I was seventeen years old on the day my father died, nineteen years ago this week. I was a young man, very young. As it happened, I talked, prayed, screamed, argued, fought, cried, dismissed, and accepted a great many things about myself during the time that my Father was dying, and in the time after.
It was a tremendously significant time in my life. Anyone who knew me then or knew me well after could likely tell you a story about that time. I won’t speculate as to what anyone else would say about how I handled things, as I really don’t care anymore. The death of my Father colored every relationship and major choice I made for at least ten years after he died.
My Father and I had a relationship that was very much in development: I know with unerring certainty that my Father and I were just starting to understand one another as he got sick, and I won’t deny the fact that there are a lot of days that I feel cheated out of the relationship with him that I would have had, had he lived.
Dad was diagnosed with Cancer around Memorial Day, 1990. He died October 9, 1990. The months therein were among the most difficult times in my life. Beyond the issues with Dad’s health, I was a teenager. I had a serious girlfriend who was my best friend, and then I did not. I had friends that genuinely tried hard to be there for me, but I was too damaged to let them, and alienated myself from many of them. I made some new friends that were amazing, and they tried too, but in the end, I was lost. I was a mess, and truth be told, I would remain a mess in one way or another for a long time.
The journal that Burnett made me keep as part of my Junior and Senior years in the American Studies program at HHS has, over the years, proved invaluable in my life, so much so that back in the old days when I was teaching English, I made my kids do the same thing. I always told them what Alice told us when we asked why we had to keep a journal: “because it’s a grade, and you’ll thank me later.”
And I do. I have several notebooks of my reflections to look back on what was an interesting period of years, to be sure. Thanks, Alice.
So in remembering my Dad this week, I am revisiting these journals formally for the first time in a long time. I am not quoting the entries in their entirety, and will omit and truncate names as needed. I was sixteen when these entries start.
June 5, 1990:
“Tonight was the PIPA Dinner (the Drama club end of year function). I sang “Imagine” by John Lennon and “Your Song” by Elton John…Dad came home yesterday-it’s definite, he has Cancer. I shudder just writing the word-WHY HIM? I know a search for the answer will prove fruitless but I can’t help but wonder. It’s scary-the doctor says he has a lot going for him-perfect health, us, the best doctor (him) in the world. He’s got good chances but it’s a new field…but he has a low number of platelets or something. There’s just no answers. I don’t like it.”
June 14, 1990:
“I know I’m not going to be a coward. I love my family and I’m going to be here, make life easier. That’s why I’m here!”
September 6, 1990:
“It feels like I haven’t been gone at all-what a summer--Firstly, I spent hell of a lot of time in Princeton Hospital. My Father is very ill. Last night he went into Intensive Care with Pneumonia. What a way to start school…I’m scared.”
“Band camp starts tomorrow, and I’m not sure what to do. I called “Pelf” and asked her advice about whether to go or not and I’ve decided to go to Beemerville with the band-I really hope nothing happens at home-Dad is very sick.”
September 7, 1990:
“Today was the first day of Band Camp-it was a lot of fun-it’s really beautiful up here. I feel very at ease and very relaxed…I’ve called home a few times just to make sure all is ok-it seems pretty good-I’m beginning to think I’ve made a good choice by coming-it’s good to get away-I’m having a wonderful time. “Sweetchuck” and A.O are my roommates, and we busted into the best room here--we woke everyone up with “Tequila” this morning. Dad improved a little-at least nothing bad happened.”
The band returned form Beemerville on Sunday the 9th of September. I went back to school on Monday, and my Dad was still in the ICU. No one was sure if he would ever come out of it. While I did not write this down back then, I remember the following moment with a clarity that speaks to me of the sheer joy and significance of the moment. I’ve never written about this before, but it happened I believe on September 11, 1990. It was a Tuesday. I had Honors Physics with Grover every other day for periods 7/8 down by Shally house. I was a genuinely/sarcastically enthusiastic student of Physics, but had weaseled my way out of class that day to stop by office of the Shally House, which was around the corner from Grover’s room. The Shally House secretary, who’s name I deeply regret not remembering, once again allowed me use the phone to call the hospital to check on my dad, who was in ICU at the time and unresponsive. I called the all-too-familiar number and reached my mom, who told me that my Dad was back, and awake. As though he had simply had a long nap and woken up, he seemed to have sat up and asked about what was going on…it was a huge relief to all of us, and I remember heading back to class and running into KS, and not only hugging her out of nowhere, but twirling her around in the air.
It was the first time I had felt hopeful in along time, and the weeks that followed were significant. I can’t recall a moment after that, for a long time, where I was so enthusiastically hopeful, or perhaps hopeful at all. One of the best hugs I ever got.
After this point, my journal went into after-the-fact retelling-mode, as I hadn’t written in the journal until three weeks after my Dad had died. Much as I do now, I kept notes in my calendar about the things that were going on in my life, and wrote the following narrative with that in hand. This is what I wrote in late October 1990, as it pertained to the last few weeks of my Father‘s life and the first few weeks of my life without him. I have edited for content, clearly, as my thoughts on the HHS football team, and other such trivia are not quite as relevant to this topic, nor are my thoughts on my romantic relationships at the time. In addition, I am omitting from this column a variety of stories including that of an epic canoe ride, a drive to pick up storm windows, my debut as a solo artist at the short-lived “HHS Club,” the delivery of a Renoir poster, seeing “Flatliners” at the Mercer Mall, “The Foreigner,” Hancock Field, and my first rehearsals as part of the 1990 NJ All State Chorus. I was verbose, even then, but I am trying to focus there. It was fun to re-read all of that stuff though.
September 16:
"Was a special day-we sprang Dad from the hospital for a few hours. We took him to the church picnic and had a wonderful time. Just for him to be out among friends was wonderful. He is so charismatic with people-everyone loves him-as do I”
September 18, 1990:
"Dad got to come home-it was so wonderful to have him back home. He slept in my parents bed for the first time in weeks and said he slept great! It’s really wonderful to have him here-I hope it lasts for a while.”
September 21, 1990:
“I had a little party-just some friends came over and we played music loud and ate and danced and talked and watched movies and stuff-it was nice to have people in my house-some of my best friends have never been here. Now they have”
The gap in time here covers a lot of the stories I mentioned above. I remember that time at home being very busy for me personally, with a pretty heavy course load, a role in the Fall play (until they fired me), rehearsals for All State Chorus, the band, Church, and the other social rigors of being a 17 year old boy with an ‘85 Sentra to cruise in. A romance had ended in my life, and another was beginning. I was pretty much every other thing I would have been at 17, except my Father was dying. Life at home, as I recall, was very pleasant. It was decided that it was important that I try to maintain as normal a life as possible and I did. Although, to be frank, I probably was not as honest with the people in my life about how bad things were with Dad’s health. I remember some of my friends being legitimately shocked that my Dad was as sick as he turned out to be.
October 6, 1990:
“The band had our first competition-what a night it turned out to be. As I marched on the field, I felt very confident. Dad at this point is very sick and I’m scared-Later, as I marched off the field, I realized that I had just played and performed well, and that my daddy wasn’t there to see it, and he may never be. He may never see his children get married or his son perform an original composition. I cried. I cried as I’ve never cried before, with TS and RA I wanted my Father back as he always had been. I guess I kinda knew.”
October 7, 1990:
“Was the last time I saw my Father. I went to the hospital alone and spent a few hours with him. I told him how I admired him for all he is and how I loved him. How much that is a part of me came from him. He was out of it and pretty unresponsive, but he held my hand and I held his. He didn’t really respond, but somehow, he must have heard me. He squeezed me hand and he knew I was there. Somehow, I know he heard me.”
Monday, October 8, 1990:
“Somehow, I had this desire to call the hospital and see how he was. I called from the Band Room phone during fifth period. My Mom was with him and she put the phone up to his ear I told him I loved him and he said ‘I Love you.” With an oxygen mask on and feeling so weak, slowly losing it, he managed to tell me he loved me! That is the last time I talked to my Father.”
October 9, 1990:
“My Father Died. I was awakened at 6:30 am by a phone call from the nurse who spent the night with him and said ‘He’s having a little more trouble breathing this morning, tell your mother.’ Mom had asked to be notified in the event of any change. By this point, Dad had developed the Pneumonia again that had put him in Intensive care and mom had decided not to treat him with Intensive Care. He made it back once and it was a miracle-a wonderful miracle. Mom didn’t want him to suffer in ICU forever. Mom left for the hospital. By the time she arrived, Dad had died. At the age of 50. She called me and said ‘It’s not looking good, don’t go to school.’ She didn’t tell me he had died until she came home. I knew though. After I got off the phone with her, I walked to my backdoor. It was such a beautiful morning and there was this breeze-a warm, loving and tender breeze. I went outside and walked around my backyard. It was very beautiful, the sky was a pale dark blue, free of clouds and the Sun made all the world so colorful. The dew had not yet dried and the birds were singing in my backyard that morning. That breeze lasted for 5 days. On the 5th day, I knew my Father was in heaven.
Jean, the Rector of our Church came home with my Mom. I had by now circled round to my side yard and saw them pull up. I knew. She told me. I held her in my arms. We planned the services that morning.
