The Long Way Home

So I'm guessing by now that some people are wondering what the update is with PinF since I so abruptly arrived into my old state of Pennsylvania. For starters, my father has slowly crept back from the great abyss of the here after and made a stunning reversal of his medical decline. Having spent almost 80 hours in 9 days in a hospital, I have developed such respect for those who are called to nursing. The nurses that surrounded my father must have known that his own mother was a nurse for 57 years, as I watched the dedication, respect, and care they gave to what appeared to resemble very little the man I know. Especially poignant and appreciated were the two sister's who worked side by side in nursing. These two nurses took special interest and care in my father; safeguarding his dignity daily with the devotion and love with which they gave so willingly and sincerely. These two young women I would come to find out, were both graduates of my mother's alma mater, Little Flower Catholic High School for Girls. It was just two months ago that I was at their school giving a speech of introduction for my mother's induction into the LFHS Hall of Fame. The irony of this was not lost on me, and I suspect their care spoke as much to their family values and how they were raised as it did the values instilled at such a fine school. Neither words nor deeds can truly express gratitude for those who would care for your family member as you yourself would. These young women along with many others are the personification of what "nursing" really is, and I supect their care is as much responsible for my father's recovery as was his will to live.

As with all major events in our lives, my father's health has allowed me to see many facets of my own life from both different and hopefully wiser perspectives. Receiving a call informing you that any family member is dying least of all a parent-- is at best like a kick in the stomach, even though it's a fear all children will one day have to face. My parent's faced it, their parent's faced it, and so on. So now it's my turn. Having said this, these events often allow us all to "go home" in a sense. Facing your parents mortality forces you to look back upon your own life and the path you have lead that eventually leads you back to whence you have come from. This and the fact that you must communciate with your siblings the wishes and desires of your parents almost force you to confront your shared past's.

This fact was particularly illustrated in my case by the virtue of the hospital my father wound up in; Delaware County Memorial Hospital. Three of my brothers and I were born here, I also had my kidney removed here as a sick child. I remember quite vividly also being here when my father's mother died, we were at her bedside as she a woman of profound faith announced she was "leaving". This made my initial visit all the more poignant not to mention painful as I now looked down at my parent in what at the time appeared to be his death bed. This was not to be, not now anyway.

After almost ten days of back and forth from Media to my father's bedside I was reconciling my past with my present, as each day I drove through my childhood memories on the streets I was raised in Drexel Hill. Each morning I would ride past my elementary school where some of my fondest and dearest memories as a child have been stored for 32 years since I left in 3th grade. I decided after a particulary hard day of emotions to ride down my old street and see the house we grew up in. As I sat parked across from 4009 Lasher memories of days long sinced past flashed before me, in all of them my parents are youthful and strong. I gazed upon the steps that my brother's and I would play "stepball" on for hours, and where for some reason the entire street always seemed to congregate. It was both cathartic and sad as I knew that time does indeed march on, just as it was now with my father's health.

The one true desire aside from actually being allowed to walk through my childhood home was the imposing three story, stone elementary school where so many of my memories remained stored. I drove up remembering how my mother and I would walk to the adjacent street in the summer time to the Bookmobile to check out books. Prominent still were ball fields where my dad would hit pop-flys for his four older boys or play football. I decided then that this would be the day I would reenter the true essence of all I had left behind of my childhood before moving to Wallingford. In reality what dramatic or instilled memory does any child have of childhood other than their school and friends? I had longed wished I could walk the halls as an adult to see what it was that had permeated my memory for so long, today was the day.

I approached the massive building, and in doing so was transported back in time to a simpler, happier, and carefree time when innocence was bliss. Much to my surprise very little if anything had changed. I walked into the main office and was greeted by a nice secretary who I told I was considering locating nearby and enrolling my daughter. I prefaced this with the fact that I too had once been enrolled and was equally curious to again walk the halls. The woman was immediately warm and accomodating as she explained the achievements and advantages of attending Garettford Elementary. So often your past is jarred by a familar smell and this day was no exception, as I could smell the old wooden doors, cabinets, and teacher's desks. She encouraged me to walk anywhere I wanted and told me she was available for any questions. I felt the same lump in my thgroat as I did on the first day of Mrs. West's kindergarten class when my mom walked me in crying not to go.

