Looking Through the Years

PinF is back. Journeying to the UK to see an old buddy and check in on him and his life, and also to be reunited with what called be affectionately referred to an old flame, though its fire once hot was quite brief. Arriving on the third anniversary of my father's passing, I thought this a fitting tribute to one who so vicariously lived through each of his son's stories, adventures, and travels.

The weather coming into Gatwick was everything one imagines England to be. Slowly coasting over the now greening hillsides of England dotted with sheep, the clouds hung low as they attempted to block the struggling March sunshine. Incredibly, the day broke to bright sunshine once on the ground and as I walked from the plane to the terminal I got my first familiar taste of spring air in England. Clearing customs and securing some cash I shuffled into the main terminal to await my ride--none other than my brief summer love of 1987. Like a scene from a movie, I stood among the hustling travelers of many languages and customs as I waited for the visual confirmation that each of us would have once we found each other.

Had twenty years really passed? Would either of us seem "old" or different to the other? Already an uneasy feeling was building in my stomach after standing for what seemed like an eternity, yet was probably more like 25 minutes. Had she changed her mind? Was one of the kids sick? Traffic? After 40 minutes I began considering the train, reasoning it was only 45 minutes by train, and maybe things just happened. And with that thought there she was, cutting through a sea of rushing travelers heading towards me. Uneasiness filled the air, I could sense her nervousness. She looked the same girl I had last seen, of course time had left its indelible marks on each of us, and I could see the creases of her smile and she most probably saw the grey of my hair.

Funny how time, at least when it refers to our own youth, kind of stands still in our mind's eye, choosing instead to see that which we recall and loved. For in her I saw the same indomitable personality, confidence and glowing smile. She really didn't look that much different. So off we went onto the motorway, small talk filling the car until we arrived at the small rural town of Lewes on the outskirts of Brighton. We parked, and walked through a typical light mist down ancient streets filled with antique shops, pubs, and other curious little businesses until we reach Bill's produce and restaurant. Nervousness gave way to familiarities, as we settled in to some lattes and ordered breakfast. She talking about her children and I mine. Of course each had to look the other eye to eye as we now sat at this tiny table with hearty conversations filling the room of equally hearty breakfast aromas. And as we did, the years ticked off until it was just the she and I of twenty years ago--comfortable, happy, and laughing.

With each passing moment, the uneasiness of the reunion was shed, and before long we were each as comfortable as if we had never lost touch. We talked of lost parents, child rearing, the demands of marriage, hopes, and the disappointments and triumphs life. We remarked where had the years gone? What youthful indiscretions we each committed that caused us to lose each other's friendship and presence? And though we each lamented the loss of 20 years, we were equally able to draw inspiration that here we were so many years, tears, and laughs later enjoying the moment of each other's company. Reunions are like that, at least if you're lucky; you get to experience the discovery of what was once so lost, and now so literally found.

The better part of my week involved time alone. Walking the seafront, exercising, reading, browsing the curious shops of Brighton. Still, it was a priority of mine to reacquaint myself with such a dear and lost friend. I met her husband, and although it might've been, or even could've been uncomfortable--it wasn't. I met her little boys and had some yucks with them. We shared long walks after her children were in school, we had a few great meals, one of which was cooked by her husband. I was also granted the good fortune to attend her birthday celebration as well, capping off what turned into a nostagically poignant week, one I was glad to have had. We laughed well, reminisced much, and remembered old haunts and stories from so many years ago, capping off a wonderful week.

Our friends unlike our family are often in our lives through a combination of choice, fate, and common experiences. Having them in our lives or losing them, often comes down to several common factors of either life changes, geography, or often misdeeds. Our drift was a result of all of them. Still in reuniting, you realize just how connected we are in life, either through common experiences, or oft remembered events shared many years ago, though no less poignant. I told her that she had always been in my thoughts, either through hearing her favorite album that she played to the point of torture--or through certain memories of everyday mundane life, that wouldn't regsiter with anyone but her. She countered many of the same sentiments. Even the loss of our parents bore similar timelines and circumstances making us each aware of the commonality of experience in life. Though never less painful for it, it makes the path a bit easier to bear when you're sharing it with someone who's been there.

