Fragile Like Glass

The ocean lies before me with its hypnotic rhythm gently lapping the sand under my tired toes. I set my chair down, sip my coffee, and breathe in the air, trying to be in the moment, absorbing the natural beauty. The occasional pelican shatters the smoothness of the ocean, an inverted predator seeking unseen prey. The sun supported by its low arc on the horizon makes itself known. I feel its warmth on my face, and I squint from its glare. I am home. My journey took me on an exhilarating, familiar path, one that I've traveled many times before: before I was a father and all that stood before me and adventure was the open road and which direction to choose. I remind myself that I'm really home, my motorcycle parked after having logged thousands of miles on the ride north. I traveled home in support of my father, heavy with worry for the changes time was placing on his health and, ultimately, his life. I knew also that these events were transforming something in me as well. My time spent with my father had never seemed as temporary as these past few weeks. My father's health and escalating frailties were etched in my mind and conflicting with the man I knew not long ago. I've learned how a child's recognition of his parents' vulnerabilities to aging appears in moments of sheer sadness wrapped in ephemeral fear. Yet somehow this whole crazy combination gets draped in a nostalgic fondness as the child becomes the protector and parents the protected.

In the past five months I buried a marriage while trying to keep from burying a parent. No one ever tells you about the unique challenges your parent's are facing while you are busy being a kid dreaming about being an adult yourself someday. Ironically, when you eventually realize such truths, you childishly long for the simplistic innocence and familiar fears of your childhood. Though long gone from your body, they somehow sit behind your vision on the world. I still see my childhood whenever I look into my daughter's eyes. Every time she says she can't wait to grow up, I, too, remember saying this. I remember also looking at my dad and thinking he'd always be big and strong, and I'd always be small. I know now that that road to self-discovery is forever lined by such mental billboards. Still, how do you tell a seven year-old to stop and enjoy her youth, her innocence, and this carefree time of life? I can't, so I don't. Instead I knowingly agree as my own parents did with me and wait for that time when my daughter will know the secret, too.

I 'm here now at the beach where I always come when I need to balance my world. I'm often reminded of John F. Kennedy's quote where he relates man's quest and affinity for the oceans of the world as something so natural, so logical, reasoning that the earth is made up of three quarters water and so, too, is the human body. The simplicity of such a thought makes sense - the vastnesses, the ebb, and the flow - all reminding me that the ocean is life itself. I have my coffee, my journal, and I'm about to completely zone out of the thoughts, worries, and concerns I've carried for weeks, surrendering them to the life force of the sea as I wade along its edge. Almost magically, I begin to feel the tenseness drain from my mind, and a sense of restorative calm take its place as I slowly amble through the morning tide. It is 8:30 am, and I've just arrived after taking my daughter, Sophia, to school. I am surrounded by the beauty of all that is unique to Florida: the palm trees, the turquoise water, and by virtue of the month, the absence of tourists. The sun sits directly in front of me now, low on the horizon, but quickly rising in both heat and position. Fishermen cast from the pier and the lifeguard yawns lazily as he opens his station for another day. I am readjusting to the pace of my life again, still enjoying my vacation and my solitude, allowing myself quiet and reflective time just to enjoy the beach. And yet, my mind still pulses from the riding adventure, and I am drawn back to specific memories of where I've been and the people I saw.

Those who truly know me know there's nothing more I enjoy than a do-nothing-day at the beach with a good book and some music. This is exactly what I have on my hands today. The sea is silken and glistens in the sun. Days like these allow me to search for smoothly shaped and uniquely colored beach glass that has washed ashore with the new day's tide. I've just returned from the beaches of my youth in New Jersey and found not one piece in seven days. Why you can't find these gems in New Jersey, I can only guess. Could it be the prohibition of alcohol on the beach, thereby negating a steady flow of glass bottles? Florida has no such laws to prohibit people from bringing anything to the beach, which creates a laissez-faire atmosphere with regard to personal beach intrusions. Beach glass collecting is something done more here in Florida than up north for just this reason. My daughter, Sophia, has become caught up in the hunt as well and has a little jar next to her bed with her "stash."

