A regular reader of this space chastised me recently for not posting a new column in a while. I admit, it is a longer break than is customary for me, but things have been on the busy side with the kids in school, and the holidays, and family visiting, and working on the novel. (I am well into the second draft now…stay tuned)
But, it is a quiet Sunday evening, where the kids have gone to bed with aloha. And, the Eagles won, and although it was a little chilly earlier (dropped to about 72 degrees overnight) the weather has been ok overall. Perhaps I can take some time to write in this space.
Things have been good. The twins are thriving at school and have made amazing strides in the things that they can do.
The Boyo is still deeply fascinated by Dinosaurs, and his informational recall and critical thought and reasoning about them would be scary if I didn‘t already know that he was smart. He remembers stuff that I try to remember but cannot. He nods politely at me when he has to correct me, like the other day when he explained to me that Troodon meant “wounding tooth” and not “terrible claw” which is what Deinonychus means. His sister rolled her eyes at me when I got it wrong.
And yes, those were his words. Really. It’s happened more than once.
His Twin sister entered a photograph in the recent PTA Juried art show, with the theme “Beauty is…” that won an Honorable Mention, and may be headed to the regional exhibition. Her response was, essentially, “well, that’s nice. Whatever. It’s not my best work…” She was far more interested in playing with the Glitter glue that the wife bought than dwelling on an old work. She was far more gracious than I, who bragged about it all week…and just did now.
The Bear is doing well, and just received her first glasses, which look very cute when she wears them. She also served as the “Christmas Elf” for Santa’s “Representative” (because Santa was very busy getting ready for Christmas Eve) at the YMCA Playmorning program last week. Man, that beard itched, and the boots were way too small. She is really ready for preschool, and we are planning on her going in the fall.
It has been two years that we have lived here now. In all honesty, I had originally thought that we might be on our way off the island by now, and while that is always a possibility, it is really only in the last few weeks that I have honestly and truly accepted the fact that we really do live here, and that the life we have is a good one. We’ve done everything we set out to do with this move, and, in all honesty, probably more.
There have been some surprises along the way, both professional and personal, and some relationships that did not survive our move, which while disappointing, perhaps says more about their strength to begin with than anything else. I’m over it, mostly.
But, it is the holiday season, and I should touch on that. One of our more recent holiday favorites has been the film “Love Actually” which is really only tolerable because it was made by the British.
There’s a scene where the dude who is in love with Kiera Knightly, who happens to married to his best friend, and as such, somewhat unavailable, tells her how he feels, and though he says that he expects nothing says, “It’s Christmas, and at Christmas you tell the truth…”
So, I’ve decided to try that, and see how it works out. Here are some things, that, however benign, are true in our life here, and are in order as they occurred to me to write and are not a hierarchy:
1) While I miss Yuengling, pizza, and bagels, the Ahi, Edamame, and Musubi are not horrible by way of substitute. For now. I miss Scrapple too.
2) I have gained a far deeper respect for the men and women that serve in the Military. I interact very closely with a number of military spouses, and to see the sacrifice that they make on a daily basis is very humbling. I know very clearly how difficult it is taking care of my kids with my wife here and working, and to think of being home with all three of mine with a spouse on deployment is downright scary to me. Having to be on point as the only caregiver for 24/7 for every day, six months to two years at a clip, as some of my friends have had to be, is overwhelming to think of. It scares the daylights out of me. I’m in therapy already.
But, they do it. They manage, and sometimes their families help out, but in the end, Military families face a great number of challenges that perhaps some people don’t consider. I know I for one understand and respect that sacrifice all the more now that I’ve lived here on Oahu where a large portion of the population is Military, and as I have had a member of my family spend several months on deployment in the Middle East recently as well. Plus, I’ve taken the kids to Pearl Harbor on December 7th the last two years, and had them meet and thank the Veterans from those attacks, which are very much a part of the culture here. In the end, deployment is tough on the soldiers, and tough on the families, and they do it anyway. Whatever your politics are, respect is due to them all. That’s far more political than I usually get in this space, but deal with it.