My week meandered on heading towards its eventual and some would say predictable conclusion. Sophia beckoned from afar as I was missing her. My friend decided she wanted to drive me to the airport for my flight home too. Of course I knew that this wouldn't be an easy goodbye, as there never really are when you're in an airport. Still she was adamant, and I was open to spending a bit more time, because hell, you never know it could be another twenty years right? The uneasy feeling of the end was ignored as we shared an airport breakfast. Still the clocked ticked on, and before long it was time. After a hearty hug and some brief words off she went as she came.....through the crowds of the many faces of foreigners in Gatwick airport, and of all days, Mother's Day in England. This gave me some solace to know that when she would arrive home, it would be her day, something that might lift her spirits after such a farewell.

The trip now a memory, I'm able to reflect in a positive way just how necessary it is for us all to reconnect whether it be twenty years or twenty days. The most important thing is the connection; something that never really leaves us, rather it lies dormant until we turn the lights back onto a specific time, person, and place in our lives.

A Walk Along the Seafront in Brighton

Me and my new best mate Arthur.

My other new mate George

Arthur with the killer curls.

Walking the Laines in Brighton with the boys.

Daddy-daughter Dance

Puzzles

Funny how time flies; or even sad, depending on how you choose to view life.
Who doesn't remember a parent telling you to "enjoy it", because it passes quickly? PinF need only think of his father's passing a few years ago and contrast that very real heartache with the blossoming of his own prodigy as I literally see a little girl blossoming into a beautiful young lady before my eyes.
Try as I may to truly soak in and appreciate such life changes, I'm as guilty as the next one of taking my eye off ball from time to time only to wake up and wonder where have all the years gone? We all do. Trying to squeeze the emotion, the love, the pain, and the triumphs from our daily lives is hard. We all get caught up in the "moments" of our existences, occasionally allowing the brief lapses of cognition to remind us just how quickly our lives pass us by.
Two summers ago I took the time I needed and indeed deserved, to get off the spinning-top my life had become through personal set backs, losses, and changes to amble through my past and sort out some old memories. I went back to England, and then onto Denmark and I touched base with a few of my "blue" pieces of my life. This trip was as rejuvenating as it was nostalgic, and many hours were spent laughing, talking, sightseeing and walking through the windows of my youth.
Still, in the back of my mind there was an incompleteness to the trip. Friends are the glue that binds the frays of our lives, often in ways family cannot. I was reminded of this when I sat in Copenhagen with a friend of over 25 years and sipped coffee while reconnecting as if we'd never really separated. Same too with my many special friends in England, walking along the English coast, popping in and out of pubs, just the everyday simplified life that England represents is a big part of who I am. I'd like to think that one day I might live in either England or Europe, as I often feel more at home there than here, maybe due to it's ancient feel, something I miss about living in the north.
Finding anything that was lost is always a joy. Who hasn't rejoiced in finding that old twenty dollar bill in a coat pocket, or maybe a lost photo-- long since forgotten? Small triumphs go a long way. A few years ago I stood in busy Brighton train station with my old friend Phil as we bought flowers for his lovely wife Linda--another dear friend who like me went through a rather tough end of life ordeal with her father too. I quietly reflected on how little had changed physically with the place I was in, and yet so much had changed literally with the "place" I was now in with regard to my life. Twenty years earlier I was wiping tears of goodbyes and sadness from mine and a special person's face as I made my farewell from Brighton not to mention a certain "place" in my life.
You're occasionally afforded the wisdom in life to recognize the profoundness of special moments as they occur. I wish I could be so wise to say this was the case on August 22, 1987--unfortunately I was far to young, inexperienced, and out of touch with the true blessings of my life at the young age of 24. Wisdom in life is like wisdom of the heart, you have to be burned, disappointed, and often "lost", until the day you awaken and can be "found" to truly drink in the special significance of such moments.
It took me many years; years that rushed by like a freight train for me to attain a certain wisdom, still even today, I recognize I have far to go but at least I'm now able to recognize what's really important---it isn't what we have, what we do, - though these were always lessons I had instilled from my parents. Material wealth is as fleeting as the wind--what truly sustains and multiplies in our lives are the relationships and love we have. I know that now because I see my greatest wealth in my daughter's smile, not my bank account.
I recently found something that I too had been missing for a long time, or shall I say it found me? A piece of who I was twenty-two years ago. Circumstances have changed, lives have blended and become more lives, parents have died, separations have caused years to be lost, yet the one thing that remains always is the love---and emotional connection to each other. You can't fake that. It's either there or isn't, I always knew it was, but time has a way of covering up the cold of loss and heartache. Like a puzzle that is missing a piece, my visits to England had always been missing that one piece--a blue one. PinF found that piece, and he's a lucky man for it, realizing full well that twenty years lost is nothing compared to what has been found. The friends of our lives are like the photos of our youth; yes, the person in the photo changes, but the true essence of how we feel for them, and what we remember never does, it remains visible only to our eyes and heart.
I look forward to putting this missing piece in its rightful place in the puzzle we call life.