I walk slowly along the beach scanning the tidal deposits for tiny bits of colored glass like a prospector looking for gold. For me, it is in the discovery that I learn the patience required for the search. Though unlike gold veins, the beach re-deposits a fresh batch everyday, creating an endless supply of gems, provided the searcher is determined. My mind is drifting to the music that fills my ears as I walk while the sun continues its steady rise over my shoulders. The warm turquoise water gently laps at my ankles, a constant reminder of how relaxing and mindless such therapy can be. Before someone can even attempt to look for these little nuggets, it helps to understand the order of discovery when searching a beach. I know glass comes in an endless spectrum of colors, though when searching for it on the beach; it primarily appears in five different ones. In order of rarity, the rarest being the first, they would fall into this order: Red, Blue, White, Greenish-blue, Brown. In my eight years of searching, I've only ever found one red one, just one. So it could be said that red beach glass could be considered the "holy grail" of beach glass collecting. Once the "order" is understood, a collector can begin to appreciate the uniqueness of each piece against the backdrop of literally tens of thousands of shells that serve as each piece's subterfuge.

The red glass represents family: rare, irreplaceable, and unique. It is rare to see red bottles or glassware because they are finite in number as are family members. The lesson is that in life we will be given few rare pieces, so they must be nurtured, cherished, and cared for. A lost treasure can never be replaced. Luckily I was able to be with every single one of my red pieces: my parents and four brothers. The next rarest color is cobalt blue. This color represents the few true life-long friends any of us can hope to have in life everyone will have at least one, sometimes more if we're lucky. These are the friends that are loved as if they were family; they are also the friends with whom we can pick right up where we left off one, five or even ten years later. These people are friends in spite of your faults and flaws. These two core groups in our lives are both precious and rare; I spent time with both-- mixing equal parts of fun, laughter and a few tears sprinkled with some shared pain. Still, no matter the moment or circumstance, these people and the influence they have over our lives can never be diminished due to their unique beauty and rarity.

The cloudy white or clear glass, though more common, is also a hard find on most days. This color speaks of another core of friends; though less connected than the others, they are no less dear. These are the friends we all hold dear in our lives though we may occasionally lose track of them, and they remain in our hearts and thoughts forever. I was blessed to be reminded of this often unique type of friendship when I was invited for lunch by a dear friend, someone introduced to me by my mother, but a long-standing friend of mine all the same. The respect, admiration, and joy I feel for this woman and her two children is immense, as they continue to navigate through the loss of both husband and father much too soon in their collective lives. The hours spent with these three on my trip were profound in retrospect, as this family's courage and tenacity are a lesson in the dignity of overcoming true loss and heartache. And like looking through a fine piece of clear glass, I can see their spirits shine through even the cloudiest of days.

The next glass found with certain regularity is the greenish-blue variety or the dark green ones. These represent all the wonderful people who make up the experiences along life's journey, and I met many on mine as I traveled by both motor-cycle and train. If nothing else, the slow train home allowed me to really get to know fellow traveler s for once - from the retired widowed school teacher, to the underprivileged student from Washington DC attending college on a scholarship in Florida. These are the many pieces that are common in our lives and often serve as content for our character. Though we may never see these fleeting strangers again, they all combine to change our life's direction, if only by an inch, because they crossed our path. These, too, are valuable and necessary pieces in the design of life's mosaic.

The most common glass found is the Budweiser brown type. These pieces are quite fitting as they represent the everyman that all of us are surrounded by throughout life. These are the peripheral people who we meet in our daily comings and goings, hence the total ease in discovering such pieces. In my "jar," I have but one red piece, several blues, a few more whites, and a handful of the blue-green ones. Seventy percent of my jar is populated by brown pieces of ocean-smoothed glass. The similarities of glass and people don't end with just colors because like glass, people, too, are fragile. And like glass, people can be shaped over time, though some take longer than others. In the case of glass, its smoothness represents maturation, experience, and wisdom, all traits we like to find in each other. In life we yearn to be with people whose rough and sharp edges have been worn off to reveal the true nature and beauty of the person stripped of pretenses and worn smooth by experience and wisdom.My search for these pieces of glass continues, and it is not unlike our own searches for friends of distinction and character; both are valuable and unique. Today my search yielded one cobalt, two white, four light bluish-green, ten brown. I'm still on vacation, so I'll be at it again tomorrow just enjoying the newest memories of my family, friends, the good times we shared, and the similarities of life's crystalline lessons to the fragile similarities that connect us all.

