March 17, 1997, '06, '07

March 17, 1997.

PinF is at Packy's. Surrounding him are dozens of lifelong friends, his brothers and the Jah Works band. The revelry of St. Patrick's Day, combined with the emotion of leaving all my firends and family is an odd mix. PinF's mom is first to go. He walks her out, they exchange hugs and words on State Street and she's gone. An hour later PinF walks his 62 year-old father out to his car, exchanging small talk along the way. We're both uncomfortable. I know that unlike my mother, my dad is going to be affected to a far greater degree than my mother. I have been in my dad's life so many different ways--through work, through hundreds of hours logged at Sea Isle City at the Springfield Inn, through countless nights at juke joints catching his favorite band of any given month. We're card carrying members of the Bungalow, the American legion, the Columbus club and countless others.

We reach the car, he gives me his standards - watch yourself on the highway, etc....he's sad, real sad. Still I gotta go, my future wife is waiting for me in Florida....I tell him we'll be together soon....we hug. He leaves. I know he's crushed. I know I'm his favorite buddy of a son.


March 17, 2006.

PinF stands before his father's funeral mass at St. Bernadette's in Drexel Hill eulogizing his beloved, dear old dad. Shock is probably the best way to describe it. Looking back now, I was on auto pilot. I had held my father as he drew his last breath. It's taken year and I still am not comfortable with it, neither have I gone even one day without wishing I could call him, hear his voice ,or alert him to some show that was on. Old habits die hard. Nine years exactly to the day I said good-bye to him for Florida, I was now saying good-bye to him for good, or at least until I get to where he went.


March 17, 2007.

PinF spends another lazy day at the beach with his beloved daughter. She's being a little difficult, says she wants to stay home. It's been a tough week. Back from New Orleans, sleep deprived, aware that the day of my father's passing is approaching. So today Sophia is being a bit difficult. I finally tell her, that today is no day to be difficult as her papi is a bit weak with sadness. I remind her that one year ago today we buried my papi, and I'm a little sad, so she should cut me some slack.

Now here's where having an only child kicks in. Sophia gets a bit down, tells me how much she misses pop-pop too, and says she'll get ready for the beach. The rest of day is spent lazing at the beach, enjoying eachother, music, and the day. We come home planning our day for St. Patrick's. I remember many St. Patrick's day's with my pop. I see there's a St. Patrick's day event in a local park, so we shower up put our green on and we head out. Sophia has been a study in quiet support since I told her how tough today was for me. She revels in her Irishness, and implores me to stop at the Hallmark card shop so she can outfitted in some Irish "details". we settle for some berets for her hair with green shamrocks, combined with her long curls, and green top she's about as Irish looking as can be.

We need food though. It's 7:30 PM, I turn onto US 1 South and begin trying to recall every little roast beef joint I know. On my right 2 miles before the Irish fest park, I see Sullivan's Irish Pub. I pull in. Sophia's pumped. We walk into the typical Irish American bar scene. It's kid friendly though. I see a stage with a complete set up in place. I order a brew and a coke, and a lovely woman offers Sophia a seat at the corner table in front of the stage. The Lahynch Mob, a local band, playing Irish themed music.

The band comes on and Sophie is in her glory. They play some Van Morrison, some U2 and other rock favorites. We're now entrenched. Irish stew, Smithwicks the deal. The lead singer acknowledges Sophia twice, so now she's completely enamored. Next song? Sweet Caroline. There's now a bartender on the bar dancing with the fiddler who's in his kilt...the place is thumping......

" hands, touching hands....reaching out, touching me....touching you......SWEET CAROLINE...Bam, BAM, BAM...good time never felt so good...."

Sophia's singing, waving her arms and it dawns me. How many times I sang this song with my dad at the Springfield Inn under the same damn crazy scenario. Kind of like the old man was there was us. I told Sophia we had to leave to get to the park, and the bounce houses....she looked at me like I was crazy-- telling me "papi, we need to stay and watch this..." and so we did.

10 years to the day that I had left my dad. I had no child. Now here I was with a child, doing with her what I had done many times over as boy with my pop, listening to live music. Sophia was slack-jawed in disbelief at seeing live music so close. The spirit and memory of my dad was truly alive, as he would have been right next me at such a friendly, musical pub. Sophia's desire to stay, and be a part of her Irishness-- further proof that through our spirit we all live on in each other.

The old man was there, I know he was. What a ten years it's been