Christmas in Florida

The Context of the Season

It seems that keeping life in context these days is becoming harder and harder. Today PinF spent the day trying to find the Christmas spirit that's been lacking as of late by taking his daughter shopping for her mother and friends. As I was driving I was thinking of what it meant to be ten years-old, full of anticipation, joy, and awe over the promise the holidays hold. Sophie and I had a good day hustling here, fighting traffic there, looking for parking spots at the mall. Of course as a ten year-old you're inoculated to the realities of the world in general, and the economy specifically. So you do what you must and push on, always remembering it's really about the kids.

Thirteen months ago my good friend and neighbor Don told me during one of our daily interactions at the mail box that he had been diagnosed with cancer of the throat. I remember as he teared up and I tensed up, how he told me he was going to beat it; I had no reason to doubt such a robust and strong eighty year-old man. Don had been an instrumental presence in my life during my father's illness and was in fact from Springfield, Pa. as well, something that gave us a commonality of reference in our many chats and sports talk.

Things took a turn for the worse for Don after an initial rally. Seems Don's cancer had spread as evidenced by his gaunt appearance when i last saw him three months ago. Always upbeat and more worried for me he was in fact, dying. He knew it, I knew it and yet neither of us ever spoke it. Instead it was on to the next chemo, or radiation. I hadn't seen Don for almost two months but I noticed home nurses coming by with greater regularity. Whether it was out of respect for his privacy as I kept telling myself, or out of fear of looking another dying man in the eyes I didn't go next door, choosing instead to get the news from afar.

As wonderful as the hospice experience is in allowing a person to die with dignity and grace while surrounded by family and friends, I wasn't sure I was up to it; fully aware that my own experience with my father in many ways haunts me still with profound sadness.

This all changed today. I saw Doris, Don's wife today and though I knew things were worse, her eyes said it all. I asked if it would be alright to come and see Don. She said she thought he'd love that. With that I told Sophie I had to go next door to see Don and then I steeled myself for what I knew I would find. Still, my fear of not saying good-bye runs deeper than looking death in the face an with that I went.

Don lies in a hospital bed in the living room. Physically depleted, emaciated and unshaven I offer to shave him, he declines. Cognizant and accepting best describe his demeanor. Though the body is tired and ever so steadily closing down, the mind remains sharp and focused. We talk Dolphins, Eagles, and things to do with Philly. I decide I can no longer make small talk and ask Don if he's ready to die. He nods he is. He tells me he doesn't want to die, but that he's given the fight all he had and he is accepting of his fate. I can feel the tears wanting to well up but I will them back and keep the conversation as light as possible. We again return to his imminent fate and I ask if there's anything he wants me to do? Don just asks that I keep doing what I am doing with regard to Sophia and that I check in on Doris from time to time.

I thanked Don for all he did for me when my father was dying and for being such a good neighbor and friend. He thanks me back for visiting, he says. I told him the honor is mine, and I assure him that it's in his peaceful and serene acceptance of his fate that I now draw my strength from him. He gestures me to come closer, grabbed my hand and pulled me in for a hug. He's due to be transported within the hour by ambulance to the hospital just next door to spend his last hours or days in the hospice wing as his breathing symptoms are becoming worse. I told him that I'd be there with him again like I was when he nearly died there 9 months ago and that we'd watch his beloved Dolphins game. Doris sits sobbing. Don clutches me as hard as his once strong but now skinny arms can.

The trip to hospital is symbolic of his trip to the next life, a fact that is neither lost on he, Doris or myself. I compose myself on the walk to my place before seeing Sophia. The last thing I told Don was for him to look my old man up when he gets to heaven and have a beer with him when he gets there, he chuckled and said he would. He thanked me again for the tenth time for coming to see him. I slowly make my way out the door and into the warm Florida evening, the sky a light bluish-black hue sprinkled with the first gleaming stars of the evening.