The first place I wanted to go was school. I did so-to get my books and to tell a few of my friends was had happened. I had Pelf and RA paged to the office and when they came, I took them outside and told them. We must have spent an hour outside talking. Pelf let the band know and helped organize people to come to the service. She is one of the best friends I’ve ever had…"
October 11-12, 1990:
“On the 11th, we held a prayer vigil at my church for Dad. It was great…the service was on the 12th. I went into school for 3 periods (just for Pre-Calculus and American Studies) and it was nice. I can’t wait to go back Monday. I feel so at ease at school. All my friends are there. My Grandma and my Uncles came Wednesday night. Some friends came over too. BP, JG, RA, TS, CR, and Pelf. I had told them before he died that when what happened happens, I would not want to be avoided or treated with kid gloves. They know me well. They are here.
The Funeral was Beautiful. We had a nice sized pickup choir, incense, banners, bombastic music. It was not dull at all. It was a beautiful service-so many people. I made a speech there. It was very well accepted by the people. (Note: The eulogy I wrote, in Annie’s purple pen, is taped into the journal here. I later used my words that day as the basis for my College essay )
My sister’s friends from Ohio drove here for the service, 12 hours in the car, stayed for a few hours and went back that night for GRE’s the next day. It’s great to know she has such great friends.
Almost everybody came to the services-there were some surprises also. RL organized a whole bunch of SPS people to come, many of whom I haven’t seen since graduation. I was just overwhelmed at the amount of support…I don’t know where I’d be without this band, I’ve been involved with it for years but this it the first year I’ve officially taken it as a class…"
Late October, 1990:
"…I miss my Father. I’ve realized it’s pointless to ask why this had to happen to us. We really had and exceptional family situation. I used to come home from school and go to the kitchen and Dad would be at the table…the radio on and Mom would be cooking and I’d tell them what I’d done, etc, all day. Now I come home from school and he’s not there. On Monday night, the football game’s not on. Every time I would go down to the playroom, all my life, he’d be there reading or watching TV and I’d watch with him for a bit in between homework…I miss him. I want him to be here for my All State concert and to see me march in competition and sing and play with the Jazz Ensemble and play with the concert band. I want him to hear the music I write and meet his grandchildren and travel the world with Mom when they retire. I want him here. Somehow, I think he can see me…This is not how it was supposed to be but they say life gives no guarantees…
From where I stand, the sun is still shining. I look to the sky, but I ask no questions. I know it will not answer the questions I have…There is a breeze that reminds me that I am loved.”
The journal continues beyond this point, but I had lost steam with journaling after that and was working more with expressing myself through awful poetry and later, into songs, starting with such non-hits as “The Road Not Far Behind” and “The Beach Song.” For the bulk of the next decade, that became my medium of expression. I wrote a lot of songs, and I remember reading the lyrics to one of my more mediocre lyrical efforts at Dad’s gravesite in Ohio, nearly two years after he had died.
In the end, I think that while I miss him-his humor, his nature and his presence, what I miss the most is what might have been, and the relationship that I might have had with him. I was a dumb 16 year old kid when he got sick. I was never the same, and my own inability and refusal to deal with the challenges of my life and those of others around me at that time clouded every relationship I had for nearly a decade following his death. I was a mess for years, and I didn’t know it, and it was my wife that pulled me back from the edge, though that is another story.
But, when all this went down, I was a kid. I often wonder about the relationship Dad and I would have today had he either lived through his cancer, or had he not had cancer at all. Both are fantasies, and I don’t indulge them often anymore, but I do wonder at times.
We all have a history. That was a significant time in my life. While it’s fun to look back, I do find myself looking back with less frequency. The past doesn’t change much, and there is an awful lot happening in the now and in the future that matter an awful lot.
So, 19 years have passed since Dad died. I was 17 when it happened. I know very few things about anything, but I do know this: My Dad would have loved my wife. He’d have gone nuts for my kids. He was a good man.
That’s what I think. I don’t know what he would think of me as a man or as a Father. Nor can I speculate on what he would think of the choices that I made by leaving my career and walking away from education, which was his love. I don’t know, and in the end, I don’t know that it matters. He was my Father, and I loved him. His death and the manner in which I handled it, affected me deeply for many years, but I got better. I do wonder sometimes what he would think of my life now, but I wonder it less than I used to. I’m happy with it.
October 9 has always been a date of note on my calendar, but I have noticed that as the years go by, it means different things. I’m glad that I revisited my journals of the time, and am grateful to Burnett for making me write them. I found it interesting to revisit the kid I was then, as I am someone very different today.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Day is Done: God Speed, Mary.
I grew up in a house full of music, most of it coming from my Dad’s old Sears Silvertone Turntable, which I’ve written about previously in this space. My childhood was filled with music ranging from Prokofiev to Mahler, Sam Cooke to Elvis, and from Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young to Yes. We had the Original Broadway cast recordings of West Side Story and Music Man on heavy rotation as well, and I remember then all well and can’t hear them today without remembering my childhood.
Peter, Paul and Mary always meant something different to me, and I was sad to read that Mary Travers died today, at the age of 72 after a long bout with leukemia. In a year fraught with celebrity deaths, hers loss and her impact on music and culture will likely be far less heralded than that of Michael Jackson, or Les Paul, or John Hughes. But she, and her group, mattered a great deal to her generation, her fans, and to me.
Peter, Paul and Mary were among the first groups to popularize the work of Bob Dylan, and were steadfast in their support of peace, justice, and civil rights, and performed Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” at the 1963 March on Washington, where Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke famously about a variety of topics, and said a great many things, including, “It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment.”
For some reason, on revisiting the 1963 speech, that line struck me.
But I remember listening to their music as a kid, and as I grew older, I remember watching a PBS concert with my parents, as we didn’t have cable, and it was on, and my homework was done for a change, and I liked music, so I watched it.
(here is a clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0DPyqg59TA )
Now, like most young guys who are into music, I had a beat up acoustic guitar I’d bought from some guy for $5 in my closet, and didn’t let the fact that I didn’t have a clue as to how to play it stop me from trying to impress girls. And I certainly didn’t let lessons or actual study get in my way of playing that old guitar. But I remember watching this Peter, Paul and Mary concert on PBS and staring at the hands of both Peter and Paul, and noticing that they seemed to play very fluidly and very calmly and very much similar chords on a lot of their songs. So, I figured, if I learned to play a few of their songs, I’d be on my way to not only actually sounding like something other than a tortured feline while playing, but maybe learning enough chords to do something interesting.
So, on days when I got home from school early enough, before my Dad was home to catch me, I’d pop on the old VHS, as we had of course recorded the concert, so we could fast-forward through the copious pledge breaks, and sounded out the chords. The G, the D, the C chords came easy. That seemed to cover a lot of the vintage folk tunes. Once that sophomore dude with the long hair taught me A minor and E Minor, I was pretty much convinced I now had the tools with which to set the world on fire.
So, for the most part, Peter, Paul and Mary taught me to play guitar. And for better and for worse, that has become a very significant part of my life to date. Now, I don’t play as much as I used to, but there was a time I played a lot. I subjected audiences in Princeton, Wooster, Philly, and a few clubs in NYC, not far from The Bitter End, where Mary Travers once sang for the first time with Peter and Paul, to my brand of music to varying results. I like to say that I have “retired” from such performances…but that’s a bit of an overstatement.
Beyond that, I remember a very early date at my parents’ house with a high school girlfriend where I’d had to secure permission to have her have dinner with us with the understanding being that she really wanted to watch the PBS concert on video. We did watch it, with our portions of popcorn strategically placed in separate bowls by my parents, so as to keep our hands from touching…
I had a chance to see them live in Jersey with one of my best friends back in the early 90’s, and was blown away by their ability to move the crowd. I got to meet Peter after the show, as she and I both pretended to be part of a group of exchange students from Russia…but that is another story altogether…perhaps in the next novel…
They made music together for over 40 years, and along the way championed some interesting ideas like equality, peace, justice and overwhelming humanity. I admire that.
I played one of their records (yes, on vinyl) tonight for the kids, and they really grooved on it. The danced around, and the girls really liked Mary’s voice. The boyo liked the song about the horse (“Stewball”) and joined his sisters in bopping around to the songs. I talked to them about why the group was important and referenced the Dylan songs they did, as the kids know Dylan, so it was a reasonable teaching point. I actually found myself getting a little emotional during “Puff the Magic Dragon” while looking at my son, as he was at that moment lounging on the couch in his post-homework relaxation, listening to the words and thinking about him growing up. The moment was particularly poignant in the light of some of the challenges and adjustments that we’ve been managing of late.
In the end, the kids liked the record and want to hear it again. That works for me.
I don’t know what they’ll say about me after I’m gone, and I won’t speculate on how they will categorize me as a parent, but I’ll say this: I hope they always feel like there was music in their lives and that they value it. There were times in my life that the music was most assuredly vital to the life I have led. There were times that it was in fact the only thing I felt I had not only to give, but also to hold onto.