3) We’ve put up all the artwork. Up until about a month ago, there were still a few paintings that we’d not yet hung on the wall. But, it’s become clear of late that this is our home, and all of the artwork, from Daddy Pop’s painting of “Anchor Street” to my signed Andrew Wyeth print, it’s all on the walls now. We live here. And you know what? It doesn’t suck. I still don’t know that I want to live here forever, but damned if this place isn’t home because we chose to make it so. My kids are happy here, and we’ve made a life here. While the Northeast was under a blizzard, I was at the park. laying on my back with my kids discussing whether the wispy cloud above looked like a Pteranadon or a Pegasus-pony. So it goes…
4) I barely remember working for a living. I can’t be more honest than that. I last used my Masters Degree in Educational Administration and Supervision from SHU over two years ago, and truth be told, I don’t think there is much I miss. That’s not to say that I don’t have some very fond memories of my time at PGHS, SKS, or the other places I worked that I won’t bother to mention, but in the end, I can’t think of that many days at work that compare favorably with the stuff I get to do on a daily basis while being home with my kids. Add to that the chance to make a home for my family, cook the bejesus out of pretty much anything I want to, plus the chance to write a novel, and man, why would I ever go back?
Don’t get me wrong-there are a lot of good memories from my career. There were moments of value, that I believe mattered, I really do. But they are moments of the past. There were periods of closeness in a number of schools where I served, where we were on the cusp of genuine educational and community awesomeness. But they never really happened in the end, and I left both disillusioned and a little more empty. I think I’m too old to go searching for that again.
While I can, I’d rather write, and teach and raise my kids. But I remember my best classes as a teacher-that last year at SKS was good. My final year as a teacher at PJHS was the greatest experience I ever had as a teacher. I don’t know that I could ever come close. I miss the kids I taught that year…they were my ultimate swan song and I will always hold them very dear to my heart for the amazing year they gave me. Should I ever land back in North Jersey, I would go back and teach at PJ in a heartbeat, if they would have me. That might be the only exit I ever made that had any grace…
Not long after moving to administration, despite initial enthusiasm, I became disillusioned with the process. I got into administration at SKS, a private school, and I did so because I thought I could do a better job than the people above me. In fact, when I interviewed for my first administrative position at SKS, I said, “I can do this job better, and I want to be here, so hire me.” I got the job. But, over time it became clear that the upper administration and I believed in different things. And I moved on.
I spent two years in North Jersey going to graduate school at SHU and teaching and coaching and bartending at the Pub, and being married to the wife and dancing to Belafonte with the our dog, Gracie.
Then I moved on to being an Assistant Principal. I think I’ve covered my time in that position pretty well in this space, but feel free to write me if you want more detail. Be rest assured though, gentle reader, I would likely be dead today, or at least infirm from a heart attack had I kept up the pace that my last job at PGHS demanded of me.
I don’t blame PGHS for that. That was the job, and I took it. There are apparently three people that now do the job that I used to do. I wish them well.
I didn’t leave because I was unhappy. I left because I could, and I wanted to do other things, and so I did.
I had some great moments in each of the schools where I served. Moments that I will never forget, and cherish very dearly. I would like to think that I did some good.
But, at least now, I don’t miss it and don’t want to go back. If I don’t have to, I won’t. Obviously, if my family needed me to, I would, as Pete Rose once said, “walk through hell in a gasoline suit” to provide for my family. And I would. But, that’s not what they need of me now. And, I think I’m getting pretty good at my current job.
5) I would never be able to live the life that I do if my wife were not simply the most amazing woman on Earth.
This one is easy. I’ve been with her since 1992. We’ve been married since 1999. There are a number of people in my life currently that look at these facts with amazement. I think they are amazed mostly that someone would choose to tolerate me that long.
In my experience, there is no real explanation for love and devotion, and so looking at the life we have, where the only forever I’ve ever needed has been perfunctory, I am continually not surprised by where we end up. It always seems very much like where we are supposed to be. She’s exceptional at her job, and provides for us. I can deal with that, but that is now. I know quite clearly that I was not of that mindset two years ago when we moved here. But I am now.