In the short walk from Don's house to mine the context of my life became much clearer. The financial worries, the stresses of single parenting, the hustle here, the hustle there all seemed so minor. I just looked a man in the eye who knows when he leaves his house tonight it's for the last time ever. I felt a wave of sadness and wisdom at the same time. This being maybe the fifth person I've visited with prior to their dying; I thought how my emotions and behaviors had matured and varied during the various stages of my life I had confronted death. Maybe because I know I'm not that far removed from his path or maybe because intellectually you kind of grow into the notion of death. Either way, it was an extremely powerful visit that I'm glad I made; one that put my life and the Christmas season back in context.

God speed Don. I'll miss you. A lot.

Finally. Something to Believe In

Girls Day Out (disturbia in suburbia)

PinF has a daughter not a son, so he's programmed better to a little girl's persona, and happily so. Being one of five brothers has increasingly heightened my appreciation, awe, and respect for all that my parents must've endured. Of course their sacrifices, frustrations, and example were neither missed nor lost on us five sons as we all have dispositions that serve as well whether it be as parents as in the case of two of us, or in the case of my other two brothers, as educators of children.


I like that I have a daughter more than a son. Not that I'd have been any less happy with a son as God knows I'm more versed in the antics, behaviors and general grab ass of little boys, still for me having a daughter fills in the missing gaps of my not having a sister. This in turn allows me to experience and enjoy the journey of the girl as she grows into the woman. The journey thus far has been great, and PinF has often commented on the the nuanced moments of fatherhood to a daughter and what it all means, whether it be the daddy/daughter dance or just trying to be a solid example of what a fun and steady father is.

PinF's brother is a father too; in fact, five times over. He has the first son born and after that four daughters spanning 15 years in ages. So Sophia has no shortage of cousins especially of the girlie persuasion, as three of them range in age between 5 and 11 years with Sophie falling towards the top in age being 10. Still the dynamic of seeing them all together often evokes memories of my own childhood with the petty teasing, often silly alliances, arguments, and luckily more times than not-enjoyment of each other's company. So it was that PinF found himself surrounded by five females last Saturday on a trip to Media that served as both distraction and favor. Distraction for them on a rainy Saturday; and favor to my bother and his wife so that they could finish setting up for their Fall Equinox party scheduled for later that night.

Into the truck we all loaded, PinF and his "adult" female in the front, and the four girls in the back. Immediately I was taken back 30 years with "seat saving" declarations, we hadn't pulled away from the house and already the petty childishness was beginning. Luckily PinF is rather immune to this type of grab-ass, having come through the grab-ass University that was my own childhood with four brothers. Next crisis? The youngest one Grace inexplicably sobbing and not giving any reason for doing so. I issued the standard warning to the older girls suspecting them at first, much to their denials of course. This is the beauty of kids as they always claim they've been falsely accused. Once en route the girls wanted me to tune into Q102 and instantly became a singing soundtrack of harmony and pop culture singing lyrics they probably don't understand yet. They're all happy so I take it. (click on hypertext above)

Once in town the standard instructions of holding each other's hands at intersections, as well as crossing with the light are given and we commence our store to store madness. Of course the sight of a couple with four little girls elicits one of two responses. Either it's one of fear as in a store keepers silent plea to make sure they "look but don't touch", or it's one of "aww, how cute" or "get ready buddy you're gonna have your hands full in a few years". This is of course is funny since I already have "my hands full shepherding four little chatty Cathies' around town. Still, PinF is enjoying it, and soo too is my friend (I think). At about this point my friend peels off to make some phone calls and do a little womanly shopping in some of Media's nicer jewelry and clothing establishments, leaving the PinF with his "angels".

I've often observed through my own experiences the key to being an effective communicator and or parent to children is in having the ability to reach back and remember the essence of what it is to be a child again. With that in mind we snuck into Media's discount five-and-dime store Deals, and began getting goofy, trying on Halloween masks and hats. After this it was off to LB Toys where the ugly head of children not sharing would rear itself, this of course was accompanied by a few tears and petty arguing. Again, PinF saw this as a moment to move the traveling girl power show a little further down the road and it was decided that a Guinness might smooth the emotions of the moment. It did. PinF had a frothy one as the girls enjoyed cokes and chicken fingers. Again the respect, awe and dread were directed towards me by various patrons enjoying their lunches. Really though I don't stress over the petty bumps in the road of kid's behaviors, subscribing instead to the theory of the less attention paid the quicker the crisis passes.

