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....

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.

The Journey

373 Days, 12,749 visitors , and 91 posts later PinF chugs on. A journey or sorts; destination unknown. What began as a modest little space to arrange my daily observations and to keep those from whom I am seperated informed, has become somewhat of a personal juggernaut. Part therapy, part soapbox, PinF has survived a year's worth of triumphs, upsets, losses and awakenings. The fact that a year anniversary even passed is further proof of how much a part of my life these postings have become...almost second nature. Most likely I wouldn't have even given this fact much thought except for the fact that I remembered last year at this time Sophia's beloved Bo Bice lost AI4, and that I had commented on this fact.

So much has occurred in 373 days in the life of PinF. Readjusting to life alone, defining my own routines, continuing Sophia's, and coming to terms with the constant change that time deals to all of us. Most importantly, and equally painful-- I miss my dad. I have good days and bad; still I think of him everyday and wonder if I always will or is it just the fact that his passing is still fresh in my mind. The inevitability of knowing you're not going to see someone ever again on this earth slowly creeps in when all the tears have dried. The realization that you've laughed your last laugh together, BS'd on the phone, and have shared your last meal together all come to the forefront of your consciousness. The longer I myself am a parent the more I come to realize the lessons I need to impart, the things I need to do, and the times that really matter with my own child. Because for all the "big" moments of my life, I would ask for a few of the smaller ones back if I could. As if I feel a need to savor the small details a bit more and drink in the nuances of the moment a bit more reflectively.

Something I've noticed as a father is just how much of your own childhood is remembered through your own children. So often I'll recall a moment, a feeling, or a specific time with my own dad through time spent with my daughter Sophie. The other day we went and shot some hoops at the local court; she loves basketball. And though my father loved basketball, and me and my brothers did as well, I've never encouraged nor pushed Sophia towards the court and yet she shows passion for hoops. Yet there she was, her new ball, shorts and sneakers asking me to go to the court. And so we went. The distraction of shared sport encourages funny anecdotal conversations about nothing an everything all at once; we chatted for an hour, laughing, goofing and learning- from each other.

In many ways it's kind of silly to think that 12,000 people could, or even would read PinF in a year. I'm not sure if I stumbled onto this blog if I would give a rat's ass about the life of some guy in Florida. But then again- it isn't why I wrote any of it. It matters little if anyone likes, reads, or comments on anything. Still there remains a feeling of semi-responsibility to continue, as If I got people hooked on my daily "ho-hum" life, and now I owe them something for their loyality. So I write on. Certainly I neither expect nor need a comment back on anything yet so many people, some known and many more anonymous have made very real and often times touching remarks on something I've written that either touched a nerve or evoked an emotion. For all of these comments, encouragements, and words of support PinF remains very grateful and humbled. If nothing else loving travel as much as I do, this forum allows me to send a small part of me off into the tiniest corners of the world to be read by the many faceless friends and regular readers of PinF.

2005-2006 has proved to be a very emotionally and physically draining period due in large part to hurricanes, personal losses and often times events that have either clouded or obscured the lessons and truths that lurk behind the pain. Still, PinF is ever optimistic and always mindful that his next joy or new bliss is waiting just around the next corner. And as sad as the past years' posts have been at times, they have allowed for greater appreciation of the "good" times, good friends, and special moments I've been blessed to know and enjoy. So PinF chugs on towards another Memorial Day week-end, something that has become a signal of the anniversary of this blog. I'll treat myself to a nice ride this weekend down south to Key Biscayne National Park for it's in the tranquility of nature's splendor where you can really unburden from the stresses and effects of life's challenges. I've not checked in at the office for a while so this visit will do me some good.

Surely a humble thanks to the many regular and faithful readers of this blog is in order. Let's see where we are in another year shall we?

The Right Path

PinF was richly rewarded and parentally humbled this past weekend. Sophia's two year journey towards spiritual awareness and education culminated in her making her 1st Holy Communion this past Sunday. For her devotion and commitment, she was chosen to lead the procession into the church and to step up to the altar and crown the Virgin Mary before the start of the mass, and honor indeed, one she took quite seriously. Surrounded by members of both her mami's and papi's families, Sophia piously took her next step forward along the path of her religious education.

