On The Way To Cape May........

Rainy Day Review

Warm and rainy in south Florida today, Father's Day. Makes for an easy excuse to laze about the house and reflect. Enjoyed a nice service at church with my reason for being a father, Sophia. She delivered her father's day gift to my bed at 7am, further reinforcing what a deliberately good and nice child she is, illustrating once more that despite personal losses and set backs I have much more to be grateful for than regretful or sad.

Chilling in the kitchen with all the things I love on a Sunday morning.
1. New York Times Sunday edition. 2. A pot of fresh brewed coffee. 3. Fresh bread from the bakery toasting lightly as it prepares to meet my Norwegian smoked salmon. 4. A wireless internet connection on my laptop, allowing me to peruse newspapers and events worldwide as I enjoy my breakfast, this on "my day". 5. And finally, music. The naturally melancholic day brought forth by the ominously puffy rain clouds combined with the sadness of my father not being here has me falling back to an old classic.

There are but 10 albums PinF would need should he ever be cut off from the world. Just ten, they encompass all musical genre's and moods; each explaining a different layer of my own experience. As I sit here and listen to one of the single best albums ever made, I'm cognizant of how much of who I am and what I like is so similar to my own father. He loved his newsapaper and coffee, and had he been here today I most definitely would have found him doing almost the exact same thing I'm doing upon my obigatory father's day phone call--difference being he would be chilling to Sinatra.

So I carry on-- as I am now the dad, and Sophia looks to me. She's printing out her father's day tribute on the desk top as I sit here pondering my day, and indeed the year that has been to date. By now I'm sure you're all wondering just what is that "top ten album"? Let me say this--there are very few truly timeless albums that speak the same truths to the generations who've listened to them. Equally so, there are few albums that will raise social, moral, and religious consciousness. PinF digs this type of music. Music of substance for the heart as well as the soul. Lyrically the music must drive the message, it isn't enough to be just an instrumental compostion, that leaves much to much to interpretation. The lyrics serve to drive the music, dictating where the artists chooses to take you, and what he wants you to know was in his heart and soul, not to mention the world in which he created the piece.

The music is the canvas. The lyrics are the paint. As I read the diametric news of the day I'm reminded what a powerful and relevant body of work I'm listening to. The enviroment is in trouble. The world continues to war. People die needlessly and voicelessly in squalor and disease. This is my world as I read today's newspaper. And as I do I wonder why if schools require certain classic pieces of literature, then why we don't require the same of classic pieces of music? For if we did I would suggest that every 12 grade student listen to Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On" before embarking onto their next phase of conscious living. The incredible relevancy to today's problems in the world truly serves as a testament to what genius this body of work is. I've listened to album literally hundreds of times, each one of them I've come away with something new, something that serves as a parallel lesson to today's troubles and events.

This album truly needs to be savored, absorbed, and contemplted to really be appreciated. It speaks of God, religion, morality, war, social injustice and political confusions. Listen to lyrics of "What's Happening Brother?" and see if it this message doesn't convey the questions of a generation fighting the war in Iraq, as people slowly begin to ask, what for? For the troubled forgotten souls of yesterday and today Marvin still speaks through the lyrics of "Wholy Holy". The staggering amount of children whose mortality is stunted through disease, famine and war is so purposely covered by the song "Save the Children". PinF can think of very few other albums that challenge such forward social, political, and moral introspection. Certainly the song that ties it all together into one world anthem of questioning the direction our planet is heading would have to be "Mercy, Mercy Me". Could there be a more relavent song to today's useless war and division it's causing amongst ourselves as fellow Americans, not to mention as members of world community than the song "What's Going On"?

If you've never listened to this album straight through-- do it. If it's been a while, then listen again. The mesage is old, but it's the same one no matter the year, love.

A Father's Days

PinF has been reminded for weeks now. Sophia the little PinF, treats Father's Day like Christmas, offering a daily countdown to how many days until "my" day arrives. Cute and nice for sure as she offers up her little self to do "whatever I want" on my day. A few years ago she arrived at my bedside with her little hand made card, offering me a hug, kiss and a back scratch. We made pancakes together, then "did what I liked", going to the beach for the day reading the Sunday paper. She knows her father is a charter member of the "Do Nothing Tribe" on Sundays, and she accomodates this in everyway she can. My own father never had daughters to contend with and I no sisters, a fact that I believe makes me better suited to be a father to a little girl than a boy, as I wouldn't want to spoil a boy like I do my daughter, that and the fact that the kisses and hugs disappear after a certain age in boys.

This Father's Day is a reminder also that for the first time in my life I am fatherless, a fact that I believe Sophia is acutely aware of and determined to compensate for by offering extra attention to her papi. Sophia often tells me she misses her pop-pop still, and I tell her I do too. Three years ago instead of sending the traditional card for father's day I sent my father a letter. My life was going through extreme changes at the time and naturally he and my mother were concerned in a way that serves to remind you that you are someone's child as well as someone's father. In this letter I thanked my dad for always being there, being my lifelong friend, and cautioned him against getting caught up in my current quagmire, assuring him that I as a man now would find my way clear. The life lessons, advice, times shared, the many laughs and love were appreciated and it was important for me to acknowledge to him then what I had never considered until I was myself a father. It's hard to be a good person, role model, caregiver, friend and example; something you inevitably have to be if you are to be a good parent. The important thing was to acknowledge these facts while he was here, and I did. While going through my father's affairs after he passed, I found this very same letter saved amongst his papers, possesions, and photographs. My father never being one to dwell on sentimental matters had in a sense acknowledged my gratitude by virtue of my letter still being in his posession three years after I sent it. I have the letter now, and it serves to remind me of the greater outcome of life when challenges seem overwhelming at times.