I logically started at the beginning. I went into Mrs. West's classroom, still looming as large as I remembered were the room-width blackboards; somewhat of a throwback I thought since so many "modern classrooms now use dry erase boards. I could remeber milk and graham crackers here. I then went to the first library I had ever been in; it seemed small by comparison to my childhood memory yet still it had the familiar and deliciously musty odor of old books. After this I walked downstairs to Mrs. Garret's first grade class remembering my schoolboy crush on her as I sat in the now empty and sweltering classroom. I remember her teaching us about the Apollo space program and watching the launches huddled around an old 19" black and white with rabbit ears. Across the hall was Mrs. Scott's 2nd grade class, it was here I learned about tracing one's family roots and made my first family tree.

I ambled down the hall to the cafeteria; still the largest assemby area of the school, it's two sets of double fire doors leading to the massive playgrounds where kickball was king. After here I went up to the second floor to Ms. Johnson's third grade class, this too was very clear to me as I remembered how young and beautiful she was. She taught us about the bigger world that lay outside of our own protective neighborhoods. It was in her class that I made a passport and drew a picture of Buckingham Palace, this memory would come back to me when I would eventually stand before the real palace 16 years later on my first of many visits to London. Next I would go to my favorite class-- the artroom. This was a place I loved, and just like the library it too held magical memories in the smell of the paint, the kiln, and the myriad of art supplies. It's relevance further heighten by the fact that my first art teacher, Mina Segal is to this day a wonderfully close and loved friend of my family; one whose art hangs in my house in Florida.

The unlocking of these any so many other childhood memories have better prepared myself for the inevitability of change. Change comes in many forms; location, job, marriage, divorce, and sadly death. For now that's something that seems to be on hold, though I know it's there waiting, not just for my father but all of us. If nothing my trip back home to see my father through this time whatever the outcome, allowed me time that I hadn't been able to afford during past visits. The time for reflection is often times one that is a luxury that we don't allow ourselves for whatever reasons. Sometimes the terrain is too painful, or maybe we just get so caught up in our busy lives, whatver the reason I'm glad I took the time to remember the many good times long since past as I pondered my father's fate. Equally important are the friends and family that line our paths in life, and in this department I have been blessed. It's been a tough two weeks, one full of crying, laughing and wondering. The only constant has been my many friends who have either supported my by email, the phone or in person. For them I am grateful and humbled, and wish them all well. It would seem that often the best way home, is the long way home.

Laughing Through My Tears

When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.-- William Shakespeare

We've done a lot of both......

PAYNTERinPHILLY

As Harry Chapin said..."All my life's a circle", God knows this is true. PinF touched down on Wednesday 7/13 with a heavy heart and a mission. Judging by the lack of feedback by the many I know who read PinF, my latest blogs have been heavy. I know this. Life is heavy. Death is heavy. Still life is a CIRCLE, and an bitterly sweet and painful one at that..........................

Still what I found here in Philly is four brothers grieving four different ways, all trying their best to do all they can for a father whose health continues to spiral in ways we cannot understand. What is life, if not the one's you love and hold dear? I am now asking this daily as I deliver unto my father my unrequited love and support in his hospital room. This week has been incredibly painful and retrospective in ways I cannot properly put into words. I am residing for all intents and purposes in a hospital room 10 hours a day. I love my dad, hence my presence here, having dropped completely my life in Florida. Still love isn't always enough when dealing with end of life issues.....I'm trying to do what's right by my dad....

Media has been somewhat of a pressure release as of late......going from hospital to friends...still I come back to the reality of the hospital and what is ultimately to come...God knows it isn't what I'm ready for...yet it's what we've all been preparing for.....more later

Feliz Cumpleanos Sophia!

HAPPY 7TH BIRTHDAY SOPHIA!









Well the fashion party was a huge hit, the "high heel" pinata was beaten to a pulp and another year has gone. Sophia is 7. Seven years really isn't that much time, though when you speak of 7 years of parenting it seems as if an eternity, like I can't even remember life without her. Strange. Still it's been 7 years of fun, laughter, and learning - about what it is to be a parent, and more importantly a father. Sophia has enriched my life in ways I could have only imagined.....Happy Birthday Bu. I added a few "montage" photos of her along the way, not the best quality, but I wanted them still. I'll add some from her party later......

Destinies, Dads and Daughters

EDITORS NOTE: I received an email complaining-- well not really complaining, more like commenting - that I have yet to once mention the weather here in Florida as I said I would in my profile. Well let me see.....hold on, straining to look out the window....OK Weather: Partly cloudy, VERY hot, and winds are ominously gaining strength, a harbinger of what is to come to our neighbors to the west....God help those in the path of Dennis...it looks BIG.