Sure enough the day was a blast. Oddly enough, I'm referring to myself more than my little prissy charges, oh sure they had fun but I enjoyed it more than them. PinF loves being around children, as if by doing so it serves as a home movie of his own childhood, and based upon my experiences I don't feel as though there is any situation that is unfamiliar to me-even with little girls. Sure, four girls are a lot different than four boys, though I would argue that in fact it may even be easier, since little boys often like to settle their differences with pushing and punching. And so, in recognition of their good behavior it was decided that Uncle PinF would provide a little ice cream treat to the crew as I was quite proud of all the girls and despite a few mini-meltdowns and emotional hiccups it was a really fun day.

It was right after this as the girls sat on the steps of a State Street store that PinF could see clearly to his own childhood via old yellowed photographs of he and his brothers taken of days long passed either down the shore on the boardwalk, or at the Philadelphia Zoo. And so I captured these moments, cognizant of this fact as I peered through the view finder that they probably wouldn't be truly appreciated by the girls for maybe 15 or 20 years. Knowing of course that one day they'll see the photo of themselves cloaked in their childhood innocence, concerned with nothing more than enjoying an ice cream on a cloudy warm Fall day in Media with each other.

The day a sucess, we all loaded back into the truck and headed off to home for the festivities of the annual Fall party.

Easy Like Sunday

Quiet times lately. Sophia left for vacation to s. America 10 days ago taking with her a large part of my daily responsibilities and joy. Still the solitude is welcome as I have more time for me for a change. Another beautiful day in paradise awaits as I look out my window on this the 10th day of August. I'm sipping a coffee and listening to WXPN radio's Sleepy Hollow program before I leave for 9am mass.

Today I'll do what I usually do on any given non football Sunday, I'll grab my Sunday paper and head off to the beach for quiet, relaxing indulgence by the water's edge. While there I'll ponder the good old days now gone and what I'd be doing on this day in past years.

Today would've been my dad's 75th birthday. Oh wow,.......as I just typed that last word.....onto my speakers at 8:03 am up came the dulcet sounds of my father's favorite! Frank Sinatra singing "Summer Wind" Now that's odd? I listen to this show every week, and never do I hear Frank Sinatra? I'm gonna take this as a sign that our loved one's are a lot nearer to us somewhere----Happy Birthday Dad.

HAPPY 10th BIRTHDAY SOPHIE !!

Center city--Ocean City--and Cape May city

Images of PinF

THIS YOU MAY NOT RECOGNIZE. IT'S PinF "light". AFTER A YEAR OF DIETARY CHANGES AND INCREASED EXERCISE PinF HAS TRIMMED DOWN A TAD , TO A CRUISER WEIGHT CLASS.

THIS IS THE MID DAY FLORIDA MOON SHOT. I KNOW KIND OF STUPID. HELL, IT'S A NEW CAMERA, YOU DO STUPID THINGS WITH THEM.

THIS HOWEVER IS RATHER COOL. THIS IS A (AND I SHOULD HAVE HAD A FOOT IN THE PICTURE TO GIVE IT PERSPECTIVE) A 3 FOOT LONG JELLY FISH THAT CAME WASHING UP ON MINE AND SOPHIA'S BEACH SOCCER GAME. SCARY, NO?

ANYONE WHO KNOW PinF WILL RECOGNIZE THIS. WHY IT'S THE OFFICE OF COURSE. PERFECT WORKING CONDITIONS AS YOU CAN PROBABLY TELL....

THIS, MY FRIENDS IS THE REASON FOR THE "F" IN PinF, MY SWEETY ON HER WAY TO CAMP.

And We're back.....

My blog has been absent any photos for some time. A dropped digital on the hard Mexican tile killed it. This all changed today after Sophia and I picked out a new one. Tomorrow's blog should seem a whole lot more illustrated.......

Summer Swirls of Melancholy

I'm sitting on my couch ruminating over the past year that was my daughter's fourth grade. As I ponder this and other thoughts, Sophia sits across from me in her still damp bathing suit strumming her six string accoustic, singing under her breath. The gravity of moment's like these hit when you consider how fast the past ten years have flown. My "little" girl will soon turn ten, and as happy as I am to see her flower into a wonderful person with interests as varied as her surroundings, another part of me is in total conflict and wants to slow it all down.