I am not where I thought I would be. Just yesterday, a pair of local kids were running far beyond the boundaries that their mother had given them in the open park we took the kids to. She was calling to them, but they couldn’t hear her. I was in between them, and after several attempts, I found myself calling out loud enough where I knew they could hear me: “Oi! Your Mama, she call you yah?” and waved my arm at him to come in. Which they did, and ran back to her, saying “thanks Uncle” on the way back.
My life is nowhere near what I thought it would be at this point, but, it’s a damned good life. My kids are so awesome that I’m forced to take a deep breath at times to handle it more often than not, especially when they aren’t throwing things at one another.
I’m deep into the creation of a novel that I would never have had the chance to do in the old days. But I can now. And it’s going to be good. It won’t be an easy one for some people to deal with, but it will happen, and some folks will simply have to accept it as a work of fiction, which it what it shall be.
But I remember the way that things used to be. I remember the nights I didn’t get to put my kids to bed when I was working 14 hours at school, and I remember the days I didn’t get to see them at all. That was not alright with me. Every missed bedtime was a loss to me.
For my whole life, it seems, I remember every moment, every stupid detail of everything, about everything. It’s who I am.
No one ever gave me a road map, which is just fine. I feel very much alright with where I have ended up.
Aloha.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
A Really Good Day
I’ve had a lot of good days. For years, I’ve called them, perhaps in deference to my love of ESPN’s “Sportscenter” my “Top 10 Days.” There isn’t a formal list, and I’m not really even sure how many of them there are, but I know that I could probably make a list, and I know what would be on it were I to do so.
On Veteran’s Day, we all went to the Bishop Museum in Honolulu to visit the new “Dinosaurs Unleashed!” exhibit, as part of the Boyo’s birthday celebration. Although the twin’s birthday is not for another week, we’ve been trying to give the kids each a day to themselves. The Girl had hers over a week ago, and the Bear had her day last Friday, but this was the Boyo’s big day. We scheduled it on Veteran’s Day as the Wife would be off of work and we’d have the chance to go an include some of our friends. And so it was with great enthusiasm that we all descended on the Museum and their gigantic animatronic Dinosaurs, and their very nicely put together exhibits,
We chose this as the Boyo’s activity because of his natural, passionate and vital interest in Dinosaurs. He is an incredibly curious kid, and has shown a voracious appetite for learning about animals over the years, and Dinosaurs over the last six months or so. It is certainly an obsession that I not only remember from my own youth, but encourage in him, as Dinosaurs are just freaking cool. I got him the BBC “Walking with Dinosaurs” documentary last week from the library, and he enjoyed that as much if not more than the usual “kid stuff” I usually get for them. Sitting on the couch with him leaning against me and watching the Ornithocheirus and the family of baby Diplodocus’s fight for survival was good stuff. When his sisters got scared, they covered their eyes, but the Boyo stood strong, watching it all with the wonder of a child and the slightly narrowed eyes of a scientist gathering evidence. I’m enjoying this phase, as I’m still that same kid sitting on the edge of the couch, at least as it relates to Dinosaurs.
Walking around with him and his sisters and our friends, I really got a sense of the genuine joy that he garners from learning. We went through the exhibit, which was incredible, with life-size Dinosaurs, including a Tyrannosaurus Rex, a Triceratops and child, a Parasaurolophous, and a variety of other creatures, some of which we could control robotically, and others that we could touch, and a variety of actual fossils that we could study.
He was excited as we went through, eyes wide the whole time. As we walked in, he rushed towards the first fossilized display. A very nice Local woman who works at the Museum, “Grandma Rose” her badge read, said to me, seeing the look in the Boyo’s eyes, “You’re gonna have a great time, yeah…” And she was right.
The exhibit was perhaps less vast in size than visitors to the Natural History Museum in NYC (where another of my best days took place) might expect, but each corner provided absolute fascination and wonder for my son. He was very much in his element, walking among these Dinosaurs, none of whom seemed to phase him, even those who were robotically designed to roar when we were least expecting it… He seemed to look at their roars with almost Scientific curiosity.