I recall Mary Travers saying of Peter and Paul, late in their career together something akin to “If I’d have found either one of them attractive, we wouldn’t be here…” That still makes me laugh.
In the end, I’m not sure I would ever have bothered to try to teach myself guitar without them, and for that I am grateful. I won’t speak for my audiences over the years, but I was immeasurably changed by the door to performance being opened by their graceful performance and by her soaring vocals.
So, God Speed Mary Travers. Your day is done… Seems only appropriate to share that song too:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-U9bKhXyNGg
Aloha, for now.
Peter, Paul and Mary always meant something different to me, and I was sad to read that Mary Travers died today, at the age of 72 after a long bout with leukemia. In a year fraught with celebrity deaths, hers loss and her impact on music and culture will likely be far less heralded than that of Michael Jackson, or Les Paul, or John Hughes. But she, and her group, mattered a great deal to her generation, her fans, and to me.
Peter, Paul and Mary were among the first groups to popularize the work of Bob Dylan, and were steadfast in their support of peace, justice, and civil rights, and performed Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” at the 1963 March on Washington, where Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke famously about a variety of topics, and said a great many things, including, “It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment.”
For some reason, on revisiting the 1963 speech, that line struck me.
But I remember listening to their music as a kid, and as I grew older, I remember watching a PBS concert with my parents, as we didn’t have cable, and it was on, and my homework was done for a change, and I liked music, so I watched it.
(here is a clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0DPyqg59TA )
Now, like most young guys who are into music, I had a beat up acoustic guitar I’d bought from some guy for $5 in my closet, and didn’t let the fact that I didn’t have a clue as to how to play it stop me from trying to impress girls. And I certainly didn’t let lessons or actual study get in my way of playing that old guitar. But I remember watching this Peter, Paul and Mary concert on PBS and staring at the hands of both Peter and Paul, and noticing that they seemed to play very fluidly and very calmly and very much similar chords on a lot of their songs. So, I figured, if I learned to play a few of their songs, I’d be on my way to not only actually sounding like something other than a tortured feline while playing, but maybe learning enough chords to do something interesting.
So, on days when I got home from school early enough, before my Dad was home to catch me, I’d pop on the old VHS, as we had of course recorded the concert, so we could fast-forward through the copious pledge breaks, and sounded out the chords. The G, the D, the C chords came easy. That seemed to cover a lot of the vintage folk tunes. Once that sophomore dude with the long hair taught me A minor and E Minor, I was pretty much convinced I now had the tools with which to set the world on fire.
So, for the most part, Peter, Paul and Mary taught me to play guitar. And for better and for worse, that has become a very significant part of my life to date. Now, I don’t play as much as I used to, but there was a time I played a lot. I subjected audiences in Princeton, Wooster, Philly, and a few clubs in NYC, not far from The Bitter End, where Mary Travers once sang for the first time with Peter and Paul, to my brand of music to varying results. I like to say that I have “retired” from such performances…but that’s a bit of an overstatement.
Beyond that, I remember a very early date at my parents’ house with a high school girlfriend where I’d had to secure permission to have her have dinner with us with the understanding being that she really wanted to watch the PBS concert on video. We did watch it, with our portions of popcorn strategically placed in separate bowls by my parents, so as to keep our hands from touching…
I had a chance to see them live in Jersey with one of my best friends back in the early 90’s, and was blown away by their ability to move the crowd. I got to meet Peter after the show, as she and I both pretended to be part of a group of exchange students from Russia…but that is another story altogether…perhaps in the next novel…
They made music together for over 40 years, and along the way championed some interesting ideas like equality, peace, justice and overwhelming humanity. I admire that.
I played one of their records (yes, on vinyl) tonight for the kids, and they really grooved on it. The danced around, and the girls really liked Mary’s voice. The boyo liked the song about the horse (“Stewball”) and joined his sisters in bopping around to the songs. I talked to them about why the group was important and referenced the Dylan songs they did, as the kids know Dylan, so it was a reasonable teaching point. I actually found myself getting a little emotional during “Puff the Magic Dragon” while looking at my son, as he was at that moment lounging on the couch in his post-homework relaxation, listening to the words and thinking about him growing up. The moment was particularly poignant in the light of some of the challenges and adjustments that we’ve been managing of late.
In the end, the kids liked the record and want to hear it again. That works for me.
I don’t know what they’ll say about me after I’m gone, and I won’t speculate on how they will categorize me as a parent, but I’ll say this: I hope they always feel like there was music in their lives and that they value it. There were times in my life that the music was most assuredly vital to the life I have led. There were times that it was in fact the only thing I felt I had not only to give, but also to hold onto.
I recall Mary Travers saying of Peter and Paul, late in their career together something akin to “If I’d have found either one of them attractive, we wouldn’t be here…” That still makes me laugh.
In the end, I’m not sure I would ever have bothered to try to teach myself guitar without them, and for that I am grateful. I won’t speak for my audiences over the years, but I was immeasurably changed by the door to performance being opened by their graceful performance and by her soaring vocals.
So, God Speed Mary Travers. Your day is done… Seems only appropriate to share that song too:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-U9bKhXyNGg
Aloha, for now.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
The Power of Redemption.
I had not planned to write about this. Truth be told, I was surprised by the number of people in my life that seemed to want me to weigh in on this topic, and that more than anything has driven me to write this column. Rest assured readers that the twins did awesome at their first week of Kindergarten, and everyone has done well with the transition. I’ll get back to that story, but at the request of a surprising number of readers, here is what I have to say about Michael Vick.
Regular readers of this space know that I am a Philadelphia sports fan. I love my teams, and that never wavers. My teams are a part of my heart, and matter to me more than most people would find palpable.
The Philadelphia Eagles signed Michael Vick this week, and he will start training with the team today, Saturday August 15. His signing was shocking to me as an Eagles fan. They have typically shied away from pretty much anything that is controversial in the years that the Lurie family has owned the team.
But they have signed him. He has said many of the right things, and the team has said many of the right things. But the debate continues.
I have a friend that recently told me that she thinks it is “Disgraceful” that the Eagles signed him, and that Vick “should never be allowed to work again.” There are a lot of Eagles fans that are being critical of the move for reasons ranging from “It could create a quarterback controversy” to “what happens when he screws up?” I don’t know what will happen in regards to all that. I don’t know if Michael Vick will matter to the Eagles as a player, nor do I know if he will matter as a person. Time alone will tell.
But I do have something to say about this situation:
I believe in the power of redemption and I believe in second chances. I’m less committed on third chances, truth be told. Just wanted to put that out there.
I truly believe that the Eagles stepped way out of their comfort zone, something I have become intimately familiar with over the last two years, to make Michael Vick a part of their team for two reasons: one-they feel he can contribute to the team, but more so, two-they feel that he is not only ready for a chance at redemption, but ready to be an agent for positive change.
My wife has worked for years in the prison system, so I am most assuredly biased towards the power of redemption. Vick spent almost two years in Leavenworth, and I can tell you without hyperbole that he did hard time. Leavenworth is no joke at all. Trust that.
He is in a position to do what we always want our fallen icons to do. We always want them to rise from the ashes after they have fallen. Don’t get me wrong-I thought he was overrated as a player when he was with the Falcons, and got a great deal of pleasure out of watching him get beat up by the Eagles when they played, especially in the NFC Championship that led them to the Super Bowl in ‘04. But, if Elvis hadn’t died on the toilet, wouldn’t he have made a great spokesman for the evils of drugs? Or Layne Staley? Or Kurt Cobain? Wouldn’t they have had the chance at redemption?
And in the end, I could go on, and list other sports figures and other celebrities that have screwed up and gotten another chance. Ted Kennedy? Chappaquiddick? He’s now seen by many as the pillar of the Democratic Party.
Whatever. What Michael Vick did to the dogs he was responsible for, and what he did not do to protect them was criminal. The manner in which he conducted himself during much of the investigation was criminal also. And the caught him on it. And he went to prison. Leavenworth. A real prison.
Regular readers of this space will know that I had a dog, and loved her with all of my heart. I miss her every day, and what Vick was a part of is extremely distasteful to me. I’ve watched the interviews with him over the past 24 hours, and have observed the same seemingly contrite and remorseful young man that many of you have. I hope for his sake and that of my team that he is indeed that young man who is ready to become an agent of change. I really do.
I’m reminded of my favorite parable in the Bible, and I’ve taken some heat from some friends for referencing this as part of the Vick story: In the Gospel of John, there is the story of a woman who is accused of adultery and the religious leaders of the time bring her before Jesus in the temple to force him into a situation where he will be forced to either allow her to be stoned according to “the law” or defy the law of Moses. Jesus ignored them for a while, and then he tells that that “he who is without sin shall cast the first stone.” And they all leave. Jesus is then left alone with the woman, to whom he asks, “Is there no one here to condemn you?”
She replies, “No one, Sir.”
And Jesus answers, “Neither to I condemn you--Do not sin again.”
That passage has always been very much at the heart of how I feel as a spiritual person. It was that simple for Jesus to forgive the woman-who am I to make it more complicated? I am not a perfect person, and I am more than ready to give someone a second chance when they are truly asking for one. I don’t know Michael Vick, but I hope he is genuine in his request, as myself, and
I would imagine the mass of Eagle fans will toss him to the curb as fast as week-old Scrapple if he fracks this up. It’s up to him.