Truth be told PinF wasn't always as good a Catholic as he could have been, preferring to remain "spiritual" as opposed to religious during his single pre-fatherhood days. During the year leading up to once again being single, PinF found himself drawn to the church again. The solitude, reflection, and peace it offered were a chance to re-assess events and directions, and unload inner burdens and worries. A re-charging of sorts, on a weekly basis where the music, the message, even the sunlight streaming throught the stained glass windows would offer an almost serene like calm to collect myself for the challenges ahead.

Unbeknownst to me at the time I was reconnecting with long lost values, and beliefs. Some of which had been lost in my laziness as a bachelor, others that had been lost in my doubtful, agnostic, and at times angry whiplash to religion in general. Always I had asked what God or religion had done for me? Never questioning what I had given, or done to contribute to my own spirituality or peace. Around the time of such personal upheaval in PinF's life, I recognized the value of quiet reflection; more importantly I recognized the value of moral and spiritual direction in any child's life, especially my own daughter's as she watched her parents' going through divorce. To my surprise, Sophia loved church. This in turn made it even more satisfying and easy to become regularly involved. Sophia is truly a child of many facets, predisposed to traditions and the reverance found in church.

Two years ago while sitting in mass I read in the bulletin that 1st grade communion prep classes were beginning the following week, I ran it by Sophia and she was down for it. Sophia was in the "I love school phase" anyway, so it was an easy sell. Her maturity towards mass was quite astounding, reading along, singing the songs, she loved it all. I in turn became more involved just seeing her exhuberant participation. So for two years of Sunday's, Sophia and I have built yet another traditon, one that I know will be remembered by her for many years to come. We would attend 9am mass then she would go to religious class from 10:15 to 11:45, while Papi would attend his classes at Starbucks reading the NY Times. My mother once told me that raising children is all about routines; children need them, parents need them too. It gives a child comfort, direction, and discipline to know where they'll be, what they'll be doing and with whom and when. I've incorporated many aspects of raising my own child based on the tried and true methods of my own mother. Yes my dad was involved, but of course he was "old school", so the bulk of lessons, rituals, and traditions fell to the mothers of PinF's childhood generation.

This of course was to PinF's benefit. So often in the course of reminding yourself that you are indeed someone's "papi", (yes, it's hard to believe sometimes still), I find myself drawing on my own memories and remembering how I was raised or taught by my own mother. In this sense too I know it gave my mother great pride to see Sophia this past weekend; maybe in a strange way MORE pride than PinF himself. Because in a way only a parent who has walked this emotionally, spiritually, and religiously charged path can understand-- she had the double satisfaction of seeing that all her work paid off--through two generations. PinF was passing the torch of sorts. He had come to learn the lessons taught so many years before, despite the protests and difficulties in getting five boys to mass every Sunday to sit, behave, and listen. Here now was her adult son, basking in the glory of her granddaughter's spirtual accomplishment. These are important values to my mother, and her willingness to be there no matter where speak volumes to that effect and will obviously one day speak of their importance to my daughter when she looks back at photos and videos and sees this. Six years ago on the last day of 1999, the eve of a new millenium we were gathered together in a 300 year old Spanish church on a tiny Island off the coast of Venezuela for Sophia's baptism, my mom was there too.

My mother had mentioned that most childhood accomplishments carry more emotional weight for the parent than the child the night before, how right she was. I was proud of Sophia, and my mother in turn was proud of Sophia and me. In a sense it's almost a feeling of mission accomplished. Having walked my own path of spirtuality, I will understand if at some point Sophia needs to take time away from organized, regimented religion when she's older. The important thing is to plant the wisdom, the inner compass, and the moral direction. This knowledge acts like a seed, and when provided the right enviroment in which to nuture it is awakened and will take root; as in the case of myself this may take a while-- but it will eventually take root all the same. I now see why my parents valued religious education, as it really does offer an emotional and spiritual core in a child's life, a core to always fall back on when many events of your life will not make sense.

There was a small party for Sophia afterwards, though for me, my mother, and my brother Chris, the party was in the joyful accomplishment of Sophia's day. The party was in the mass for me. To see her standing at the altar in her white dress and veil with her little hands folded in prayful reverance waiting to accept Jesus--this was the party. Last Monday she and I attended rehearsal where she was to receive her first taste of unblessed bread and wine so that the children would know what to expect on Sunday. Of course after watching in church for seven years, the children are naturally curious what it tastes like. I explained that what she would try tonight was not what she would accept on Sunday, in that on Sunday the host and the wine would be blessed, and that she would be accepting Jesus then. She looked at me and said "what does it feel like"? I told her that it's different for everyone. She stepped up to the altar received her practice round, scoffed at the taste of wine and took her seat next to me in the pew. On the ride home from rehearsal she said "...papi, I know that the bread was unblessed, but I think I felt something..." "Funny", I told her "so did I". I felt a surge of pride and love that are found in moments such as this. And in that moment I felt a connection to all who had guided me through the same path-my mom and my dad especially.