Motorcycle Diaries Part II...

Ok.....PinF has made back and in relatively good shape. The VStrom performed exceptionally. I have many tales and a few photos.....I just need to get some rest...stay tuned the mother of all blog posts is coming....the editorial staff is busy collecting the many tales of these here MC Diaries as reported to PinF.......

Ok, so where to start? Well at the beginning of course. First, I would be remiss not to give thanks to God for delivering me safely through roughly a thousand miles of journeying. 2005 has brought many changes to PinF's life. Unlike years past when I still had my relative independence, not to mention freedom of responsibility to no one but myself, I now have the daily responsibility to little Sophia. Still with many responsibilities come equal blessings; I have never been more aware of these blessings than I have in this past year. Still I am a wanderer at heart, always have been, so it was an obvious choice to reconnect to times long since passed where I could just pick up and go. The older I've become the more I've realized that no matter where you go, or what you do in life your problems and blessings go with you. Still it was the solitude and independence I craved, the ability to go where I wanted, when I wanted, and this facet of my sojourn was realized.

DAY1....Watched as my teary eyed daughter again had to see her father leave for the second time in under a month; the first time due to my unexpected visit to care for my father in July. Explaining matters of the heart, family, and death to children is often a fruitless task, today would be no exception as you would have thought I was shipping out to Iraq judging by Sophie's reaction. The hardest part of any journey is always the first step, this was proving to be true as I watched her leave sobbing inconsolably with her mami to school. With the emotion of the moment I jumped on the bike, fired her up and turned onto I95 north. I first had to stop for some cash, this is where my first omen would occur as I left my debit card in the machine; blame it on my head not being in the moment, though who could blame me?

I plowed forward depsite this minor inconvenience, the bike laden down with all the necessary road gear and music. I had the earplugs on and I was soon jamming to Citizen Cope as I steadily settled in for my 200 mile journey to the train depot in Sanford Florida, 25 miles northeast of Orlando. The sky was cobalt blue as the feeling of complete freedom swept over me like the wind that was now rushing past me at 80MPH. I was struck by the low lying puffy clouds that seem to be a fixture of Florida, and as I drove the road slowly opened up more and more to the rural beauty that is central Florida. I stopped an hour into the ride to change CD's, this time going to Bob Marley "Exodus", without doubt my most loved album of all time. I was soon in a world cut off from all stress, worry, or care as I slowly played the songs in my ears to the memories in my mind of so many great times lived where this album had played so prominently in the moment.

I was nearing Sanford by 1pm, the heat of the day was nearing 100 and yet it all felt good. The music, the freedom, the bike. It was as if I had been transported back to earlier times when I would hop on my cycle with probably no more than $10 and just drive; mind you, ten dollars bought a hell of lot more gas then too. I finally arrived in Sanford, which for anyone who has never had the pleasure is similar to Gibbstown NJ, only with alot more tattoo parlors and bars. Not to mention a major rail hub running through it. .......more to follow

Motorcycle Diaries....sort of

I love trains. I love the deliberate-ness of their motion. We live in such a fast world anymore these days that it's nice to slow it all down ocassionally. You leave Florida and BAM! you're in Philly in 2 hours. PinF is tired of this quickness. Although my body may arrive on time, my mind has missed the flight; the reason being is it's still back at the gate where I was kissing my sweet daughter good-bye. It's almost like people have forgotten how to relax, slow down, and take our time. It seems life has to always be about how fast something is. To this ends, I am combining the two things I love; one fast, and one slow.