Yesterday I picked up a melancholic child from her last day of school, slightly saddened by the end of her school year. When you have a kid, you can see the moods of their being like the shades of a sunset....so I could tell. She said yes, that it was a little sad and how good her fourth grade year was for her. I agreed with her and let her get it out as she explained the highlights and accomplishments of her school year. And as she did I was thinking to myself how I don't ever want to forget this chat, this moment, and how vulnerable and innocently honest she is as a child of nine.

I had only just read Leonard's Pitt's column the gist of which had stayed with me as it supported what was already on my mind with regard to just how fast my time on this earth is with my daughter. Pitts' is such a good writer, and even better at striking the chords of life. Looking at Sophie's yearbook and all the many weel wishes scribbled throughout it made me think of just how much I remembered my fourth grade and Ms. Miele's class, and how so many of my friends seemed as if they would always be in my life--in as much you can even ponder "always" as a 1o year old. So in attempt to pull her out of doldrums I did what all dad's do--we went for pizza. And a gelato.

The next thing I suggested was a little soccer, as my little girl has discovered her Latin athletic roots in a big way this past spring falling in love with soccer....so off we went. We'd been playing here and there, at the beach, in the park, even at the house. So this time I decided to up her interest and took her to a local university where we had an entire collegiate field to ourselves, all under the swirling pastels of the setting sun's sky. There we were, all alone on a manicured sea of grass, running, laughing and totally in the moment. Again I was struck at the magical-ness of being so in the "moment" with just my daughter. I still can recall throwing the football or baseball with my dad, and how such small moments from my childhood still come to the forefront even now as a man in his 40's. I hope they would be remembered by her too in the same fond way.

By the time we got home Sophia was her usual bubbly self, and we were looking into the local School of Rock here in Palm Beach for her to pursure her rock 'n roll dreams. The slowly winding down day now filled with equal parts melancholy and warm moments that such milestone's have in my daughter's life, and indeed mine as well. If only I could try to be in the moment more, although I think I do a good job of it now, somehow the hours, days, and years have crept by either unnoticed or under appreciated. I'm getting better at recognizing this though, and I think she's a better kid for it. For the record, her grades were great too, all A's and B's, and honor roll too. I'm lucky, and I know it.

Got to get ready now. We're off to the daddy-daughter Hawaiian luau at the local pool----stay tuned for photos.....

PinF's search is continual. In my never ending quest for the seminal pieces of the ocean's jewels PinF is constantly on the look out for the coveted red and blue pieces. Last Saturday while enjoying a slow day of indulgence at the beach Sophia, a few paces away scanning for her's too, I found a coveted blue piece of beach glass. Considering the rarity of such a find I took it as a sign--of what I'm still not quite sure. Still as the art of beach glass combing goes, it's a rare accomplishment.

12th Annual Florida Keys Cycle Ride

The grounds of my motel--Popp's, located on MM 95 of US 1. A pleasure sponges' paradise of palms, hammocks, and sunshine nestled on the Gulf of Mexico. Essentially this became Hdqtrs. You can see the PinF in the background in fromt of casita #8 next to his trusty steed--the V Strom 1000.

PinF, strategizing intently his next move in the Keys; careful to think each move methodically if not lazily. This shot was taken just prior to cracking open an ice cold Corona.

Again, the view from casita #8 as the suns sets over the Gulf of Mexico. Impossible to appreciate in this photo would be the smooth sounds eminating from the I-Pod speakers complimented by my Johnnie Walker Black and soda, not to mention the wafting odors of my grill.

Naturally Mystic

Has it really been one month?

Wow. PinF's life has undergone some changes in that time, both professionally and personally- hence my hiatus status. Still, moments, people, and thoughts register everyday and are stored as "potential blogs".

A month ago I changed jobs, releasing me from the daily drudgery of office life in exchange for the autonomy of an outside sales job. Florida, unlike northern states, offers as diverse a dichotomy of people and cultures as one is likely to find in America. A virtual paella of cultures, languages, regions, and lifestyles; all of which create a refreshing mix of new experiences daily when out and about doing my job. My territory extends literally from the ocean to the lake. My knowledge of Florida's interior regions has always been limited, at least until I began covering these areas.