A Communion of Memories

When PinF was a kid every once in a while he'd get into the Chevy Impala with his dad and we'd cruise on over to Lansdowne Ave. to the record store. And as fun as it was, I knew very little of music per se, other than what my parents would either be listening to at the time or what I would hear on WFIL AM 56. Still these were wondrous trips as I would follow my dad around as he thumbed through albums looking for the latest Neil Diamond or Johnny Cash release. Record stores when I was a child were full of "LP's", a concept completely strange and unknown to anyone under 18 nowadays. Yet it was the album covers themselves, and the art the was as facinating as the music. Albums were "big" with their artistic covers and such, unlike today's counterparts the CD. Of course it was much different than today in that there was no sampling of the music, even I can remember buying albums in high school and shortly there after prior to the CD age. You either knew what you were after, or you took a chance. There was no MTV, VH1 or the various of mediums that we now know to sample or "try" the music.

Sophia my daughter shows the same inherent love of music; she can name a Van Morrison or Bob Marley song, knows the words to Suzanne Vega's songs, adores Enya's music and will tell anyone that'll listen that her uncle Scott is a singer with his own reggae band. This to me is endearing and fascinating as she's so ahead of where I was when I was seven going on eight. And just like I would go to the record store with my dad, she loves doing the same with me. Truth be told PinF buys very little music in stores these days, preferring to utilize Limewire or I tunes, still the music store is a fond memory for PinF and the poignancy of such visits are never lost. Sophia being an only daughter receives far more perks in her little life than I ever dreamed as one of five boys. It's all relevant to what you can give and to what a child deserves, and today she deserved her CD.

Sophia completed two years of religious education this morning in anticipation of her 1st Holy Communion next Sunday and PinF couldn't be prouder. As I picked her up from her final class, one that saw her go on a three hour retreat with the 39 other communicants, I was filled with such a sense of pride for how she steadfastly attended mass and her classes. Her teacher commented to me on what a well behaved child she is, further adding to my already puffed chest, and I in turn thanked her for her role in Sophia's spiritual development. We left and she said to me "papi, do you think I could buy Disney Mania 4 today?"....... First question was what was DM4? Once told, I told her it would be my treat for her completing her classes today; so off we went to the record store.

Life always sneaks up on you when you least expect it, and as I watched my little girl go up to the in-store computer to locate her CD I was amazed at how my baby is slowly transforming into a young lady. Confidence and ability beyond her age were evident as she easily found the CD and then located its location in the rack. PinF has had many distractions and equal amounts of heartache the past two years, both of which have often blurred the everyday realities and changes before my eyes. She didn't say it, but I knew she was on top of the search so I kind of did what dads have to learn how to do with little girls, I let go of her little hand and kind of went about looking at albums for myself while keeping an eye on her. In that instant it all flashed back to Lansdowne Ave. record store. Here was my little person, her head barely visible over the stacks of CD's listening to her album on the courtesy player with big headphones as I did the same without her seeing me. I thought to myself how I was once that little person and my dad was me. And all at once I felt an incredible sadness and joy at the same time. Missing my dad, and rejoicing in my daughter.

We bought the CD went home, I of course had to sit through the songs of the many Disney network shows as she danced, sang, and reveled in the bliss that is being a seven year-old. Soon after this the day broke open with blue skies and sunshine, and we were back to doing what we do best, enjoying the beach. Last week she and I attended a sneak preview of the new movie Akeelah and the Bee about a little inner city girl whose love of words and scrabble provides her a vehicle out her urban blight and sorrow over losing the father who inspired her love of words. This movie struck a familiar chord with Sophie as she loves spelling and has maintained a perfect spelling test record this year too, so this movie really hit home. This also prompted Sophia to dust off her Scrabble and throw down the challenge. PinF loves Scrabble and can himself remember learning to play at an early age with his mother, something Sophia knew as she told me about my games with my mom. She acts as if she were there, absorbing every memory, anecdote, and recollection of each of her parent's childhood stories. I imagine this must be a result of being an only child in some way, since she has no siblings to go "down memory lane" with, instead she does it with me. Funny kid.