So anyway I'm watching the news, just as shocked as anyone else of course, and it occurs to me how in a "blink of an eye" life can be snatched, not to unlike the recent shark attacks here in my sunny state. Who could have EVER imagined three years ago -- a plane, some buildings, and thousands of fathers, mothers, sons and daughters not coming home? So I'm thinking the same thing...who would ever imagine as you head off on your way to work that the double decker bus you so innocently believe will deliver you to your destination will become a sardine can of deadly shards, mayhem and death? In an instant. Boom. Which brings me to my point.

So often we're told "never go to bed mad", "always tell the ones you love what you want to say while you can"...."say you're sorry even if you aren't"....how true is this? I'm thinking of this because as I write this now my Father lies in a hospital bed, his future quite uncertain. It becomes so apparent when you see your own parent's frailities what Bob Marley meant when he said "...once a man and twice a child...", as we are all destined by our own human weaknesses to eventually revert back to our childlike existance as we age. Thank God, I feel as though I've always taken the time to tell my father what I felt, though the physical separation during this period is straining. Do I go to Philly only if his time seems near? That seems kind of harsh but it is a reality, as I have already planned for three weeks of vacation in August to spend time with him and others. My brothers have the burden of having to live in this reality whereas I only have my imagined fears, which is worse I'm not sure.

The contrast of my father's approaching last days is contrasted by his granddaughter, my daughter- Sophia's birthday this Saturday. I am faced with dread, worry, and fear for my father all the while knowing I must also face the joy, excitement and blessing of my own child as she excitedly awaits her 7th birthday party. A fact that reminds me of my own time on this earth. Parenting is such an equal lesson in both your parents' past, as it is in your own future. Keeping this in mind I try to not to take the "little moments" for granted with my own daughter's life. Knowing full well that the little moments that we as adults assign little consequence to are usually the most etched in our childhood memories. I like so many friends, family and indeed all people will very soon face my father's mortality, it's disconcerting and sad and made even more worrisome by the fact that it could happen before I could be physically there. Just as so many of those poor people in London now know; life rarely ends when we expect it, nor are any of us granted the time we'd like, to say the things we wanted.

Perhaps if any good at all comes of these recent events, it would be that we all take the time to reflect how important and loved our family and friends are in our lives. And then maybe we will all endeavour not to put off telling them so, or staying mad at someone for what I'm sure will seem ridiculous reasons when the time is too late. I know myself that Sophia and I always tell each other how much we love each other every day, and if I lose my temper I ALWAYS tell her why, and that I'm sorry. Always. She may come to realize many things she did not know about her father over the course of her life, knowing how much I loved her will not be one of them. These are the lessons of our lives, the ones we're so sure we already knew when our parents were trying to teach them to us.

As of right now my thoughts are with my father, so I don't have much in the way of anecdotal funny thoughts...that'll come though. Regardless what happens, I've had a lot of fun with my Dad, and a lot of great memories, God willing he'll pull through and we'll have a few more when I get to Philly in August. Still I am comforted in knowing that he knows how I feel, and though he wasn't much for sharing his feelings, I know how he felt too. So in this department I'm good. I guess no one is ever ready to say goodbye to anyone they've known all their lives, whether you get the chance -- or in the case of those poor souls in London yesterday - you don't.

Sharks are Lurking Everywhere.....

As I sat on the beach reading the days' news enjoying my fourth of July holiday with my wonderful little gapped-toothed girl, I was stuck by what a metaphor sharks are in real life. Never really being able to relax due to the recent spate of Florida shark bites prompted me to enter the water with Sophia, keeping one eye on her and one eye on our general patch of water. It struck me what a strange way to enjoy something that has come so naturally to me all my life...I am now faced with the fact that there are REAL dangers around us-- all the time in fact. These dangers are often either ignored or placed way back in our conciousness, nevertheless any parent knows of what I speak.

I went into to the water even though I was more comfortable reading my paper because I thought to myself this is what is was like for all the other shark victims families-- relative calm and fun interupted by abject horror and mayhem. In a sense my imagination got the best of me so I figured the best way to allay that fear was to be with my daughter in the water...all 24inches of it, as I kept her close. Sure I realize the lottery winning odds of being bitten by a shark are incredible, but when it comes to something as precious as your child why tempt fate, right? Suffice to say there weren't any shark attacks on this fine day, just children laughing, frolicking and parents smearing sunblock...it was a sunny, typical fourth of July...