PaynterinFlorida will be embarking on his own Motorcycle/Train Diaries, courtesy of none other than Amtrak's Autotrain. That's right I'm leaving the driving to them; well sort of anyway. PinF will embark from his humble abode in Florida and travel north on I95 to Sanford,Florida just east of Orlando; from here I will load my VStrom 1000 on board. The train leaves the station at 4pm and is scheduled to arrive in Lorton, Virginia the next morning at 8am; essentially eliminating 800 see-nothing, boring miles of torture for yours truly. Instead of driving all night through squadrons of mosquitoes in Georgia, and South Carolina, PinF will be sipping a Johnnie Walker Black as he cruises the rails doing 70 MPH. Instead of dodging semi's and smokies, PinF will be relaxing to a wonderful sit down steak dinner in the restaurant car, with a nice glass of Pinot.

Have I grown lazy? Old?...no. I've grown wiser. About fourteen years ago me and the Flashman made a bike trip from Philly to Florida and back. My trip was highlighted by a near fatal occurence at 80MPH when my engine threw a rod right through the crankcase narrowly missing my ankle, this in turn created a catastrophic loss of oil nearly creating a fatal accident. Suffice to say I was trapped in "twilight zonish" Mayberry-esque, NC town for about three hours until such time as I could hawk the remains of my bike to a dirt farmer, grab a twelve pack, and head back the rest of the way courtesy of none other than AMTRAK. So this time I plan on using AMTRAK only this time it's on my terms. I have the necessary items: great book, Ipod, bottle of Johnnie and a notepad. I am totally psyched to S L O W L Y arrive at my destination....I am tired of the immediate-ness of airplanes, and need to slow it down for this trip. 2005 has been a year of incredible change and tumult, so it is with great anticipation that I begin my journey home.

And so as I now begin the journey, I can report that the bike is loaded, good-byes have almost been said and my adventures await. PinF intends to traverse several "states", both physically and mentally. I plan on seeing old friends, attending some good shows, and chilling on some familiar beaches. All of these things allow one to reconnect to their inner purpose and recognize that life isn't about all work, it's about enjoying time for yourself, with family and good friends. For me the best part of the trip is the solitude and the anonymity that train travel affords; no phones, no mail just the open rails and roads that await PinF. I'll be posting as I go......

Funny Thing Happened....

So it wasn't pretty. I warned them, I told them, I was completely clear that if you lean towards BUSH then my last post wasn't gonna be for you. Yet they still came, a minority mind you; but they were vigorous just the same. Incredible because PinF rarely mixes politics in public, especially when it comes to military forces. Preferring to keep it bit more personal and certainly more simple, commenting on the human condition and the journey therein. In actuality I wasn't really ripping into US policies as much as I was the Jaguar driving Republican bitching at the gas pump last week, (I see prices have adjusted yet again--upward).

For the most part I found that most people were understanding of what I was saying, not that PinF gives a rat's ass if they don't. Sparks began to fly when the younger "right" leaning high school set sounded off....and even this was cool, until some 15 yr old started using language that was kind of uncalled for...attacking not just PinF, but those who made their opinions known here. PinF welcomes all opinions and encourages diversity of views yet PinF had to excercise great control to maintain decorum and not drop the riteous axe of retribution on those less schooled in their choice of words. That saddest part of this was that it would appear that junior high today is heavy on current events, but seriously lacking in spelling skills. Suffice to say, MofC was always popping in to lighten things a bit, so for every angry rant there was some nonsense from Holland peppering the "debate".

What can I say, these are the times we live in here in America. Maybe when PinF's detractor's graduate from high school, they'll be able to travel abroad and get the pulse of our world neighbors, because America is better than this. I still maintain if you took $100 BILLION dollars, and invested a bit more altrusictally, well we could have wiped out a few diseases at the very least. Of course PinF will have to pick and choose his topics carefully in the future; though I still maintain that the majority of America realizes now what we've done was wrong. And with that I leave it alone.....

Art yet again, art mimics life. While reviewing the soon to be released Jah Works album, I stumbled onto Skanking Scotty Paynter's newest chant against this madness in the middle east and decided to put it out there. As we speak the editorial board here at PinF is deciding what volitale topic to comment on later today....betcha can't wait eh?