I think that the people who are saying he should never be allowed to hold a job again should take a look at their lives and decide for themselves where the anger generates from.
If forgiveness is within one’s power, who are we to deny it when truly and genuinely sought? Whether or not Vick turns out to have been worth the chance the Eagles have taken with him is for time to decide. But he deserves the chance at redemption, just like you and I would. That's what I think anyway.
What he does with this chance is up to him.
Regular readers of this space know that I am a Philadelphia sports fan. I love my teams, and that never wavers. My teams are a part of my heart, and matter to me more than most people would find palpable.
The Philadelphia Eagles signed Michael Vick this week, and he will start training with the team today, Saturday August 15. His signing was shocking to me as an Eagles fan. They have typically shied away from pretty much anything that is controversial in the years that the Lurie family has owned the team.
But they have signed him. He has said many of the right things, and the team has said many of the right things. But the debate continues.
I have a friend that recently told me that she thinks it is “Disgraceful” that the Eagles signed him, and that Vick “should never be allowed to work again.” There are a lot of Eagles fans that are being critical of the move for reasons ranging from “It could create a quarterback controversy” to “what happens when he screws up?” I don’t know what will happen in regards to all that. I don’t know if Michael Vick will matter to the Eagles as a player, nor do I know if he will matter as a person. Time alone will tell.
But I do have something to say about this situation:
I believe in the power of redemption and I believe in second chances. I’m less committed on third chances, truth be told. Just wanted to put that out there.
I truly believe that the Eagles stepped way out of their comfort zone, something I have become intimately familiar with over the last two years, to make Michael Vick a part of their team for two reasons: one-they feel he can contribute to the team, but more so, two-they feel that he is not only ready for a chance at redemption, but ready to be an agent for positive change.
My wife has worked for years in the prison system, so I am most assuredly biased towards the power of redemption. Vick spent almost two years in Leavenworth, and I can tell you without hyperbole that he did hard time. Leavenworth is no joke at all. Trust that.
He is in a position to do what we always want our fallen icons to do. We always want them to rise from the ashes after they have fallen. Don’t get me wrong-I thought he was overrated as a player when he was with the Falcons, and got a great deal of pleasure out of watching him get beat up by the Eagles when they played, especially in the NFC Championship that led them to the Super Bowl in ‘04. But, if Elvis hadn’t died on the toilet, wouldn’t he have made a great spokesman for the evils of drugs? Or Layne Staley? Or Kurt Cobain? Wouldn’t they have had the chance at redemption?
And in the end, I could go on, and list other sports figures and other celebrities that have screwed up and gotten another chance. Ted Kennedy? Chappaquiddick? He’s now seen by many as the pillar of the Democratic Party.
Whatever. What Michael Vick did to the dogs he was responsible for, and what he did not do to protect them was criminal. The manner in which he conducted himself during much of the investigation was criminal also. And the caught him on it. And he went to prison. Leavenworth. A real prison.
Regular readers of this space will know that I had a dog, and loved her with all of my heart. I miss her every day, and what Vick was a part of is extremely distasteful to me. I’ve watched the interviews with him over the past 24 hours, and have observed the same seemingly contrite and remorseful young man that many of you have. I hope for his sake and that of my team that he is indeed that young man who is ready to become an agent of change. I really do.
I’m reminded of my favorite parable in the Bible, and I’ve taken some heat from some friends for referencing this as part of the Vick story: In the Gospel of John, there is the story of a woman who is accused of adultery and the religious leaders of the time bring her before Jesus in the temple to force him into a situation where he will be forced to either allow her to be stoned according to “the law” or defy the law of Moses. Jesus ignored them for a while, and then he tells that that “he who is without sin shall cast the first stone.” And they all leave. Jesus is then left alone with the woman, to whom he asks, “Is there no one here to condemn you?”
She replies, “No one, Sir.”
And Jesus answers, “Neither to I condemn you--Do not sin again.”
That passage has always been very much at the heart of how I feel as a spiritual person. It was that simple for Jesus to forgive the woman-who am I to make it more complicated? I am not a perfect person, and I am more than ready to give someone a second chance when they are truly asking for one. I don’t know Michael Vick, but I hope he is genuine in his request, as myself, and
I would imagine the mass of Eagle fans will toss him to the curb as fast as week-old Scrapple if he fracks this up. It’s up to him.
I think that the people who are saying he should never be allowed to hold a job again should take a look at their lives and decide for themselves where the anger generates from.
If forgiveness is within one’s power, who are we to deny it when truly and genuinely sought? Whether or not Vick turns out to have been worth the chance the Eagles have taken with him is for time to decide. But he deserves the chance at redemption, just like you and I would. That's what I think anyway.
What he does with this chance is up to him.
Monday, August 10, 2009
On the first day of Kindergarten...
The alarm at 6am was as unpleasant as I expected it to be, yet not as horrible as I might have thought possible. Just one more thing to get used to,
The twins were awake and smiling within ten minutes, and wheels were up a few minutes after 7am, with all three kids and the wife in the van. We made it to school with plenty of time to spare, which allowed for a quick visit to the potty (our old nemesis) and a chance to view the cafeteria, which the Boyo was curious about.
Copious amounts of photographs later, the kids were on their way to their classrooms, which are right next to one another, and their teachers, both of whom were happy to see them.
There were no tears from the kids, and none from me. I’ll leave it there.
The wife and the little bear and I stopped by the PTA’s “Boo-hoo Breakfast” which they hold for the Kindergarten parents. It’s really just a chance to introduce the parents to the PTA and the volunteer coordinator, and the counselors and the vice Principal, etc, but it was very nice. The invitation read “Whether you’re shedding tears of sorrow or tears of joy, you’re welcome at the boo-hoo Breakfast.” Bear liked all the food, and let everyone know with a series of spectacular belches that would make her Godfathers proud.
Upon leaving campus, the wife and I did something I don’t believe we’ve ever done: we took the bear to a park together by herself. We had the run of the place, and she was in her glory-having both of us and a playground all to herself…it was fun.
I went back to school to help out with the Kindergarten lunch period, which was fun, and watching my twins walk to the cafeteria in a line, single file, with their classmates, and smiling, was quite enough to reinforce to me that we made the right decision in sending them to Kindergarten. Lunch for them was a delightful medley of chicken fingers, brown rice, a roll, canned peaches, and a small salad. Choice of chocolate or regular milk. Portions of it were eaten and enjoyed. The twins sat together.
They had a brief time on the playground after lunch, too brief by the boyo’s estimation, but he did get on line with his classmates to go back to class, and my time helping out was done for the day.
When I got home, the wife and bear were doing fine. So, I took a nap. It was spectacular.
When I picked the twins up from their classrooms, they had made a large paper schoolhouse. The girl had a photo of herself pasted inside, and a picture she had drawn of herself and her little sister. The boyo drew a picture of “the monkey bars” and had written his name. It was pretty impressive stuff.
They’d made some new friends. The girl said that she played with one kid during the day, and when I asked “What was her name?” she replied, “It was a boy, Daddy…and I don’t remember his name.” The boyo has a nice young man who sits next to him, and apparently they got along very well as well. I saw them both play nicely with one another and other kids on the playground.
Good reports from both teachers. They are excited to go back.
When we got home we settled into the inaugural edition of “Homework Time” with mixed results. The girl was excited about it and completed both Monday and Tuesday’s homework. Her brother did the first part of Monday fine but was less interested in part two, so it took a little work. The wife worked with him on it, after I took the girls upstairs, as they were distracting him, and he got it done.
Dinner, bath, books, bed by 6:30. It was a really good first day. And so it begins.
The twins were awake and smiling within ten minutes, and wheels were up a few minutes after 7am, with all three kids and the wife in the van. We made it to school with plenty of time to spare, which allowed for a quick visit to the potty (our old nemesis) and a chance to view the cafeteria, which the Boyo was curious about.
Copious amounts of photographs later, the kids were on their way to their classrooms, which are right next to one another, and their teachers, both of whom were happy to see them.
There were no tears from the kids, and none from me. I’ll leave it there.
The wife and the little bear and I stopped by the PTA’s “Boo-hoo Breakfast” which they hold for the Kindergarten parents. It’s really just a chance to introduce the parents to the PTA and the volunteer coordinator, and the counselors and the vice Principal, etc, but it was very nice. The invitation read “Whether you’re shedding tears of sorrow or tears of joy, you’re welcome at the boo-hoo Breakfast.” Bear liked all the food, and let everyone know with a series of spectacular belches that would make her Godfathers proud.
Upon leaving campus, the wife and I did something I don’t believe we’ve ever done: we took the bear to a park together by herself. We had the run of the place, and she was in her glory-having both of us and a playground all to herself…it was fun.
I went back to school to help out with the Kindergarten lunch period, which was fun, and watching my twins walk to the cafeteria in a line, single file, with their classmates, and smiling, was quite enough to reinforce to me that we made the right decision in sending them to Kindergarten. Lunch for them was a delightful medley of chicken fingers, brown rice, a roll, canned peaches, and a small salad. Choice of chocolate or regular milk. Portions of it were eaten and enjoyed. The twins sat together.