We all have a tendancy as we age to forget that we are someone's child still, captured in our parent's minds' as the little persons we once were, full of innocence, love, and of the dreams we once held. I'm reminded of this fact everytime I take time to assess my own childs' life up to this point and just how fast the past seven years have flown by. In my mind she's still that little girl bounding up the school bus steps for the first day of kindergarten three years ago, or the three year-old flower girl spreading roses petals in the afternoon sun in front of the Barnegat Lighthouse for a friends' wedding. I am ever cognizant that these are the fleeting days of my own fatherhood, and how quickly they will all pass and wind themselves into one big ball of memories and emotions to be unraveled as melancholic memories at a later date, God willing. Indeed the fact that most of my memories are probably less defined than my own daughter's will be lends itself to the fact that I was one of five children as opposed to an only child. Still I can remember running around the corner as a child to the drug store on Garret Road in Drexel Hill with my brothers to purchase the obligatory bottle of Old Spice and a card for Father's Day.

Being anything of substance or meaning to a child is hard work. Try being a big brother to a child and keeping a weekly commitment-- it isn't easy, hell try being a babysitter for a day--that'll test your parental fibers. We read everyday about deadbeat dads, abusive dads, and even homicidal dads. This is interesting because in my life the only dads that ever made a difference in my friends, family, and myself were the unselfish, loving, nice, able to laugh-at-themselves dads. Sure I know a few bad dads, but who ever took a page from a bad persons' book of parenting? If nothing else it's fathers like these that serve as reinforcements and confirmation that the day-to-day grinds of just trying to "do your best" is in fact the right way to go. This fact shouldn't ever be underestimated because children see and learn even the most hidden and smaller lessons of a life lived good, fair, and lovingly.

Funny in a way, because my being a father to such a wonderful little girl makes me feel like celebrating her, rather than vice-versa, as I feel like the lucky one. So this Sunday will go as scripted before, the main difference being that Sophie can now make some of my breakfast. We'll go to church and then to the beach and I'll enjoy her company as I remember sitting on the beaches of my childhood with my own dad. The beach always reminds me of my dad, he loved it so, and I'm sure that these endless hours and days Sophia and I spend together on our beach will one day remind her of me too.

I'm quite sure that one can be a good father without ever having had one; I'm even more sure you can be an even better father if you did.

I did, and I am, For this I'm grateful.

Promise and Fear

June 1st, a day that holds both the Promise and the Fear. Sounds deep doesn't it?

Allow me to explain.

Yesterday my 2nd grade prodigy Sophia completed what for me was another all too fast year of school, further illustrating just how fleeting the days of our youths' really are. I can remember the same period in my own life and it seemed to take forever to get to the 3rd grade. In as much as I want her to constantly achieve, move forward, and tackle the many other challenges of life, I find myself almost wanting to slow time down. PinF knows all too well the most mundane and simple times will be the days I'll long for the most when she's grown and gone. Sophia was beaming yesterday having earned her standard four B's and one A. Along with her report card came a special accolade, "Best Writer of Class". Now that was cool. Cooler still was that her pride was more in tune with this recognition than her report card. Sophia sees herself as a "communicator" and follows my blog, so she thinks I'm somewhat of a "writer" myself, if nothing else she aspires to the same title.

All of this represents the "Promise". The "Promise" that you're on the right path with regard to your child's direction. The "Promise" that you've seen your child grow not only academically, but also emotionally and physically, especially after a particulary challenging year. The "Promise" of seeing your child revel in yet another summer of their youth, the kind that harken you back to your own youthful adventures, when the day held endless possibilities. The "Promise" of an upcoming vacation that's been planned, discussed and waitied on for months. The "Promise" of summer camp and the mindlessness of having nothing to worry about but fun; the math and reading can wait until August. Summer is the "Promise" in the seasons of our childhood's. For it is in the summer that our own memory lies in the youthful innocence and boundless bliss of doing anything, everything, and nothing all at once. This is the "Promise".

In recalling this time last year, PinF had no way in knowing that he would bear witness to some very fierce hurricanes, or the passing of his father. I "Feared" both of these events, and unluckily for me they both paid a visit in my life at the same time. Yet I did have fair warning. The hurricane prognosticators had painted a dire picture of storms, and my father's health had been failing for sometime. Still I would point out that I don't think anyone really ever gets used to seeing roof's fly from houses, or in my case see a fiber-glass pick-up truck cover blowing down the street. Today June 1, marks the start of the six month hurricane season for 2006. This represents the "Fear". All floridians no matter what their economic station in life "Fear" the next six months. It seems like yesterday I was huddled in my closet hoping the remaining portion of my roof would hold out; praying for deliverance from the howling, destructive winds. Hurricane's are "Fear". Worrying for your family during a hurricane is "Fear", as is deciding what is too much of a storm, and when do you just cut and run? One thing for sure is that last year's storms gave me a better understanding of the inconsequential nature of possesions, as well as the precarious balance of life amidst such acts of nature. This is "Fear".

And so PinF welcomes both the promise and the fear today, June 1st. As is usually the case in life humans tend to be generally more optimistic than fatalistic. PinF is no exception. I see the "Promise" this summer holds and choose to place my focus on such. Still I would be negligent if I didn't keep a wary eye out for the "Fear" that exists. Again the the yin and yang of life, the never ending cycle of diametrically opposed possibilities and outcomes, something I've become accustomed to over the last several years. Right now my eye is on Sophia and her promise, and the vacation we're scheduled to enjoyed in a few weeks' time. The fear can wait until we get back.