Isoris S. Gergis

Family vacations did not include amusement parks or ski trips. Rather, my dad’s perfect get-away was Mammoth Lakes where we would set out on a hike until we dropped to the dusty trails from complete exhaustion, only to repeat the process the next day. And the next. Weekend excursions were to the beach where we ventured out into the waves (but only in our dad’s vice-like grip, lest we be swept out to sea) and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches- on pita bread (??)- that also included as a main ingredient a healthy dose of sand for a nice crunch. I learned to be very cautious about seeking help from Dad with high school homework after a fateful evening when I approached him with questions regarding a rather simple chemistry calculation. He proceeded to tell me that my teacher was going about it all wrong and that he would simplify it for me by starting with the basics: atomic theory. Then there were those times when he would summon me from an engrossing novel I was reading up in my room so that I could help him cook dinner. What “help” actually translated into was sautéing onions for whatever meal he was preparing. As I stood at the stove shifting my weight from one foot to the other, wishing I were back to my book, he would embark on a lengthy explanation of how to achieve just the right balance of color and translucency to said onions. After moving out as a young adult, visits back home required a promenade around the garden so that he could point out all the new bushes and trees he had planted. I would humor him by responding that yes, the leaves on that shrub are truly exquisite, (or other utterances to that effect). He delighted in shopping after Christmas when he would hit the 50% off sales racks and come back with numerous articles of clothing made of real wool, for which he had a near obsession.

And today? Today, my kitchen is where I go to retreat from the harried world outside and cook food for loved ones that goes far beyond sautéed onions. I appreciate the glorious luxury of walking right into my father’s garden and snapping off a lemon from the tree for whatever dish is asking for it. As his children, whether scientists by profession or state of mind, we question, analyze, and decipher the world around us. Whether we camp, hike, or run head on into gigantic waves, we appreciate the outdoors as an escape, a place in which to rejuvenate.

Dad, thank you for imparting onto us what you treasured most. And, as for real wool, may you be wearing the best darn pair of wool socks ever knitted.

May your memory be a blessing . . .

Roxanne

My Father was quite an enigma. Very complicated. Amazing. Strange. Very smart. Genius Really. Isolated. Hard to explain.

I don’t remember doing the things with my father that you see on the T. V. or hear about from the other kids in school. I actually don’t remember doing many things with him, even talking. But for some reason, much of who I am has been molded by him anyway.

I did not need for him to tell me that he loved me, even more than himself. All I had to do was imply that I wished for something to eat and he would hand me his plate, not taking no for an answer while I would proceed to watch him scrounge around the refrigerator for some sort of leftovers for himself.

He would tell me my hands were like a sieve and I needed to work and save yet he never had a problem handing me random sums of money that he himself would never even dream of using for himself.

Sometimes I wished he loved me a little less. 21 years of age and driving a full sized van around college was not exactly fashionable to say the least. Other van driving students, the few and far between, had the vans only because they were a family hand down. Not mine! Mine was a full-fledged new purchase. Large, massive and solid enough to make sure I would survive any possible ADHD related accident I might cause. He hunted for that van for two weeks and was not just excited but actually relieved when he found it. “I found you something very safe and very high up so you can see and stop crashing into things”. Not for many years later did it dawn on me that he himself drove a van for the exact same reasons, the inflictions I inherited directly from him.

I have his quick temper. My mother's gentle mild temperament and then boom. Very effective when you own your own business. A secret weapon. Like waiting for an earthquake in Los Angeles. They rarely happen but when they do they are pretty scary and your best bet is to run into a safe area when they happen. No one f***s with me. Thanks Dad!

I love mint tea, really long walks by myself, all animals, the discovery channel, hikes in the forest and most of all, the ocean. My mother with her easy to freckle skin, distain for cold water and hot sand has zero interest for the beach. I don’t think there is much anything more loved, for any of my father's children, then to spend the day at the beach.

My husband thinks I am crazy when I sometimes do this really loud scream laugh out of nowhere. A more feminine yet screechy version of the random laugh yell I grew up with. Often just by myself, not even watching T.V. I will just think of something out of the blue and literally scream laugh. I have even done it with Saffron next to me. She would get really startled and then just stare at me for a moment bewildered. Then one day she started doing it too. Only louder and even screechier. Just out of the blue while in the middle of playing or chewing on a book. Well hello there little Isoris! Welcome to the Gergis family.

Genevieve