They had a brief time on the playground after lunch, too brief by the boyo’s estimation, but he did get on line with his classmates to go back to class, and my time helping out was done for the day.
When I got home, the wife and bear were doing fine. So, I took a nap. It was spectacular.
When I picked the twins up from their classrooms, they had made a large paper schoolhouse. The girl had a photo of herself pasted inside, and a picture she had drawn of herself and her little sister. The boyo drew a picture of “the monkey bars” and had written his name. It was pretty impressive stuff.
They’d made some new friends. The girl said that she played with one kid during the day, and when I asked “What was her name?” she replied, “It was a boy, Daddy…and I don’t remember his name.” The boyo has a nice young man who sits next to him, and apparently they got along very well as well. I saw them both play nicely with one another and other kids on the playground.
Good reports from both teachers. They are excited to go back.
When we got home we settled into the inaugural edition of “Homework Time” with mixed results. The girl was excited about it and completed both Monday and Tuesday’s homework. Her brother did the first part of Monday fine but was less interested in part two, so it took a little work. The wife worked with him on it, after I took the girls upstairs, as they were distracting him, and he got it done.
Dinner, bath, books, bed by 6:30. It was a really good first day. And so it begins.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
‘Twas the Night before Kindergarten…
The kids are all in bed now and a 6am wake-up call is in the cards for all of us. Time it was the twins had to be at preschool by 8:30 am, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tomorrow starts a whole new routine as we all step into a slightly larger world.
I’ve very rarely had to wake any of the kids up in the morning. Typically, the twins get up and play in their rooms or with each other for a while, and then we all kind of meander down to breakfast. This summer in particular, we’ve been very flexible in the mornings, and it has been really nice. We had some structured activities this summer: a lot of time at the library, the summer movie series at the Cannery, the Zoo, the Discovery Center, the Water Park, the Pool, the Parks, Vacation Bible School, playgroups, etc. We had a lot of fun all summer, but once we decided to enroll the kids in Junior Kindergarten, the end of the “Summer break” loomed for me in a way that it never has before.
I wrote extensively about the decision to send the kids to Kindergarten and some of the emotions involved in the last column, so I won’t rehash it all here. I’ve come to some peace about it all, and realize that I can’t keep them to myself anymore. But the coming change is really the most dramatic one that we as a family have faced since we moved here to Oahu almost two years ago.
All three kids are excited. We got to visit the school and meet their teachers on Wednesday of last week. The teachers met individually with each child and tried to get a grasp of who they are and what they know, so as to help tailor their experiences in the coming year. They got to sit at their desks and both kids had a blast. Little Bear is excited for them, and of course wants to go too, but she and I will be embarking on a series of “Adventures” once the twins settle into their new routine. I’ve never really had the chance to walk around with just one kid before. Should be interesting as I’ve had pretty limited time one on one with her in the last 2 years. I really can’t imagine what that will be like, but I’m looking forward to it a great deal.
The twins are ready, much more so than the wife and I were at first. I know that they will face challenges along the way, but who among us didn’t in school? My own challenges in school were quite notable, especially from Kindergarten through Grade eight. I hope they do better than I did, to say the least.
Everyone keeps asking me what I’m going to do with all of my new “free time.” I just don’t see how I’m going to have any-I mean, the twins already have homework and the first day is tomorrow. I got the email tonight from the boyo’s teacher with his assignments for the week. As a retired teacher myself…I totally popped on that. Remind me of all the summer reading papers I used to make my kids do. Miss those days…
But I digress. I wanted to post this in anticipation of another column in the next day or so regarding their first day at school and how it all went. It’s been over a month since my last post, but we’ve been a little busy. We’ve gone a lot of places and done a lot of things, but more than that, we’ve just spent time together as a family. “Pinky Dog” has had at least 15 Birthday Parties. “Baby Ruff-Ruff” has had several sleepovers and picnics with pretty much everyone. The kids went on a huge Dr. Seuss kick. The boyo has built a series of transit systems with his tracks, cars, and trains that would be a grand improvement over the trafficy mess they have here on Oahu. They played together a lot and I think they will continue to do so once school starts. I was worried about that for a while, that they wouldn’t want to as much. While I’m certain there will be adjustments over the coming months and years, I think at least for now, all three of them just have too much fun together for that to change overnight.
So, the sun is down in Oahu and my kids are asleep. It’s a big day tomorrow and they are excited. I knew then wouldn’t stay little forever, and I’m really grateful for the last two years where I’ve been able to be with them as I have. Of course, I imagine I’ll still be seeing quite a bit of them even at school: as a newly minted member of the PTA, as well as a registered volunteer for the school, I’m pretty sure our paths will cross. I’m looking forward to being on the other side of the school-parent relationship after the years as a teacher and administrator.
I consider it a promotion.
I hope to post an update in the next few days. Thanks as always for your readership and for your comments both public and private.
And away we go…
I’ve very rarely had to wake any of the kids up in the morning. Typically, the twins get up and play in their rooms or with each other for a while, and then we all kind of meander down to breakfast. This summer in particular, we’ve been very flexible in the mornings, and it has been really nice. We had some structured activities this summer: a lot of time at the library, the summer movie series at the Cannery, the Zoo, the Discovery Center, the Water Park, the Pool, the Parks, Vacation Bible School, playgroups, etc. We had a lot of fun all summer, but once we decided to enroll the kids in Junior Kindergarten, the end of the “Summer break” loomed for me in a way that it never has before.
I wrote extensively about the decision to send the kids to Kindergarten and some of the emotions involved in the last column, so I won’t rehash it all here. I’ve come to some peace about it all, and realize that I can’t keep them to myself anymore. But the coming change is really the most dramatic one that we as a family have faced since we moved here to Oahu almost two years ago.
All three kids are excited. We got to visit the school and meet their teachers on Wednesday of last week. The teachers met individually with each child and tried to get a grasp of who they are and what they know, so as to help tailor their experiences in the coming year. They got to sit at their desks and both kids had a blast. Little Bear is excited for them, and of course wants to go too, but she and I will be embarking on a series of “Adventures” once the twins settle into their new routine. I’ve never really had the chance to walk around with just one kid before. Should be interesting as I’ve had pretty limited time one on one with her in the last 2 years. I really can’t imagine what that will be like, but I’m looking forward to it a great deal.
The twins are ready, much more so than the wife and I were at first. I know that they will face challenges along the way, but who among us didn’t in school? My own challenges in school were quite notable, especially from Kindergarten through Grade eight. I hope they do better than I did, to say the least.
Everyone keeps asking me what I’m going to do with all of my new “free time.” I just don’t see how I’m going to have any-I mean, the twins already have homework and the first day is tomorrow. I got the email tonight from the boyo’s teacher with his assignments for the week. As a retired teacher myself…I totally popped on that. Remind me of all the summer reading papers I used to make my kids do. Miss those days…
But I digress. I wanted to post this in anticipation of another column in the next day or so regarding their first day at school and how it all went. It’s been over a month since my last post, but we’ve been a little busy. We’ve gone a lot of places and done a lot of things, but more than that, we’ve just spent time together as a family. “Pinky Dog” has had at least 15 Birthday Parties. “Baby Ruff-Ruff” has had several sleepovers and picnics with pretty much everyone. The kids went on a huge Dr. Seuss kick. The boyo has built a series of transit systems with his tracks, cars, and trains that would be a grand improvement over the trafficy mess they have here on Oahu. They played together a lot and I think they will continue to do so once school starts. I was worried about that for a while, that they wouldn’t want to as much. While I’m certain there will be adjustments over the coming months and years, I think at least for now, all three of them just have too much fun together for that to change overnight.
So, the sun is down in Oahu and my kids are asleep. It’s a big day tomorrow and they are excited. I knew then wouldn’t stay little forever, and I’m really grateful for the last two years where I’ve been able to be with them as I have. Of course, I imagine I’ll still be seeing quite a bit of them even at school: as a newly minted member of the PTA, as well as a registered volunteer for the school, I’m pretty sure our paths will cross. I’m looking forward to being on the other side of the school-parent relationship after the years as a teacher and administrator.
I consider it a promotion.
I hope to post an update in the next few days. Thanks as always for your readership and for your comments both public and private.
And away we go…
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Trepidation vs. Blubbering: Kindergarten Twins
It’s been a long time since my last column. Things have been very busy here of late, and there has been some drama both within my immediate circle and without. I will leave it at that, but the weeks that have passed since my last post have been equal portions good and challenging.
During this passed June, the twins finished their preschool year, the wife visited the mainland with the bear, we’ve visited the Water Park, Waimea Falls, celebrated our 10th Wedding Anniversary with a night in Waikiki, enjoyed the library summer reading program, celebrated Father’s Day…it has been an eventful month, and truth be told, I started several different columns over the month, but either lost interest in the topic, or in one case, decided that upon reflection that the column was perhaps not appropriate for this space.
As I said, it’s been a month. Quite a month.