So off we went to the beach with our travel Scrabble, again with memories of my mom and me doing the same. She's good too. Anyone who knows Scrabble knows also the importance in placing the tiles on the right bonus squares as opposed to impressing anyone with words. The bigger and more obscure words will come, what you must learn first is the strategy-- something her game is beginning to reflect. I imagine what a postcard image we made--just the two of us sitting in the sand, enjoying eachother and playing a game of words, oblivious to everything and everyone. Again the poignancy of doing something with my daughter that I once did with my parent was an interesting feeling, as if I had a mirror raised to my past today. I know also that as I prepare her for her big day next Sunday she's one step further along. These are the "moments" in a child's memory-- 1st day of school, Holy Communion, 1st school field trip, these all constitute the mile posts of a child's life. As a parent we're better able to see the bigger picture and how each accomplishment no matter how small, provides the confidence and indeed the ladder that enables the next step up.

It's a bitter sweet journey to be sure, for in as much as you want and need for your child to continue taking the steps of life, you know in your "adult" mind that these memories that are being made are exactly the ones you'll want to relive in ten or twenty years. Sophia said something completely uncanny to me to tonight as we ate dinner, she said "papi, we'll never have this moment again". I asked her, "where did you hear that?" She said she just said it, that she hadn't heard it anywhere. Makes me think that she too is maybe savoring the sweet memorable moments, and is not just growing up in my eyes alone.

Lies, "Bad" News, and More Lies

NOTE: PinF hasn't had a politically motivated rant in awhile. I couldn't help myself.

Where else but in America can two adults engage in consenual sexual relations that would result in an impeachment of an American President?

Where else but in America can an over-zealous millionaire with a score to settle for his daddy engage in a totally false, immoral, and destructive war---once again against people of color, and consider his cause and mission to be just and holy?

Are these not the ironies and oxymorons of the times we live in? When PinF was a kid there was strong movement throughout the US to spray paint the words "Nixon now" underneath the word "stop" on STOP signs. This of course was considered for the times- blatant vandalism, not to mention un-American.

How ironic that in the 30 years since then we should come to find how un-just, ill-advised, and needlessly prolonged this travesty of American foreign policy was (VIETNAM), and yet we now enter another period of questionable policies and leadership. To add insult to injury, we eventually would come to find that as the highest elected official in the country Nixon was nothing more than a racist, common crook himself. He cloaked himself in both word and deed in falsehoods. Still there was fervent support for this man; even later in his shamed life as he was much sought out for advice on both political strategies and policies. His Secretary of State Kissinger was himself also later disgraced with allegations of his personal endorsement of Pinochet's junta against thousands of souls never to be heard from again.

Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. Could there be a more appropriate adage for the times we now face? Anyone who dares dissent against the failed policies of Bush's destruction, war, and world domination are deemed "unAmerican". Complain about the dissolving state of afairs in Iraq and "you don't support the troops". Never mind that there is a growing chorus of retired Generals now coming out against Rumsfield and his (BUSH's) failed policies rooted in both intimidation and lies.

So now here we are half way into a regally failed administration where we've lowered taxes, increased spending by billions upon billions on a foolish and clearly unwise and unnecessary war--and I ask, FOR WHAT? There were no WMD's. Not to mention, while we've lowered all the government revenue we've been beseeched by the single largest terrorist calamity ever, along with hurricane after hurricane plaguing our atlantic and gulf coasts. Oh yeah, "Americans are safer now", I had almost forgotten. Now I see the village idiot on television harping about "price gouging" with regard to gasoline. Is this whole country asleep? Are we drunk on the false financial elixyr we've been fed? This policy, and indeed this administration is a house of cards, when it all falls is the question.

PinF is no Wharton economist though surely this senseless form of government fiscal irresponsibility and lies that propogate them must resonate even with some Republicans? You cannot conduct a $4 billion dollar a month war and continue to cut to taxes. It's as if Bush is the pied piper is leading us all into fiscal hell so long as interest rates are low, and my tax refund is large. I challenge anyone to name one significant domestic policy or lasting social achievement in 6 years? What ever happend to that all important mandate on "no child left behind"?

How can we as a nation not to mention as the leaders of the free world, human rights, and of the God given liberties we hold so dear have gone so astray? This entire cabinent is corrupt in one form or another. We have a Vice President who until becoming VP was the chairman of the board of the single biggest contractor to the war effort. Mind you, Halliburton doesn't compete with its bids. Coincidence?