So yesterday I left the familiar environs of my seaside existence and headed off into the "glades", and incredibly flat, sun scorched patch of life situated in and around Lake Okeechobee. The route is a long road carved through centuries old sugar cane fields, the topography is flatter than flat. The people are an incredible mix of Afro/Latino-Caribbean descendants whose forefather's probably cultivated the very same crops in colonial held Carribean islands as slaves. It's in their blood. The profoundness of nothing but sugar cane for as far as the eye can see is akin to the wheat belt of the mid west, it's stunningly beautiful, yet starkly surreal. One condition of cane cultivation is the annual burning of the stalks of last years crops and then tilling the rich ashy soil over for this years'. The closest I can describe in words would be Kuwait after the first Gulf war--fields on fire, smoke billowing-an almost hellish site.

The people of these areas are a hearty mix of hard working and less than prosperous stock for the most part. And although their economic wealth is limited, it is enhanced by their rich cultural wealth. Indian reservations of past Seminole warriors dot the landscape--though now, ironically wealthy from gambling. It was here that PinF found himself recently, in one of the most interesting convergences of fate he's experienced in some years. Proving yet again, that there really is a purpose, plan, and reason for every life and person, the trick is always found in the lesson. Either in having the ability to recognize and draw it out of the experience-; or by recognizing the signs of the lesson and being able to absorb and learn from them. Yesterday was just such a day.

When PinF is operating out west, he often holds a distinctive empathetic advantage. In my life I have eaten from the plate of wealth, and I have shared from the cup of poverty--literally. Having enjoyed the trappings of extreme wealth and privilege, I've also had the better opportunity and some would argue "luxury", of traveling to countries and sharing with people of far less material wealth yet somehow possessing far greater spiritual wealth. Of course when I speak with people in these areas they have no way of knowing that the white guy with a tie has seen their realities, much less understands their hardships. Yet that's where the ability to truly communicate comes into play, in that I mean communicating through experiences and knowledge of certain peoples stark and often poor realities. Being able to speak to someone not as a superior, but rather as a contemporary is one of life's finest and most equalizing skills.

So yesterday under the scorching plains of the Florida glades a hundred miles away in distance and more like a million in reality, PinF made just such a connection. I was sipping a bottle of water outside a convenience store pondering my next appointment when up came one of those people whose entry into your life you know holds something. I first saw the snowy white beard. Then the dark chocolate skin, and finally the Jamaican flag air freshener dangling from the rear view mirror. He bounded from his dusty pick-up with a smile as white as beach sand. His hands were gnarled from years of work, his body chiseled and lean. Greeting me with the typical Jamaican manner of "yes I", we immediately found in each other something worth more than just a hello. He asked what man in a tie was doing out in these parts? I explained I was covering the western edges of my sales territory, I asked from what parish he was from in JA. He told me he was "country", I saw his name was Hylton from his work shirt.

We spoke as if we were meant to meet, with an ease and familiarity and purpose we discussed JA., the muddy politics of cheating, and what we all seek--happiness, health, and a safe place to raise kids. We immediately moved to music, he was impressed with my Jamaican musical knowledge and was still trying to figure this white guy with a tie. He told me he had gotten away from reggae since he left his homeland 30 years ago, telling me that he makes no connection to the artists, sounds and message in today's music. We talked about the old school--Studio One, the Wailing Wailers, Joseph Hill, he let out a "..bombaclot mon..." The he told me he was 58 and that he listens to something different, and asked me to come up to his truck where he reached in turned the key and let blare the country music of Charlie pride-the first black man of country music. Again I was knowledgeable of this too, as my father was a country music fan, so we talked old school country too, Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard and others.

Here we both were, two completely different souls, of equally different lots in life, yet we connected on a level that is often not found even amongst family members. Laughing, handshaking, and truly enjoying the moment under the hot sun in the middle of Florida's countryside. Hylton spoke of Marcus Garvey's prophecies of equality, and equity for the black man in this century and how he derived the goodness of that message in the wholesome values of country music. I could see where he was coming from, and for that moment, different as we were by birth, color, and culture we were as alike as two brothers. Hylton spoke of his gratitude for the life he's lead and asked me how many children and what ages I thought he had? I said three-- in their 20's? He said 6, ranging from his 6 month old baby girl to his 23 year old son. He told me he was 58 and truly blessed. I couldn't find one shred in his spirit to suggest otherwise.