GA$ ? Where's the Outrage?

One thing PinF has tried not be is a political commentary forum. The one exception of course was my blog dated May 24th "Memorial Day +4". Other than this I have remained on the outside of the political arena regarding the foreign policy mess this country has found itself in.

I should now take the time to ask anyone who doesn't want to hear this to close my blog now. You're a George W supporter? You may want to leave. You support the war in Iraq? You might as well leave too.

I hate to sound cliche, but I too initially supported the mission and the vision put forth by the "W"hite House when we invaded to remove WMD's and chase the human right's abusing regime to hell. I was proud of the troops then, and I am proud of them now; probably more so now, since many of them leaving for the front lines actually have a clearer picture of what awaits them now, as opposed to the initial deployments. Yet through it all this "W"hite House seems to be watching a different news channel and reading different news reports of the day to day realities of our "experiment". Of course we have to "stay the course", what choice do we have now? We've literally stirred a hornet's nest of hatred in the muslim world that should reap years of hatred towards westerners in general, and Americans in specific.

Todays rant is brought to you by the letter "G" as in GA$. I pulled up to my local Amoco like I do every morning to get the Palm Beach Post, and inside is a guy bitching to Haji about the $2.67 per gallon price, to which Haji responded he is feeling it too, and will be closing his station. Now this guy bitching was a Rolex wearing, Jaguar driving, Palm Beach pimp of the "W" persuasion. I walked out behind him and a working class guy and listened as he continued to gripe about the gas to working class guy. Finally I said "thank George W", to which WCG said, "right on". Mr Jag, started jaw jacking about terrorists and "how someone" needed to do something about this..."...the standard non-sensical answer for spending $$$100BILLION$$$ dollars to screw up an entire region of the world, throwing the citizens of the world into jeopardy for decades to come.

So I said to the guy as I was driving off that his gas cost more than $2.67, it cost $2.67 and 1800 lives, and he has no one but George W to thank for his high priced fuel. (Which by the way he was more than able to afford as opposed to WCG). Where is the outrage? We just saw an entire community in Ohio who lost 20+ citizen soldiers from the same Marine reserve unit in the same town! Can it be that George has so perfectly massaged the economy and interest rates, that so long as the bottom line doesn't affect "me" the outrage is held in check? Can there be any other answer for the complacency regarding the slaughter of our precious troops so far from home for a cause less worthy than probably Vietnam? At least there we were engaged in the "Cold War" the idea though debunked now, seemed to hold merit at the time, that we needed to stem the tide of Soviet expansionism. What the hell are we stemming here? We're creating more terrorists, we've thrown the middle east into utter turmoil and we fattening the pockets of huge American corporations that make their money on war...oil companies, and defense contractors....yet we're not pissed off. I am. This is a joke.

Where are the all the sons and daughters of the record number of Republican voters from this past election? Why are we not meeting recruiting goals when so many of Americans (50million) demonstrated their support of "W's" vision at the polls? Surely there must be enough sons and daughters of the fervent "W" machine to fill the humvee's and Marine foot soldier positions. George better hope this economy that is based on inflated real estate and consumer incentives (see Ford and GM buyer incentives) can hold out until the end of his miserable blood letting term. If not, the mall of the Washington Monument will be filled with more than tourists...we'll have protesters finally calling attention to our miserably failing policies and horrible leadership.

School Day's

So I'm walking Sophia into her new school, Lighthouse Elementary, and I'm thinking I'm more nervous and excited than she is for the first day. She's got her uniform looking perfect, her mother has done her curly hair in pony tails, her backpack stuffed with supplies and lunch - she's ready.

And then I see it. The inevitable moment of truth for so many kids on their first day; tears, anguish, and anxiety. The "first time" parents are always easy to spot; inevitably they have their sunglasses on in an attempt to hide any tears they may shed that will only make it harder on their child. It's a tough scene to watch as it cuts to your own heart, yet it's also very beautiful as it represents in all of us the very first moment of breaking away, albeit a small break, but a signifcant one all the same.