But moving forward, there are some major changes and transitions underway, the most pressing of which is, the twins are going to kindergarten.
Well, it’s really “Junior Kindergarten” but the concept is about the same. In Hawaii, if your child turns 5 before August 1, they must go to Kindergarten, however, if they turn 5 between August 2 and the end of the year, as mine do, you can enroll them in “Junior Kindergarten.” They follow the same basic curriculum, and at the end of the year, the parent works with the teacher to determine if the child should move on to 1st grade or remain in Kindergarten for another year.
So, after much deliberation, exhaustive research, and paperwork, we have obtained spaces for them at a very good elementary school in our town-not the one we were zoned for, but Hawaii has slightly different rules than NJ did, so, long story shorter-we chose a school we liked and were able to get them spots in Kindergarten.
So, August 3, that’s where I’ll be: dropping them off for their first day of school. Five days a week-full day. Big Change.
In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that although I am excited for this new challenge for the twins, and they too are excited, it was not without some level of trepidation, or, as my wife would (did, rather) say, “Blubbering” on my part as we got closer to the decision. I prefer my verbiage.
The kindergarten discussion was brought about by a variety of factors, and while I won’t go into them all here, suffice it to say that we weighed every factor involved in either sending them back to preschool, looking for a new preschool, moving forward to kindergarten, or keeping them home. We kicked them all around. As it happened, the kindergarten choice began to look like the best one, and as I thought about my twins moving into a five day school life, I, um…well, I had some feelings about it.
I started thinking about how awesome the twins are together when they are just goofing off together at home. The worlds they create in their play are so tremendous, and they honestly can go for hours just playing together, and with their sister. The imagination and the creativity they display I wrote about in the “Toy” column a few months back, but I started to think about the fact that right now, they have the time to simply goof off. They were only in school two times a week this year for three hours each session. While we did other things when they were out of school, this new schedule will be a major overhaul in the infrastructure that is the life we’ve built for ourselves here. There will be less time for, “Ok-whatever,” and I started to feel that loss very much over this past weekend.
I started to fear for the change in them as kids: who they would become and how their relationship with one another would change. When they aren’t beating the daylights out of one another, they are truly very cute together, and I know they miss one another when they are apart, which has not happened very often. When they are apart, they are always happy to see one another. When they argue or spat, they are quicker to forgive than anyone I’ve ever known.
There has been more than one incident that I wasn’t done policing as the parent, and they were ready to move on. Would that connection continue?
I think so, and I hope so, as they share something very special being twins. They always seem to fall right back into the same banter and rhythm that they always have had, no matter what happens. They watch out for each other. I hope that although they will inevitably make new friends, and will certainly grow and change over the years, that the wife and I continue to create a home for them that is full of love.
I worried that I would lose the amazing chance that I’ve had to bear witness to their innocence and magic. I guess I realized that it was time to share them with the world, and I didn’t want to. So, I had some trepidation. (Still like my description better than that of my wife.)
I’ve spent going on two years now as a full-time-stay-at-home dad. I’ve experienced life in a way that I really never expected to and to do so, I had to move way, way away from my comfort zone. In the process, I suppose I’ve built a new comfort zone, with me and the kids palling around doing our thing, or not doing a thing at all if the mood strikes us. As hard as being a stay-at-home-parent has been at times, when it hit me that that might all be about to change, and they would take yet another step away from me, I, well, alright, full disclosure: I kind of lost it.
I got fixated on who they are now and was worried if I’d done enough to get them ready, I worried about their relationship to each other and to the rest of us, I worried about how they would do, and I worried how I would do. What would I do? Have I been a good parent? Will they be good at school? How long until they don’t want me to tuck them in and read to them, or heaven forbid, sing Bon Jovi, Springsteen, and Sam Cooke songs to them?
So it has been kind of emotional, but I’ve gotten some good thoughts and advice from some friends, including, “Well, they need to learn how to be that amazing with other people too.” That was a good one. Others were encouraging, and I got a lot of, “Oh, they’ll be fine…” type of comments, which I found of varying degrees of comfort depending on the source. In the end, it was something the wife said:
“They can’t be little forever.”
And they can’t do that. Despite our best efforts, life only seems to go in one direction. And though it has in fact been extremely challenging over the past few years, in the end, I think that the twins have done exactly what we wanted them to do: they’ve grown into good kids with loads of personality, loads of imagination, and a ton of spirit.
So in the end, I’ve got to let them go. Granted, their new school is only 7 minutes away, but I won’t be there all the time. Life is once again telling me that my comfort zone has grown too comfortable I suppose.
The kids are excited. We did one of our Investigations, this time focusing on Kindergarten, and we found this short film, which we watched together:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCNsAX1JNQo
It was cute to watch them get excited about different things: “Wow-we get to eat lunch AT SCHOOL?” and “Ooooo, BLOCKS!” and “Cool-naptime?”
They had to watch it twice. I think they are ready. I just know that I wasn’t, but I think I am now.
After some trepidation, anyway.
During this passed June, the twins finished their preschool year, the wife visited the mainland with the bear, we’ve visited the Water Park, Waimea Falls, celebrated our 10th Wedding Anniversary with a night in Waikiki, enjoyed the library summer reading program, celebrated Father’s Day…it has been an eventful month, and truth be told, I started several different columns over the month, but either lost interest in the topic, or in one case, decided that upon reflection that the column was perhaps not appropriate for this space.
As I said, it’s been a month. Quite a month.
But moving forward, there are some major changes and transitions underway, the most pressing of which is, the twins are going to kindergarten.
Well, it’s really “Junior Kindergarten” but the concept is about the same. In Hawaii, if your child turns 5 before August 1, they must go to Kindergarten, however, if they turn 5 between August 2 and the end of the year, as mine do, you can enroll them in “Junior Kindergarten.” They follow the same basic curriculum, and at the end of the year, the parent works with the teacher to determine if the child should move on to 1st grade or remain in Kindergarten for another year.
So, after much deliberation, exhaustive research, and paperwork, we have obtained spaces for them at a very good elementary school in our town-not the one we were zoned for, but Hawaii has slightly different rules than NJ did, so, long story shorter-we chose a school we liked and were able to get them spots in Kindergarten.
So, August 3, that’s where I’ll be: dropping them off for their first day of school. Five days a week-full day. Big Change.
In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that although I am excited for this new challenge for the twins, and they too are excited, it was not without some level of trepidation, or, as my wife would (did, rather) say, “Blubbering” on my part as we got closer to the decision. I prefer my verbiage.
The kindergarten discussion was brought about by a variety of factors, and while I won’t go into them all here, suffice it to say that we weighed every factor involved in either sending them back to preschool, looking for a new preschool, moving forward to kindergarten, or keeping them home. We kicked them all around. As it happened, the kindergarten choice began to look like the best one, and as I thought about my twins moving into a five day school life, I, um…well, I had some feelings about it.
I started thinking about how awesome the twins are together when they are just goofing off together at home. The worlds they create in their play are so tremendous, and they honestly can go for hours just playing together, and with their sister. The imagination and the creativity they display I wrote about in the “Toy” column a few months back, but I started to think about the fact that right now, they have the time to simply goof off. They were only in school two times a week this year for three hours each session. While we did other things when they were out of school, this new schedule will be a major overhaul in the infrastructure that is the life we’ve built for ourselves here. There will be less time for, “Ok-whatever,” and I started to feel that loss very much over this past weekend.
I started to fear for the change in them as kids: who they would become and how their relationship with one another would change. When they aren’t beating the daylights out of one another, they are truly very cute together, and I know they miss one another when they are apart, which has not happened very often. When they are apart, they are always happy to see one another. When they argue or spat, they are quicker to forgive than anyone I’ve ever known.
There has been more than one incident that I wasn’t done policing as the parent, and they were ready to move on. Would that connection continue?
I think so, and I hope so, as they share something very special being twins. They always seem to fall right back into the same banter and rhythm that they always have had, no matter what happens. They watch out for each other. I hope that although they will inevitably make new friends, and will certainly grow and change over the years, that the wife and I continue to create a home for them that is full of love.
I worried that I would lose the amazing chance that I’ve had to bear witness to their innocence and magic. I guess I realized that it was time to share them with the world, and I didn’t want to. So, I had some trepidation. (Still like my description better than that of my wife.)
I’ve spent going on two years now as a full-time-stay-at-home dad. I’ve experienced life in a way that I really never expected to and to do so, I had to move way, way away from my comfort zone. In the process, I suppose I’ve built a new comfort zone, with me and the kids palling around doing our thing, or not doing a thing at all if the mood strikes us. As hard as being a stay-at-home-parent has been at times, when it hit me that that might all be about to change, and they would take yet another step away from me, I, well, alright, full disclosure: I kind of lost it.
I got fixated on who they are now and was worried if I’d done enough to get them ready, I worried about their relationship to each other and to the rest of us, I worried about how they would do, and I worried how I would do. What would I do? Have I been a good parent? Will they be good at school? How long until they don’t want me to tuck them in and read to them, or heaven forbid, sing Bon Jovi, Springsteen, and Sam Cooke songs to them?