PinF is ashamed of the bullying hipocrit his country has become. The Bush administration always complains the "news media" only reports the bad things that happen in Iraq. True. That's news George, I would counter that a robbery in Texas carries more newsworthiness than than a groundbreaking for a new daycare. To be fair, I would also suggest that the American people haven't been told the half of the atrocities, deaths, and mutilations of innocent Iraqi's...of whom there have been tens of thousands killed in the pursuit of your safer America. We have created more hatred and terrorists than we'll ever kill.

I have heard time and again from the talking heads of the right-- brain washed by the "reasons" for this war, how Clinton "blew it" and how he could have had Bin Laden but failed to act. This indeed has some merit. The big difference between Clinton and Bush's policies are indeed stark. We had peace, prosperity and no war with Clinton, we also had a balanced budget and an incredible economy. We must also acknowledge the world was a very dangerous place with terrorists operating freely. With Bush we have war, financial instability, record national debts, and a precarious economy pumped up by distracting tax breaks, primarily to the rich. We arguably have a much more dangerous world, the difference being that after all the billions spent and thousands of precious American lives lost and maimed--we still have all the terrorists operating freely. PinF was no fan of Clinton the man--though it would seem that Clinton the President offered this country much more than dread, fear, and war.

Bush could have had Bin Laden too...he instead allowed Rumsfeld to farm this mission out to the Pashtun and Afghani tribesmen instead of an all out assault by the professionally trained and brave soldiers. These are the very same brave and willing soldiers we now allow to be slaughtered by the faceless enemies of Iraq courtesy of IED's.

Clinton also was wiser in the sense that he did not allow himself to be baited into a bloody, no-win war either. When we lost the Army Rangers in Mogadishu we cut our losses and got the hell out of hell. It was clear to both he and his Secretary of Defense that nothing good could come out of escalating such an incident. Further proving that the better part of valor is discretion. Conversely, Bush appears to become more stupid with every bungled objective and battle. Instead of realizing the futility of his policies, he pours in even more money. all while continuing to expend the most precious of all our commodities as a nation ---our young soldiers live's.
All for what? To do daddy right? To remove an aleady isolated despot? What a joke. An incrediby sad one at that.

Now comes George to the rescue (again)...help us.
He piously preens on the news regarding price gouging in the gasoline supplies....well duh. You started a fricking war in the middle of the world's most economically rich and vulnerable spot all at once!! Oh and if this wasn't enough? Now we have death thirsty militants in charge of the Palestinian people, and to top off George's legacy...well he might just get to drop a tactical nuclear bomb. Now there's a presidential accomplishment.

How insanely ironic that the first deliberate nuke since Hiroshima should be used in an attempt to stop exactly what we'll be dropping on the heads of the Iranians. Well at least we're all safe here on the "home front". Now if we can only get "them" to stop reporting just the bad news.........

Millions of Blessings

Sophia and me blew through $65 million dollars last Saturday night. Happily I might add, with no regret and no hesitation what so ever! Our many friends and family should be happy to know that they too were included in our blowout spending spree. The Florida lottery has been making a lot of noise lately, due in large part to no one winning for several weeks now. Sophia reminds me of the jackpot every Thursday on the way down the turnpike to figure skating lessons where we have to ride by the lottery billboard proclaiming the jackpot amount for week. So it was with this mega figure in mind we both made our way to the lotto man and purchased our "winning" ticket. I promised my Haitain friend at least $100,000.oo upon winning, he in turned wished me well now that his fortune was tied into mine.

Anyone who's ever played a lottery knows the real fun is before the drawing, when your numbers have as good a chance of being the winning ticket as anyone's. And so it was as we made our way home from the beach last Saturday night that I asked her a few questions regarding what we would do with all our "loot"? Like the apple that has fallen not too far from the tree she responded "travel"-- good answer, I already liked where this was going. So I asked Sophie "if you could go anywhere you wanted RIGHT NOW, where would it be?".... She thought for a moment, and as I eagerly awaited my travel plans she blurted out CHINA!! She said that she wanted to see the Great Wall....that's cool. It wouldn't have been my first travel location, but cool all the same. I told her we would leave on Monday, and she said "but papi, what about school", I told her not to worry we would "buy-out" her teachers' contract and take Mrs. Dinger with us to "home school" her.