Then there are the battle hardened vets, the mom's with three or four kids in tow. They've been there and done it, and really don't have time to coddle any one child more than other as she looks manic getting them together for a "first day of school" photo and sorting them to their classrooms. Still you know somewhere deep down inside that mom is secretly feeling the loss of yet another summer of her children's youth as well.

Sophia is prone to constantly asking me intrespective questions you don't expect from a seven year-old, "were you sad to go to school?" or "Papi,did your brothers walk with you to school too?". All types of questions that make me wonder about her, as she seems to wonder more about my childhood than her own, always seeking clues to my past. I guess it has a lot to do with the amount of time I spend talking about how "I remember this..." or "when I was a kid...". She's funny that way.

I do remember those moments though, and it's kind of funny because nothing jars them from you more than having to walk your own child into school on such a significant and poignant day. I remember sitting on the steps of Lasher road with my three brothers for a photo on the first day. I remember wearing our new school outfits and my mom walking all four of us to the huge playground where the teachers would be assembled to collect their students. I have a greater appreciation for what she must have felt that day, as I grew up in an era of mom's, not dad's. Dad was at work, these types of tasks were not of his duties, so I imagine the moment as hard as it felt as a child, must have been ten fold harder on my mom. Then again, who I am kidding, she probably loved getting us out of the house.

Still through it all, Sophia never let on that she wasn't ready or was feeling melancholic in the slightest. We opened the door to her new world today, and she leapt through it, like she always has. Thank God for this, as the anxiety is hard enough without your child resorting to tears. Her mother and I were there together for her like we've always been, something I will always do as I know that she feeds off of our dispostions. I could sense this moment wasn't as tough as past ones for both myself and Sophia's mami, good, as I cannot really handle anymore emotional moments this month.

As I left it occurred to me that today was my dad's 72nd birthday. How fitting that Sophie should start her new year on a day that in many ways represents a new start for my dad, his birthday. I called him on my way to work, and I thought how nice it was to hear his familar voice on this day, as it was such a short time ago that I couldn't imagine I'd be hearing it for much longer. He's slowly recovering, I know this because he's talking Eagles again. And so another school year is underway ......

CIRCLES

It wasn't more than a few weeks ago here at PinF that I had mentioned how life was really just a circle of events while quoting from the late Harry Chapin. Life, such as it is, really does present itself as a continual circle of lessons; lessons that are not possible to comprehend until the the child in us becomes an adult. And in the case of an adult becoming the parent, well this is really where you begin to understand the circle, and the true meanings of your childhood are revealed through your own child's experiences. I say this because it really isn't until one becomes a parent that you truly come to understand your own parent's wisdoms, hang ups and truisms; not to mention their insistance on manners, behavior, and dress codes.

Still, recent events had presented to me so many visits to my past; these contacts with my past allowed me to reconcile with my present. The hardest part of my recent ordeal was my separation from my daughter Sophia, yet in many ways this was also quite healthy for her and for me. It was actually like I never left, as we picked up where we left off - the beach, movies, and parks all dotting our weekend activities. Still, I'm amazed by the many circles I've encountered, either through lost friends found, lessons learned, and kindnesses received either in word or deeds.

This recognition of this "circle" was actually illuminated as I sat through "March of the Penguins" with Sophia last night, probably not the best film for a 7 year-old, (she preferred Sky High), but a beautiful film still. It chronicled what a continual circle life really is, and how more than any other animal, (maybe the starfish) the male emperor penguin is an astonshingly sacrificing species with regard to it's offspring. Suffering, starving, and sacrificing for months, all to protect the "egg"...and when it's over he goes his separate way, only to repeat this torture year after year. Talk about a circle.

So the incredible coincidence that has me believing in the circle theory is this: I went back to face my father's mortality and got to retrace my childhood memories. I stood in the principal's office having a perfect summer moment of childhood reminiscances as I casually strolled the hot, empty, halls of Garrettford Elementary school in Drexel Hill. The coincidence? My lifelong friend Tracey McHugh, a regular follower and ardent supporter of PinF, emails me to say she is friends with the current principal Wayne McAllister who also happens to be her neighbor. Weird, real weird. Not but a week before I'm viewing photos of his lovely family on the wall of his office being told by his secretary what a respected and loved administrator he is, then I get an email from Tracey, saying all the same things.

