Gone Too Soon

Blogs are like anything else in life. Sometimes you don't feel like doing a Blog. Still it's that freedom that keeps you doing one, everytime you begin to tire of the ritual you find inspiration in something that you hadn't expected and it kick starts you right back to the keyboard. Summer is upon us all, so there are many distractions that call us away from the insignificance of what we write here. Still, there are many amongst us for whom summer isn't all fun and sun, this blog is for them.

Last February while embroiled in an end of life situation with my own father I read of a heartbreakingly beautiful family led by a courageous single mother named Marcia Glover-Banks who was dying of terminal cancer. At the suggestion of her hospice she went into the studio to record what can best be described as a tear jerking song of goodbye to her three daughters. Incredibly enough they too sat in on the recording and were as beautiful in the their responsorial chants as were their dying mother's lyrics.

Of course as it would turn out, my own father went into hospice at the end of the month and died March 13th. I never followed up on this family and to be honest they slipped off PinF's radar. That was until today, when looking at links that had lead a daily visitor to PinF I noticed someone had logged onto archives to read this article so I decided to take a look and see how things turned out for this woman and her three lovely daughters. I was saddened to read that Ms. Glover-Banks had died just last month on June, 9th. This news made me want to give a shout out for her, her daughters, and to anyone else who reads PinF who has an inclination to donate anything they find possible to the surving children of this woman. Listen to the song if you can bare it, the emotions and love that come from this dying woman's words are powerful stuff and a reminder to us all that what we have can all go away tomorrow.


Donations for Marcia Glover-Banks' three children -- Shanice, Andreas and Jasmine -- may be sent to:Friends of Marcia Glover-Banksc/o PNC Bank104 North White Horse PikeStratford, N.J. 08084

La Familia

When PinF was a kid during summer I used to play with my brothers along with dozens of neighborhood kids, either directly in front of our house, or if it was daytime at Garretford Elementary for the summer recreation program. Luckily for our parents we lived around the corner from the school so no rides were necessary on parents behalf. Now the world PinF lived in as a child of the seventies and the world his daughter lives in as a child of the new millenium were dramatically different. A parent worried less and in a certain respect children were more independent, confident, and much more safe.

Ours' was the arch-typical "Kool-Aid" type of street. We lived at the bottom of Lasher Road in Drexel Hill, therefore the location lended itself as the logical site of all games played on the street. Most specifically, stepball. Here's a game that is definitely geographically specific; I don't recall after moving to Wallingford having met anyone who played. Games were fought and lost right in front of our house at 4009 Lasher. Great if your the "home" team, not so great if you were the home team's mom. My mother was by proxy the arbitrator of all disputes, fights, questionable language and behavior. Looking back now she really had it all, as if five sons were'nt enough-- she now had another 10-15 neighborhood boys at her doorstep. To her credit she earned her stripes. She neither meddled nor smothered. Choosing instead to stay as much out of the day to day trivialities as possible with regard to our many disagreements.

Ocaasionally summer tensions would spill a situation in her lap, or in this case her doorstep where she would need to disband the "league" in a commisioner like fashion. Understandable, as you can only listen to so many stepball, touch football games, four-square games in one day. One day matters were taken to a different level when my brother Chris had some words with the mother of a kid on Vernon Rd. To our complete surprise this woman's adult brother arrived on the playground "looking for the kid" who mouthed off to his sister. We as kids froze with fear. He grabbed my brother and pinned him against the wall shaking and roughing him up to scare him. Horrified, I was off like a shot to alert my mom...by the time she got there it was over. Of course my brother was traumatized by an adult man over some child's remarks. We knew our dad would handle this when he got home. And he did. He walked in, got the story and then immediately walked out and over to the house where this man was at his sister's. He walked right in the house, and although we weren't privy to what took place inside we heard my father's raised voice making it very clear that NO ONE was to put there hands on his sons. He didn't use violence, at least not that we saw. I saw what looked like a much more immature, scared, and younger man walk out behind my father, kissing his ass, apologizing all the way to the curb. A profound memory for all of us. This was at a time when your dad stood tall, strong, and invicible in your child-like view of the world. I think we were all proud, and I know we all felt a sense of a higher protection.

PinF is never so reminded of the economic and social differences of his surroundings until he visits his old stomping areas of Media, Wallingford, and Swarthmore, PA. Here in Florida the reality is more in line with what is happening to this country as a whole. The ethnic diversity that surrounds me is my reality. And I like it that way. I still make small talk in a bar or a store and hear some fool complain about "these poeople" when they don't know the right amount of change at a store counter, or how "they should learn English". I bristle with this type of talk. The easy explantion could be because I have a child of both latino and anglo heritage, something I'm very proud of-- especially my child's ability to navigate through cultures and languages effortlessly and seamlessly. But that isn't why I hate this bigotry. The real reason would be the way WE were raised didn't allow for this type of hatred. We were taught early, and we were taught right. People are people, color means nothing more than a package.