Hylton and I said our farewells after a while, each happy in the friend that we each had made. As I started my car, my Cd player let out the sweet rhythm of "Natural Mystic", from the 1977 gem of an album, Exodus by Bob Marley. I quickly ejected the CD, and went to Hylton's car, and through his window I told him I had something for him. "Irie mon...one love" was his response. I told Hylton, that no Jamaican man no matter how much he loves country music, should be without his roots. He popped in the CD and was visibly taken back 31 years to his youth in Jamaica, and he thanked me profusely telling me he was going to go home, hold his baby girl on the porch and listen to the Exodus album straight through...as he pulled he away I could see the pearly white grin and I heard him let out another "bombaclot Mon!!" as he did....

Brush with Independence

PinF has very curly hair. Though recent photos don't reflect this I know. A combination of aging and business appropriate styles I suppose have infringed upon my "inner hippy" as of late. Still, I recognize and even embrace that which we all possess--the memory of being who you want to be without anyone else telling you what you should or shouldn't do or be. I was that guy for many years, dancing to my own tune, do what I wanted when I wanted, go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. It's what made me well---me.

This said, early morning hair brushing conflicts with Sophia are both a test of my patience and ability to allow her to be who she wants to be. Right now she wants to be a pop star princess, and if you look around, there aren't too many PSP's with short hair. The problem? Her hair is a wild, thick and untamed angry mix of Latin/Irish waves and curls. Beautiful indeed, and something people compliment her on quite often, yet this hair is also like a child itself as it require constant supervision, lest it run amok. At nine years of age Sophia isn't completely independent of her parents' brush. Not to mention the length adds another level of difficulty.

So I imagine you can figure out where this all leads? Well in my world it would lead to the salon, in Sophia's it leads to an apprehensive and uncomfortable morning. Something that has increased with each inch of growth. My little girl is obviously growing up quite literally before me, and now has own opinions on what she wants/needs. While raking through the jungle she calls hair yesterday I started in on my best rendition of what I remember my own father's rant about cutting my hair. Of course as a parent I try to be careful not to do or say the same things that remind me of what I remember of my own childhood....oddly enough this is life's revenge. When you finally realize that your parent's words weren't all wrong but rather quite true as you literally replay an even clip of your own life script.

We were on way to opening her first bank account when this all went down. I told Sophia she WAS getting a trim today no discussion--end of story--period. This didn't stop her under-her-breath protests. So out we went her drying her tears, me feeling like the heavy I never want to be. Her hair, now in some semblance of order, albeit begrudgingly. I tactfully changed subjects and mentioned the new science museum exhibit-panning for gold and jewels---this psyched her up. The bank was a special event, conjuring thoughts of PinF and his dear old dad opening his first passbook savings account at Fidelity Bank in Lansdowne probably circa 1969. This is one of those moments you just know your child will remember for ever.

Next stop? My friend's hair salon. By this time Sophia was hip to the fact that her papi's "democratic dictatorship" would prevail and she had more or less surrendered to negotiating the amount to be cut rather than protesting the fact. I assured her my intent was to have nothing more than the damaged ends cut so as to restore some health and bounce to her hair. I had alerted my hairdresser friend of the delicate nature of the operation and she was prepared. Of course the girly-girl in Sophia had overlooked the indulgences of the hair wash and scalp massage and attention that is adorned when in the chair. Her protests softened and she began to make suggestions. The haircut? Complete success, we were now off to the South Florida Science Museum. Sophie loves museums, most likely due to our many visits to the Franklin Institute a fact she is quick to point out when comparing other museums.

Today's featured fun was panning for actual gold and gems. Really cool stuff for kid, hell PinF even got in on the act. We spent several hours being kids together, then playing miniature golf. The drama of the morning all bu forgotten, my little girl with her perfectly coiffed hair and happy smile. Her money in the bank, her hair clipped, and her day a fun one we made our way to the beach for some boogie boarding. What started out a bit confrontational and ended with smiles and joy, though it offered a perfect reminder of the struggles and battles we will eventually face as she grows into her own person, something I try to balance with my own tolerances and acceptance.

Space is important, as is anyone's right to expression. The ability to make mistakes and do what "you" think is best is also important.. That'll come soon I assure her, for now I'm the boss, though I know what she doesn't; that that shoe will soon change foot.