All of this was obviously fated for me. Two days earlier? I'm in the hospital and a nurse administator sees me from outside my father's room, she comes in and asks if I'm Tim Paynter? Turns out this is an old friend from many years ago, who had I not been in Delaware County Memorial Hospital, I probably would never have seen again. My brother Chris during one of his many visits bumped into a third grade friend from Garrettford who is now a nurse, again the circle phenomenon....

In a Yin/Yang sort of way, life has a knack for balancing itself. The words of Joni Mitchell say it best:

We're captive on the carousel of time
We cannot return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

Breaking Away...to School

So I'm now back to my life and all of its little annoyances and distractions both good and bad that go along with it. Most notably my daughter Sophia, who I am ever happily able to report is the most positive distraction in my life bar none. This has been a monumental year of change for me, but more importantly for her. She has watched her parents split up, start seperate lives and seperate homes. Far as I can tell she has adapted as well as any little soul could be expected to adapt, especially an only child. I am richly blessed to have both a daughter of wit and substance. She has a fierce spirit of wonder, intuition and gentleness all of which have served her well. We have kept busy rekindling our close bond that was delayed for 18 days as I journeyed through my father's illness and became his advocate while he was unable.

The biggest distraction I now face is school. Everytime I start to feel comfortable with being a father something such as "school supplies" comes around to make me feel as if someone might question my qualifications to be a father. It's a funny thing to still think young and remember exactly what it was like to be a kid, especially that last week of summer. I wonder if my parents with all the distractions of raising five boys even had the luxury of such thoughts. It's like I can't believe sometimes that I even have the "responsibility" that I have to this little girl. For instance, I have a list that was issued on my daughter's "school website" of needed supplies that she and I will go out shopping for first thing Saturday morning. This list is more akin to a college freshman than a second grader. I remember a few pencils, a three ring binder and a few book covers. Not today's kid's. Yet my tasks are made easy and carefree with her confident, excited nature as she eagerly awaits the start of the school year.

Sophia is everything I was not with regard to school. She cannot wait to start, whereas I was dreading the slow demise of my summer freedom, she is imploring me to go to Office Depot so she can get her supplies. This of course is one of life's equalizers, as it brings me joy to see such enthusiasm for learning. I'm reminded of how two years ago before her mother and I divorced when Sophia was to start kindergarten, all she wanted was to ride that school bus. Of course her mother and I were leaning more towards driving her her first few days, Sophia would have none of it. I mean kindergarten for christs sake, she wanted autonomy already. We finally settled on letting us escort her on her first day, and then we would allow her to try the bus, figuring she would get one taste of that and ditch it. So off the three of us went the two blocks from out house at 7:05 to Mars avenue to meet her 7:11 am pickup. There was a steely determination from both her and her mami as I nervously went over the "checklist" of" what to do's" if this happens......I had also made a tag I had her wearing with her name, her teacher's name and classroom number and our phone number, I even had it laminated the night before at Kinkos(I still have have it and will give it to her someday)

The moment of truth arrived that morning right on time, and as the bus doors swung open I saw the tears welling in my wife's eyes. Sophia bounded up the three steps, turned around and said " where do I sit Papi!?" I was so floored by her bravery and enthusiasm, that I told her "anywhere you want Sophie". Luckily for us the warm smiling black woman driving that bus was as much in love with her at first sight as we were, she put the bus's parking brake on and ushered Sophie into the seat right behind her, assuring us she would "keep an eye out for her". "Bye papi, bye mami!" was all she said. No tears, no fear, and absolutely no hesitation. None. I'll never forget seeing those big brown eyes peeping over the edge of the bus waving goodbye to us as I turned to my now crying wife to reassure her. She said to me "let's follow the bus and makes sure she's ok"... she knew this was not the right thing, yet a part of you wants to protect them through their whole day, though you know you cannot. I just put my arm around her and said "let her go", and so we walked back home that first day, wiping tears of pride and sadness at the same time. The both of us realizing silently that we had just taken a huge leap of faith and put our child's fate into someone else's hand for the first time. I'll be there again this year as I am every year, walking her in the first day with her mother, aware that soon, much sooner than we probably know she's going to want us to maybe just drop her at the curb. Because in the end that's what we want our children to learn - to be independent, yet its the hardest lesson we can teach, because their independence is ultimately our loss.

