Lead Weight

My family owned the first SCUBA shop in New York’s mid-Hudson Valley in the mid-1970s. It started in our household basement and eventually grew to be in my Grandfather’s converted garage across town. My childhood was filled with murky upstate NY state lakes and bits of neoprene that I used, along with a Lite-Brite and Styrofoam packaging, to create computer consoles and rocket ships.

The family business.

It was an unusual childhood dominated by the death of my father from Lymphoma when I was 7 and my mom as a feminist/entrepreneur role model, who in 1980 was certified to teach SCUBA and authorized to fix SCUBA equipment in an overwhelmingly macho environment. I could go on.

My father.

A clear memory that I have of my father is sitting with him in front of our living room fireplace melting lead in a crucible and casting weights for the SCUBA weight belts we sold. Come to think of it now, this was probably my first experience with metalsmithing. Before the counselor at hippie summer camp I addended, the one with the curly blonde hair and dirty sweaty face, taught us blacksmithing in the barn. He was my first crush that I can remember. He was an elusive counselor, who only came to camp once a week for the blacksmithing demonstration. Luckily, I was there for a full month each summer, building up a collection of wrought iron letter openers and plant hangers.

The little creature in the photo in front of my father’s weight belt is the drip catcher. After it came to life in the fireplace it resided in our shop’s display cabinets for years. I eventually took it, can’t remember when. Was it when life took another turn and we sold the SCUBA shop and moved to Florida, maybe? He looks like a little monster, a monster made of lead. I have kept him with me since then. My dangerous traveling talisman that reminds me of childhood stories.