He basically led a clinic while we walked about. As I asked him questions about what we were seeing, he not only knew the answers, but also expanded on them, where appropriate, including:
“This one is a herbivore, Daddy. It has small teeth that grind up plants. The carnivore teeth are longer for ripping meat.”
Or, when answering my question about what Stegosaurus’ plates were for, he tapped his finger on the side of his head in thought, and replied, “For cooling off, showing off, and to scare off other dinosaurs.”
When I asked him why the Parasaurolophus species moved around in large herds, he replied, “For protection. And to be a family.”
He’s just four, at least until next week.
We enjoyed the entire museum and ended up purchasing a membership before we left. They have a volcano, and a Hawaiian and Polynesian hall that includes a life-size Blue whale model, cross-sectioned to show what it’s insides look like, and an entire hall dedicated to the Royal Hawaiian Kahili feather standards. I recommend checking out their site: http://www.bishopmuseum.org/ to learn more.
In the end, I had a lot of fun with him and with his sisters and our friends. After seeing the Volcano and the Dinosaurs and walking around and dropping a not unexpectedly large amount of money in the gift shop, we sat down for lunch in the courtyard. After about ten minutes of some eating and far more playing with the new dinosaur things, the Boyo came over and sat on my lap. I asked him if he was having fun, and he nodded, his mouth full of pizza. I asked him if he liked the Dinosaurs, and he nodded again.
And then, his chewing completed, he said something I loved.
“Daddy, I want to go see the Dinosaurs again with just you.”
And so we did, just the boys, and it was even better the second time.
There are a lot of times he knows just what to say. He’s an amazing kid, as all of my kids are, but they are very much all amazing in their own ways. He’s so inquisitive and has a mind that seems to recall everything. He’s funny and can at times be incredibly sweet to his sisters, when they are not bothering him. He shares with others without reservation, most of the time. And he’s more often than not the one who shares a moment with me when his sisters are throwing tantrums. He’ll just meet my eyes as he calmly reads a book or plays with ‘Blue doggie’ or builds his track-cities, or studies his Dinosaurs, and his look will say very clearly, “It’s ok Dad…I know.”
He’s the one who, should I raise my voice, will ask me, “Daddy, why are you yelling?” And he’s usually right, and I have to check myself. He’s the one who, when he’s tired, says, “Can I go to bed now?” He’s the one who, lately more than ever, will go out of his way to share something with his little sister without it being suggested for him to do so. He has such a sweet disposition and is really growing since he started school.
Our day at the Museum was a great one. All three of the kids had a good time, and since it was the Boyo’s special day, the girls thanked him for including them, which was very sweet of them. It was one of those days that you look at and you just know that it has potential to be one of those things that the kids remember later on. They are after all still very young, but I know that I will remember it and I’m pretty sure the Boyo will too.
Kid’s mind is like a sponge. And it was after all, a really, really good day.
On Veteran’s Day, we all went to the Bishop Museum in Honolulu to visit the new “Dinosaurs Unleashed!” exhibit, as part of the Boyo’s birthday celebration. Although the twin’s birthday is not for another week, we’ve been trying to give the kids each a day to themselves. The Girl had hers over a week ago, and the Bear had her day last Friday, but this was the Boyo’s big day. We scheduled it on Veteran’s Day as the Wife would be off of work and we’d have the chance to go an include some of our friends. And so it was with great enthusiasm that we all descended on the Museum and their gigantic animatronic Dinosaurs, and their very nicely put together exhibits,
We chose this as the Boyo’s activity because of his natural, passionate and vital interest in Dinosaurs. He is an incredibly curious kid, and has shown a voracious appetite for learning about animals over the years, and Dinosaurs over the last six months or so. It is certainly an obsession that I not only remember from my own youth, but encourage in him, as Dinosaurs are just freaking cool. I got him the BBC “Walking with Dinosaurs” documentary last week from the library, and he enjoyed that as much if not more than the usual “kid stuff” I usually get for them. Sitting on the couch with him leaning against me and watching the Ornithocheirus and the family of baby Diplodocus’s fight for survival was good stuff. When his sisters got scared, they covered their eyes, but the Boyo stood strong, watching it all with the wonder of a child and the slightly narrowed eyes of a scientist gathering evidence. I’m enjoying this phase, as I’m still that same kid sitting on the edge of the couch, at least as it relates to Dinosaurs.