Recollections.......

I've been recollecting the past 20 days of my life remembering all of the little details I either didn't remember when they occured, or possibly dimissed because of the pain they might have caused. I'm left with a lot of hard memories of sadness, worry, anxiety and dread. Still despite all of this, PinF is able to recall many more happy, supportive, funny and hopeful moments. Conclusion? Life is good.

I left Florida full of dread and worry for what I would find, and for the most part my initial impressions proved true to my fears. Something I hadn't mentioned throughout this ordeal was the person I met seated next to me on the airplane as I rushed home to Philly from Florida. He was a guy about my age, he and I minded our own business for much of the flight until about and hour out of Philadelphia when we finally sparked some small talk.
"You live in Philly?" he asked
"No I'm just headed home to see family" I said trying to hide the true nature of my visit for fear of the emotions it would conjure just blelow the surface.
I asked him the same, he said he actually lived in Baltimore, to which I told him my brother did also. He said he had never heard of JahWorks, a fact that almost made me dismiss him as boring. Then he told me what he was doing in Florida.
He told me of his cousin, she was 38 married, with twin 3 year-olds. He said he just come from her husband's funeral. Apparently her husband was in the Bahamas for July fourth on his boat doing what the ex-Navy SEAL loved--fishing with his best friend, when he had a boating accident. He told me of how they had begun to realize their dream of building a house on a canal, and how he worked so hard to make that dream a reality. After many dangerous situations after 10 years in the SEALS, he had retired and began building a life for his family.

The whole dream was shattered in an instant when his boat hit an errant unmarked buoy throwing his cousin-in-law into the windshield and off the boat. His best friend survived and raised an SOS, unfortunately it was too late. This guy spoke of the crushing finality of the funeral and the utter shock of his grieving cousin and their twin children, not to mention the hundreds of friends who attended. He then pulled from his travel folder a picture of the guy taken almost prophetically an hour before his death as he stood on the bow of his boat looking west into a fading sun, his strong figure silouetted in the sun. This photo was used on the funeral mass card. It was almost eerie, as he gazed in the swirling sky.

My new friend then asked me what I was doing in Philly. I told him I was heading back because my father was in grave shape and may in fact not be alive when I arrived. "Wow" he said, and proceeded to push the button for the steward and ordered us two bloody mary's. We were quite the aisle that morning; him grieving and me dreading. We had a drink and he told me how he was off to Machu Pichu in Peru to think things over. I thought about this and wished I was going too, as I told him I had longed to see the lost city. He said that in fact I was going right where I should be, to have my chance to say goodbye. He was right. This all serves to reinforce what I said earlier, that too many times we don't get that chance, so in a very small way I felt a bit more prepared and at ease. I've been thinking of that woman lately, and her two children. They live not far from me. I've wondered how they've been coping. I hope they're finding some comfort in the fact that their daddy and husband died doing something he loved; because it's a hell of thing to leave and never come back to tell the ones we love, just how much we really do.

Cleared for Landing

PinF is officially back in the sunshine state after a totally unplanned emotionally draining 2 1/2 weeks. I will now begin to download all I have seen, done, and learned through this emotionally charged life learning experience. Kind of weird to be back in a way as the past several weeks were the longest amount of time I've spent in PA. since I left in '97........more to follow soon as I make sense of it all. As for now, I have a daughter who's missed me terribly-- as have I also missed her. The upside to this is I haven't seen a bill in the mail for weeks.......until I got home.......Check back later for the latest installment of PinF from Florida........