So it has been kind of emotional, but I’ve gotten some good thoughts and advice from some friends, including, “Well, they need to learn how to be that amazing with other people too.” That was a good one. Others were encouraging, and I got a lot of, “Oh, they’ll be fine…” type of comments, which I found of varying degrees of comfort depending on the source. In the end, it was something the wife said:
“They can’t be little forever.”
And they can’t do that. Despite our best efforts, life only seems to go in one direction. And though it has in fact been extremely challenging over the past few years, in the end, I think that the twins have done exactly what we wanted them to do: they’ve grown into good kids with loads of personality, loads of imagination, and a ton of spirit.
So in the end, I’ve got to let them go. Granted, their new school is only 7 minutes away, but I won’t be there all the time. Life is once again telling me that my comfort zone has grown too comfortable I suppose.
The kids are excited. We did one of our Investigations, this time focusing on Kindergarten, and we found this short film, which we watched together:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCNsAX1JNQo
It was cute to watch them get excited about different things: “Wow-we get to eat lunch AT SCHOOL?” and “Ooooo, BLOCKS!” and “Cool-naptime?”
They had to watch it twice. I think they are ready. I just know that I wasn’t, but I think I am now.
After some trepidation, anyway.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Memorial Day: Remembering Pat Roy, United States Navy
I’ve never written about this before. To be honest, I think about it almost every day, though it’s never something I’ve written about, and being Memorial Day, I think that it’s time.
October 12, 2000. The United States Navy Destroyer USS Cole was attacked by suicide bombers while in port at the Port of Aden, in Yemen. It was a Thursday.
When I first heard that the attack had happened on the news, I was of course sad to hear about it. But something bothered me, on the very edges of my mind that I had no explanation for until the wife and I got home from a night out.
I had left the boarding school, (SKS) and was now teaching at a day school (PJHS) and going to Graduate School at Seton Hall, so I had fallen out of the loop a bit, but I remember the last time I had talked to Pat. He visited SKS in his uniform and to me, didn’t look much different, except for the uniform. I already thought he was a pretty solid young man by that point. I had been the Dean of Students for his graduating class, and remember really taking pride in that.
There are days that I wish I had stayed on in that role. But I didn’t. I remember shaking his hand as he prepared to leave, and telling him to take care, and to keep in touch.
The wife and I came home on that Friday evening from dinner at the Dublin Pub in Morristown, NJ, and a movie that I don’t recall, to find a message on our machine from Billy. I remember it like it happened this evening…
I was just walking into the room scratching the ears of our dog, Gracie, as the wife hit the message button after having seen the blinking light.
“Kugs…I don’t know if you’ve heard, but, that ship that got hit out there, well, I don’t know how to say this, but Pat was on it. It looks like they can’t find him…call me.”
I remember leaning forward and just catching the edge of our bed, and managing to find a way to be seated. Gracie came up and laid her head on my lap, and I scratched her head. I remember saying “I just knew…” and then I cried a lot.
Pat Roy was the kind of student that makes me miss teaching. He was not a spectacular student, but a good one, truth be told. He worked very hard, and he gave me some of the best teaching moments I’ve ever had.
He was also the kind of athlete that makes me miss coaching. He was not an amazing athlete, truth be told, but he worked hard there too, and he loved lacrosse and did things on the field that to me were personally amazing. He was a coaches kind of player. I remember hearing the Head coach remark once: “Man, Kugs…give me a team full of kids like Pat. That would be a fun team.”
Pat became a student of the game, throwing himself into Lacrosse. I remember well the times that he simply willed our team on to victory or times when simply had a better idea than everyone else. There were also times that he simply threw himself in front of the ball as it was shot towards the goaltender. I remember he asked me early in one season to track that sort of thing for him, as I kept the game stats. I did, though I remember telling him he could easily track it himself with the bruises on his legs…but he grooved on making the play, so I tracked his blocked shots for him. I was glad to, since Pat had asked.
Pat made some mistakes early in his time with us, including an incident where my car was shaving-creamed and the air was let out of all the tires.
I was much younger and less mature then, and I was pissed off at what had been done to my car.
I was living in the dorm then, which lends itself to hard feelings and small worlds in which to express them.
I was wicked pissed off. No one else from the offending group stepped up, except Pat. He was sorry, and he made that clear. So, as a result, I was able to write the whole thing off as a goof.
Because of Pat. He looked me in the eye, and as no real damage had been done, we all moved on.
There were other times during his time at school where I saw him stand up in a manner that was way beyond his years…but they are not stories for this space. Those are stories that belong to those who lived them.
But there are some others I can share: I was trying to teach Hamlet to a group of seniors that had little interest and less motivation to study Shakespeare. Pat was in the class, as we were trying to read aloud the “Folger Library’s” excellent translation.
It was not going well. At all.
After a tremendously unsuccessful class, Pat happened to stay behind a moment, I believe because the young lady he was dating was in my next class, but as I was the assistant Lacrosse coach, and he was our Coaches Captain, he seemed quite comfortable telling me:
“Kugs…this reading aloud thing is not gonna work for everybody.”
He was right. I was trying to teach a play in a dead and overly artistic language to students who came from such disparate academic backgrounds, that everyone was so uncomfortable, that it was a waste of time to show up and read.
So I asked him, as I too knew it wasn’t working, “Well, you got any ideas?”
And he did. He always seemed to.
He thought that the class would be able to get it if they were able to follow along in their Folger editions as they watched it onscreen. I remember his saying: “If everyone can see what’s happening, I think they’d get it.”
And he was right. I never taught Shakespeare the same way again.
Pat forced me to think differently as a teacher, and I did for the rest of my career. Remembering the way his class changed after I took his advice makes me miss teaching, as it was among the most satisfying experiences I ever had as a teacher. That was a fun group.
I think my favorite memory of Pat might be the words he spoke at halftime of the Championship match of his senior year, which was held at the Harvey School. The team was not playing well, and was starting to get down on itself as it was losing somewhat dramatically for the first time all year.
It was a crisp and clear day, and I can still see Pat in my mind, leaning on his longstick, as the Coach asked him if he had anything to add. I remember it much like this, as he said “Guys, I’m going to be on a ship somewhere in a year, and I don’t think they’ll let me bring my stick, so this is like my last game ever, and I’d rather remember going out there with my friends and having fun playing lacrosse, and leaving it all out there on the field.”
And they did. I think we lost that game, but I know I remember the second half being genuinely satisfying. And I remember Pat smiling at least a little on the way home on the bus.
There was another time when a group of students had pulled some kind of prank on me, which again was not uncommon in those days. I reacted badly, which I’m embarrassed now to say was also not that uncommon in those days. I was younger then. Anyway, I decided who was at fault, and pretty much lashed out at the group. They lashed back, and it was an uncomfortable few days as these were young men in my classes, and in my dorm, and some on my team. It was Pat that sought me out, and told me, “Kugs-I’m not going to tell you who pulled that on you, but I will tell you that it wasn’t the guys you flipped out on.”
And I believed him, because it was Pat. I found those guys and apologized. They were less than enthusiastic about my efforts and actually got kind of snarfy about my even approaching them. It was Pat, again, who said, “Let it go guys-he stepped up and said he was wrong. Let it go.”
And we all kind of let it go. Because of Pat.
Yes, I may have been the adult here, but those lines get very blurred in a boarding school environment like SKS was. I was young and impulsive and so were most of the kids I dealt with. It made for some interesting times and interesting relationships.
When Pat was killed, I remember feeling that my life as a teacher had just grown less magical. I’d never lost a student before, much less one that I thought as highly of as Pat Roy. I remember showing up at PJ that next Monday, and I had missed a morning department meeting. My boss at the time found me just before classes started, and voiced her displeasure at my absence. I had only been there a few months, and didn’t really know anyone that well, but I remember standing in the hall just outside my classroom, thinking, there was no way I was going to get through the day, and told her so. I said, “I just lost one of the best I ever taught…”
They held a memorial service for Pat sometime in the next few weeks, and I went up and spent the weekend on campus. It was a very strange weekend, as I was definitely an outsider returning. The staff had changed, and the kids had changed too. The weekend went by in a bit of a blur, but I remember standing on the field where they planted a Tree for him. This was the field that Pat had roamed as a defenseman and even run balls for me when I coached the soccer team. It was a beautiful day, and a lot of the old crew returned to campus to honor him. Pat’s family was there and I recall being genuinely moved by their grace and humility.
I took a picture that day of the tree they planted, which looked out on the field and the Hudson Valley. I kept it in my classroom, and then my office, and when I left education, I brought it home, where it sits on my desk today.
Now and then, I would look at that picture, seeing that little yellow tree, and it would be just the right message at just the right time. Perhaps I was dealing with a really tough discipline problem, and seeing Pat’s tree would remind me to be fair and hear the whole story.
I remember other times when the students were driving me out of my mind, and looking at that tree would remind me that whatever my current crop of students were doing, it would pale in comparison to some of the stuff Pat and his pals pulled, and that would make me laugh every time.