Walking around with him and his sisters and our friends, I really got a sense of the genuine joy that he garners from learning. We went through the exhibit, which was incredible, with life-size Dinosaurs, including a Tyrannosaurus Rex, a Triceratops and child, a Parasaurolophous, and a variety of other creatures, some of which we could control robotically, and others that we could touch, and a variety of actual fossils that we could study.
He was excited as we went through, eyes wide the whole time. As we walked in, he rushed towards the first fossilized display. A very nice Local woman who works at the Museum, “Grandma Rose” her badge read, said to me, seeing the look in the Boyo’s eyes, “You’re gonna have a great time, yeah…” And she was right.
The exhibit was perhaps less vast in size than visitors to the Natural History Museum in NYC (where another of my best days took place) might expect, but each corner provided absolute fascination and wonder for my son. He was very much in his element, walking among these Dinosaurs, none of whom seemed to phase him, even those who were robotically designed to roar when we were least expecting it… He seemed to look at their roars with almost Scientific curiosity.
He basically led a clinic while we walked about. As I asked him questions about what we were seeing, he not only knew the answers, but also expanded on them, where appropriate, including:
“This one is a herbivore, Daddy. It has small teeth that grind up plants. The carnivore teeth are longer for ripping meat.”
Or, when answering my question about what Stegosaurus’ plates were for, he tapped his finger on the side of his head in thought, and replied, “For cooling off, showing off, and to scare off other dinosaurs.”
When I asked him why the Parasaurolophus species moved around in large herds, he replied, “For protection. And to be a family.”
He’s just four, at least until next week.
We enjoyed the entire museum and ended up purchasing a membership before we left. They have a volcano, and a Hawaiian and Polynesian hall that includes a life-size Blue whale model, cross-sectioned to show what it’s insides look like, and an entire hall dedicated to the Royal Hawaiian Kahili feather standards. I recommend checking out their site: http://www.bishopmuseum.org/ to learn more.
In the end, I had a lot of fun with him and with his sisters and our friends. After seeing the Volcano and the Dinosaurs and walking around and dropping a not unexpectedly large amount of money in the gift shop, we sat down for lunch in the courtyard. After about ten minutes of some eating and far more playing with the new dinosaur things, the Boyo came over and sat on my lap. I asked him if he was having fun, and he nodded, his mouth full of pizza. I asked him if he liked the Dinosaurs, and he nodded again.
And then, his chewing completed, he said something I loved.
“Daddy, I want to go see the Dinosaurs again with just you.”
And so we did, just the boys, and it was even better the second time.
There are a lot of times he knows just what to say. He’s an amazing kid, as all of my kids are, but they are very much all amazing in their own ways. He’s so inquisitive and has a mind that seems to recall everything. He’s funny and can at times be incredibly sweet to his sisters, when they are not bothering him. He shares with others without reservation, most of the time. And he’s more often than not the one who shares a moment with me when his sisters are throwing tantrums. He’ll just meet my eyes as he calmly reads a book or plays with ‘Blue doggie’ or builds his track-cities, or studies his Dinosaurs, and his look will say very clearly, “It’s ok Dad…I know.”
He’s the one who, should I raise my voice, will ask me, “Daddy, why are you yelling?” And he’s usually right, and I have to check myself. He’s the one who, when he’s tired, says, “Can I go to bed now?” He’s the one who, lately more than ever, will go out of his way to share something with his little sister without it being suggested for him to do so. He has such a sweet disposition and is really growing since he started school.
Our day at the Museum was a great one. All three of the kids had a good time, and since it was the Boyo’s special day, the girls thanked him for including them, which was very sweet of them. It was one of those days that you look at and you just know that it has potential to be one of those things that the kids remember later on. They are after all still very young, but I know that I will remember it and I’m pretty sure the Boyo will too.
Kid’s mind is like a sponge. And it was after all, a really, really good day.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Nineteen years after.
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.
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.
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…
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