decided he wanted to go swimming. I can still remember the first time I watched him hop onto the diving board, dive into the water and swim back and forth, hardly causing a ripple as he glided across. All who saw him were amazed.
As I said, mom and dad walked differently than people with two good legs. But they walked, and they never complained.
Seeing that picture of my dad with his two legs intact made me think a lot about how he lived his life. And it made me appreciate even more how my parents proved that we should always stress the abilities of people with disabilities.
That’s why I know my mom and dad always walked proudly.
And I am proud to be their able-bodied son.