The metaphor of the shark hit me as I read of yet another horrible child abuse/abduction, when the little girl in Idaho was released. What could possibly strike more fear into any parents' heart than their innocent child being attacked by a man-eating fish? The answer to this was easy as I read the all too familar stories of these montrously evil people who abduct and torture other people's children with less regard for humanity than a shark. After all, a shark is doing what it is genetically programmed to do..feed. The appetite of these land monsters in our midst is troubling,worrisome and scary. It is in this vain that I have educated myself as to where predators live within relation to me, thankfully the Florida Law Enforcement website affords this capability. Still any unguarded moment whether in front of your house or in front of your beach chair has in it the makings of a nightmare--just turn on the news and look at the children from Camden, the girl in Aruba, the child in Idaho...it's enough to make you want to move to an island off of New Zealand.

I recall fondly my childhood of relative safety and security when I could ride my bike just about anywhere, literally. This fact was supported by my mother's only real fear, which was that us children would mind the traffic lights and intersections...not pedophiles and kidnappers. I have probably cast an overly protective eye on my daughter and will continue to do so for the forseeable future, as it appears we live in a world that is not safe...just as the ocean is dangerous, so too is the land we walk. I try to imagine the fear, pain and sorrow any number of these parents must feel and I think I can to a degree; though I suspect my empathy is a million miles off from their reality.

The lesson? There are many. None more important though than to teach children to fight, scream, and run. For I know with certainty if some sick person is of the mind to abscond with a child, that child has one chance to call for help, or fight....sad but true. It's sad that the world we live in is becoming increasingly dangerous, what with terrorism, encroaching widlife and now even your own neighbors you must constantly cast a jaundiced eye on even the most innane situations. I for one try to make my child aware that there is no one who has been authorized to "pick her up" on my behalf, or has anyone been given any authorization to touch her anywhere--period. It's a fine line -- education vs. innocence, though I suspect I'd rather sacrifice a bit of that innocence for the protection it affords........

Long in the Tooth

Haven't posted as of late, I guess I was non-inspired since Sophia had traveled to Venezuela for eight days and I guess this left me with a void. Suffice to say she's back...and with her came the same old wiggly front tooth I sent her away with, you know the one--the first front tooth. She had lost her real "first" tooth oddly enough on Christmas Eve, it was a minor player in the mouth, the front bottom one....of course it presented traffic problems in the house that night as I had to set out refreshments for both Santa and the tooth fairy, not to mention a note to each informing which snack was for who...Phew..Anyway back to the current oral crisis, the Big Kahuna front tooth, loose for weeks on end now, and nearing the conclusion just prior to her departure for Venezuela, I was sure it would be out by the time I picked her up in Miami. How she managed to squeeze another eight days out of that tooth I'm not sure, it was to the point of "flopping" when she spoke. She almost started to sound like Winthrop in the "Music Man", turning her "S's" into "TH's"...still no matter what incentive I offered (and I offered a King's ransom) she wouldn't pull it out.

So I began a new campaign; an all new strategy intended to get that tooth under her pillow. I began preparing foods that might precipitate the ouster of this already "Famous Fang"...corn on the cobb, crunchy garlic bread...and the most secret weapon? No more ice cream desert in the bowl...it was now to be served in a cone. Despite the intended results, Sophie was able to gnawl through her foods like a hamster, adapting to her "flapping in the wind" tooth and eating on her side teeth...she was more than up to my strategy...I had to regroup.

Finally, on Friday night I noticed that the "pint sized chicklet" was now literally hanging by a pulpy string of flesh, I could have blown on it and knocked it loose--yet still she was able to eat her meals, devour her desert and brush her teeth, all done with such skill as to not interfere, displace or touch the "wiggly one"!? I fully admit to considering sneaking in and plucking it out myself....yet I knew I had to let "nature" run it's course.

Low and behold I found myself dreaming away Saturday morning only to be awoken by a tickling sensation in my hand....slowly opening my eyes I saw Sophie trying to place her little pearl white tooth into my palm. I awoke to see her gapped toothed smile proudly retelling the tale of how she awoke to find her tooth missing...she subsequently did a cursory search of her sleeping area and found the little nugget. Can I tell you how proud she was? It was as if she had been working for weeks to bring this event to a conclusion....(I guess in her way she was)-and here she was now, telling anyone and everyone she spoke to about her "tooth".

Funny how your child's life serves as a mirror to your own...God knows I haven't given any thought to losing my own tooth probably since I did it 37 years ago. But it all came back to me, the feeling of relief and accomplishment when you cross one of the many "milestones" of your pre-adult life. And losing your first front tooth is just that- a milestone, one I'm sure she won't forget and neither will I as I immediately got my camera and captured as many images as I could of her little face beaming with pride over her new gap.

A short footnote to this event would be the going rate for the "Tooth Fairy"....suffice to say this is one instance I'm happy to be a parent to only one child. Lets just say it costs about a pizza these days due to inflation and such, still it was worth every penny.