And other times, I would see it, and it would make me sad for the loss of a beautiful young life, so full of promise and talent and humor, to such a senseless act of violence. No parent should have to bury their child. And I am sad to think of his family, his younger brother in particular, that lost far more than I did, having to move on without him. I still have an image of Pat coming into my office at the end of his Senior year with his little brother on his shoulders, saying, “Kugs-this is my little brother,” and flashing a proud smile. It was one of the happiest I’d ever seen him. And it makes my heart hurt.
And then, I think of Pat, and something he said to me as I, in one of my heavier stages, running laps with the team. I’m sure I looked somewhat winded, and I can still hear him laugh, and call out, “Suck it up, Kugs!”
And that makes me smile, and even now, nearly eight years later, I think of Pat Roy. So, on Memorial Day, I’m remembering Pat and all of those who have died in service to our country, and those they have left behind.
October 12, 2000. The United States Navy Destroyer USS Cole was attacked by suicide bombers while in port at the Port of Aden, in Yemen. It was a Thursday.
When I first heard that the attack had happened on the news, I was of course sad to hear about it. But something bothered me, on the very edges of my mind that I had no explanation for until the wife and I got home from a night out.
I had left the boarding school, (SKS) and was now teaching at a day school (PJHS) and going to Graduate School at Seton Hall, so I had fallen out of the loop a bit, but I remember the last time I had talked to Pat. He visited SKS in his uniform and to me, didn’t look much different, except for the uniform. I already thought he was a pretty solid young man by that point. I had been the Dean of Students for his graduating class, and remember really taking pride in that.
There are days that I wish I had stayed on in that role. But I didn’t. I remember shaking his hand as he prepared to leave, and telling him to take care, and to keep in touch.
The wife and I came home on that Friday evening from dinner at the Dublin Pub in Morristown, NJ, and a movie that I don’t recall, to find a message on our machine from Billy. I remember it like it happened this evening…
I was just walking into the room scratching the ears of our dog, Gracie, as the wife hit the message button after having seen the blinking light.
“Kugs…I don’t know if you’ve heard, but, that ship that got hit out there, well, I don’t know how to say this, but Pat was on it. It looks like they can’t find him…call me.”
I remember leaning forward and just catching the edge of our bed, and managing to find a way to be seated. Gracie came up and laid her head on my lap, and I scratched her head. I remember saying “I just knew…” and then I cried a lot.
Pat Roy was the kind of student that makes me miss teaching. He was not a spectacular student, but a good one, truth be told. He worked very hard, and he gave me some of the best teaching moments I’ve ever had.
He was also the kind of athlete that makes me miss coaching. He was not an amazing athlete, truth be told, but he worked hard there too, and he loved lacrosse and did things on the field that to me were personally amazing. He was a coaches kind of player. I remember hearing the Head coach remark once: “Man, Kugs…give me a team full of kids like Pat. That would be a fun team.”
Pat became a student of the game, throwing himself into Lacrosse. I remember well the times that he simply willed our team on to victory or times when simply had a better idea than everyone else. There were also times that he simply threw himself in front of the ball as it was shot towards the goaltender. I remember he asked me early in one season to track that sort of thing for him, as I kept the game stats. I did, though I remember telling him he could easily track it himself with the bruises on his legs…but he grooved on making the play, so I tracked his blocked shots for him. I was glad to, since Pat had asked.
Pat made some mistakes early in his time with us, including an incident where my car was shaving-creamed and the air was let out of all the tires.
I was much younger and less mature then, and I was pissed off at what had been done to my car.
I was living in the dorm then, which lends itself to hard feelings and small worlds in which to express them.
I was wicked pissed off. No one else from the offending group stepped up, except Pat. He was sorry, and he made that clear. So, as a result, I was able to write the whole thing off as a goof.
Because of Pat. He looked me in the eye, and as no real damage had been done, we all moved on.
There were other times during his time at school where I saw him stand up in a manner that was way beyond his years…but they are not stories for this space. Those are stories that belong to those who lived them.
But there are some others I can share: I was trying to teach Hamlet to a group of seniors that had little interest and less motivation to study Shakespeare. Pat was in the class, as we were trying to read aloud the “Folger Library’s” excellent translation.
It was not going well. At all.
After a tremendously unsuccessful class, Pat happened to stay behind a moment, I believe because the young lady he was dating was in my next class, but as I was the assistant Lacrosse coach, and he was our Coaches Captain, he seemed quite comfortable telling me:
“Kugs…this reading aloud thing is not gonna work for everybody.”
He was right. I was trying to teach a play in a dead and overly artistic language to students who came from such disparate academic backgrounds, that everyone was so uncomfortable, that it was a waste of time to show up and read.
So I asked him, as I too knew it wasn’t working, “Well, you got any ideas?”
And he did. He always seemed to.
He thought that the class would be able to get it if they were able to follow along in their Folger editions as they watched it onscreen. I remember his saying: “If everyone can see what’s happening, I think they’d get it.”
And he was right. I never taught Shakespeare the same way again.
Pat forced me to think differently as a teacher, and I did for the rest of my career. Remembering the way his class changed after I took his advice makes me miss teaching, as it was among the most satisfying experiences I ever had as a teacher. That was a fun group.
I think my favorite memory of Pat might be the words he spoke at halftime of the Championship match of his senior year, which was held at the Harvey School. The team was not playing well, and was starting to get down on itself as it was losing somewhat dramatically for the first time all year.
It was a crisp and clear day, and I can still see Pat in my mind, leaning on his longstick, as the Coach asked him if he had anything to add. I remember it much like this, as he said “Guys, I’m going to be on a ship somewhere in a year, and I don’t think they’ll let me bring my stick, so this is like my last game ever, and I’d rather remember going out there with my friends and having fun playing lacrosse, and leaving it all out there on the field.”
And they did. I think we lost that game, but I know I remember the second half being genuinely satisfying. And I remember Pat smiling at least a little on the way home on the bus.
There was another time when a group of students had pulled some kind of prank on me, which again was not uncommon in those days. I reacted badly, which I’m embarrassed now to say was also not that uncommon in those days. I was younger then. Anyway, I decided who was at fault, and pretty much lashed out at the group. They lashed back, and it was an uncomfortable few days as these were young men in my classes, and in my dorm, and some on my team. It was Pat that sought me out, and told me, “Kugs-I’m not going to tell you who pulled that on you, but I will tell you that it wasn’t the guys you flipped out on.”
And I believed him, because it was Pat. I found those guys and apologized. They were less than enthusiastic about my efforts and actually got kind of snarfy about my even approaching them. It was Pat, again, who said, “Let it go guys-he stepped up and said he was wrong. Let it go.”
And we all kind of let it go. Because of Pat.
Yes, I may have been the adult here, but those lines get very blurred in a boarding school environment like SKS was. I was young and impulsive and so were most of the kids I dealt with. It made for some interesting times and interesting relationships.
When Pat was killed, I remember feeling that my life as a teacher had just grown less magical. I’d never lost a student before, much less one that I thought as highly of as Pat Roy. I remember showing up at PJ that next Monday, and I had missed a morning department meeting. My boss at the time found me just before classes started, and voiced her displeasure at my absence. I had only been there a few months, and didn’t really know anyone that well, but I remember standing in the hall just outside my classroom, thinking, there was no way I was going to get through the day, and told her so. I said, “I just lost one of the best I ever taught…”
They held a memorial service for Pat sometime in the next few weeks, and I went up and spent the weekend on campus. It was a very strange weekend, as I was definitely an outsider returning. The staff had changed, and the kids had changed too. The weekend went by in a bit of a blur, but I remember standing on the field where they planted a Tree for him. This was the field that Pat had roamed as a defenseman and even run balls for me when I coached the soccer team. It was a beautiful day, and a lot of the old crew returned to campus to honor him. Pat’s family was there and I recall being genuinely moved by their grace and humility.
I took a picture that day of the tree they planted, which looked out on the field and the Hudson Valley. I kept it in my classroom, and then my office, and when I left education, I brought it home, where it sits on my desk today.
Now and then, I would look at that picture, seeing that little yellow tree, and it would be just the right message at just the right time. Perhaps I was dealing with a really tough discipline problem, and seeing Pat’s tree would remind me to be fair and hear the whole story.
I remember other times when the students were driving me out of my mind, and looking at that tree would remind me that whatever my current crop of students were doing, it would pale in comparison to some of the stuff Pat and his pals pulled, and that would make me laugh every time.
And other times, I would see it, and it would make me sad for the loss of a beautiful young life, so full of promise and talent and humor, to such a senseless act of violence. No parent should have to bury their child. And I am sad to think of his family, his younger brother in particular, that lost far more than I did, having to move on without him. I still have an image of Pat coming into my office at the end of his Senior year with his little brother on his shoulders, saying, “Kugs-this is my little brother,” and flashing a proud smile. It was one of the happiest I’d ever seen him. And it makes my heart hurt.
And then, I think of Pat, and something he said to me as I, in one of my heavier stages, running laps with the team. I’m sure I looked somewhat winded, and I can still hear him laugh, and call out, “Suck it up, Kugs!”
And that makes me smile, and even now, nearly eight years later, I think of Pat Roy. So, on Memorial Day, I’m remembering Pat and all of those who have died in service to our country, and those they have left behind.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)