If nothing else I would say I have more respect for the many Guatemalan, Mexican, Colombian, and Hondurans because I've seen where "they" came from. I know the obstacles they've had to overcome through no fault other than the fate of their own births. I see what hard workers these men are-many of whom are the direct descendants of the mighty Maya. Lean, strong, and proud-- I see the men working the construction sites, landscaping companies and the many other tough, menial and often lower paying jobs- all with diginity and fervor. The real truth is that these people, the one's that so many would close the door of opportunity to, work hard because they're not only supporting their own families here, but their extended families back home as well. There isn't a day that I don't open my paper that I don't see a story of some thugs preying on a Guatemalan or Mexican, often in a gang like fashion--demanding their money. These crimes occur most often because these thugs know that many of these latinos will 1. not report the crime, either through fear of the police, their status here, or an inability to speak the language. 2. often keep their money on their person or in their homes due to mistrust of banks in their native countries.

What's the point PinF? Family. Though we don't always agree, nor will we always have peace, it'll always be the family first, especially when challenged to defend it. Opening the Post yesterday I read a story of such true courage and passion that I realized how ironic is we talk of "sending them back" when there are people right here in our midst who are even less worthy of their citizenry in our communities. The people who prey on the weak, the frail, the unfortunate. Read this story and see what I'm talking about, and tell me who is less deserving to live in this country-- the hardworking and honest Guatemalan family or the gangsta thug who would try to prey on such a beautiful and unified family? Lessons come in all aspects of our lives, this is a lesson of family. I can hit my brother but you can't.

(Board)Walking through Time

With tears in her eyes Sophia said her good-bye to her mami at the airport. After all the changes in her life, the seemingly tougher and adjusted veneer of her personality shows its fragility when she she breaks away from either of her parents, however temporary it may be.I understand this. I also expect it. So you push on, and we did. Two weeks can be an eternity in a child's mind not to mention a parents' when their child is away. Cognizant of this fact I kept each of them in contact daily with both photos and phone calls easing both their anxieties.

I thought to my self as I began the journey back to Philly yet again-- how much different things were just a year ago. Instead I was now off to Philly with the express intent of A. relaxing, and B. having fun with my daughter. Both were welcome changes from my many sojourns of the past two years or so. Still my father was on my mind, especially being in a place he loved so much--the Jersey shore.Long since forgotten reminders of my own childhood were lurking around every undiscovered corner and every activity and experience that Sophia would find. Unlike her father or even her cousins, Sophia has never had the Jersey shore experience to model her impressions of summer.

Instead Sophia has been a child of the tropics playing on beaches in Latin America and s. Florida. Along the way you kind of miss out on the boardwalks, chilly waters, and horseshoe crabs. The latter probably aren't too missed. But the boardwalk, well this is an entirely different experience. Sophie had been spying for some time on the internet and Philadelphia magazine. She had caught glimpses of this wooden oasis, still the concept wasn't fully grasped, at least not until we walked up the 9th Street ramp in Ocean City.The first senses to be affected are those relating to the olfactory. The immediate whiff of funnel cake, popcorn, cotton candy and pizza almost overwhelm you. Then there is the sheer visual affect--as far as the eye can see in either direction is wood, and lots of it. Sophia took to this wonderfully fun and deliciously smelly enviroment like a fish to water.....problem is where to start?

I could see Sophia wanted to run 5 different directions....I of course wanted her to see what I wanted. It helps if you can remember what it's like to be little and on the boardwalk (PinF does).....so I did what you have too. I got out of the way and let her decide what we were going to do. First? miniature golf----Sophia dies for this. Second? Arcades for some Dance, Dance, Revolution. Third? uhuh shops, lots of 'em---girly types-- jewelry, dolls, clothing...and then some tattoos (non-permanent).The last thing we did the first day of our boardwalk assault was the antique photo shop. This experience, for anyone who had never been, is a real rite of passage and something we planned on doing while still in Florida, so she was pumped for this one. I was the Sheriff, she was the barmaid. A classic if I should say so myself.

The joy of parenting is in rediscovering the kid in yourself..I did during this week and we had an absolute blast. I played so much mini golf I got my own "tour card". I am blessed to have a "child of wonder" who neither expects, nor takes for granted the good fortune she recieves. Sophia, blessed with an even temperament and kind nature, is someone I've learned to be so thankful for after a walk on the boardwalk surveying other peoples' children. Certainly one of the great joys of my vacation was being so often complimented what a polite, friendly, and nice little girl I have.

Walking through your own past with you own "future" is such a cool way to spend your vacation, so many places I saw and visited especially in OC brough back the many memories of wonderful vacations of my own, made possible by my own parents. These are the memories I still carry to this day, fully aware that the Sophia and I will now have a shared memory to discuss fondly in as many years as she wishes.

Photographs and Memories....