She began to like this game too and so I continued on. I asked her what it was she wanted to do for people who needed help. Again, she pondered-- a bit longer this time and recounted how she and her mother had encountered a homeless veteran panhandling on the median at a red light, and how her mother gave him some change. "Help the homeless" she said, this made me feel even better about this new found money we had coming. Of course the conversation eventually wound back to her missing ice skating lessons while away in China to which I responded we would just buy the rink, and have her school lessons moved there as well. She loved this idea. By now all sorts of crazy dreams, wishes, and desires were flowing freely back and forth. We decided upon a trip to Ireland as well, she said she wanted to take her Irish nana (my mom), so I was pleased we would be going to an english speaking country as well.

As evidenced by my lack of announcements we didn't win Saturday night, at least not the cash. When she asked if we lost the next morning, I told her no. I told Sophia we didn't win any money, but that didn't mean we lost. I told her in light of all we have lost recently, including my father and our cat--that we had actually won something far more important. We had each other, we had our health, and we had a glorious Easter Sunday to go to mass together. Added to this, we had a beautiful day in which to spend together at the beach playing in the sand and the ocean. Sophia immediately knew what it was I was saying, and she told me that family and health are more important than money. Now this kind of smarts you can't buy with any lottery. Amen; our blessings are worth far more than $65 million dollars, though it would certainly enhance them for sure.

So today I stop and get the paper on my way in to work and see that the lotto has again rolled over, now it's up to $82 million. Wow, looks like alot of readers of PinF will be seeing a direct hook if we win. Mind you, I have a 1 in 23 million shot to be exact. Comparatively, to put this in proper perspective PinF's chances of a shark attack are 1 in 11.5 million, becoming president?, well that's 1 in 10 million. Poker Pro already knows this one: drawing a royal flush in poker? 1 in 650,000. OK here's one a bit more likely: drawing a 4-leaf clover on first try? 1 in 10,000. Unfortunatley what I've learned from all of this is that PinF is more likely to be struck by lightning, 1 in 3,000--than win the lotto.

Still it all comes back to that wise statement. You gotta play to win. So play we will once again tonight. I need all of your wish lists by 10PM tonight, lets say you all have $50K to spend, you can either have a lump cash payout, or PinF and Sophia will make your dreams ($50K's worth) come true. If I win, please pardon us until weI get back from China and Ireland, then I'll be up toPhilly to hand out the checks. Wish us luck!

Our New Maine Man

UPDATE: Just recieved an email from my "breeder" informing me that my new kitten's father is 32 lbs. and "still growing", she said she felt obligated to let me know that this kitten is going to be "very" large. My response? "Bring him on".
After a week of profound loss and sorrow for our beloved friend and buddy Mr. Peabody, PinF is happy to report that a finalist has been chosen to assume the now vacant throne of Peabody the I.

This said, there can never be another Peabody but there sure as hell can be another Maine Coon. PinF finds this breed of cat to be one of the coolest, most laid back, inquisitive, friendly, and above all--loyal companions that any cat could be. Taking into account there is very little in the gene pool that separates a domestic cat from it's larger and obviously wilder cousin's in the wild--this is quite amazing.

Maine Coon's are almost human like in their insistance that they be "wherever you are". They have got neither the aloofness nor the sneakiness of their "other" domestic cousins. They are quite large (Peabody in his prime was 20lbs. of very relaxed muscle), so any element of surprise is immediately lost with their physical presence alone. Although due to their size I've also found them to be very confrontational if their space is violated, rarely if ever backing down to any animal. Peabody once lept atop a brown Labrador and put the lion's clamp on the back of it's neck as the 80lb male dog ran yelping with Peabody on his back. They are nothing-- if not the fiercest protectors of their domestic domains. PinF loves this attribute....couch potato-to feline super hero.

After an exhaustive, and often emotionally draining canvassing of the the state of Florida PinF has become more educated on Maine Coons than he had as Peabody the I's caretaker and confidant for 15 years. I've spoken to dozens of breeders and afficianados regarding the "application process" and their "screening" after which I've come to the conclusion you may very well be able to adopt a child easier than a Maine Coon kitten. Still, I had to play the game. PinF's initial contact was the heart-string tugging letter--quite by accident really as I was feeling down as the search began. Explaining Sophia's and my loss and then how we need to find a replacement. This approach was obviously a wise one, as we have "automatically" been placed at the top of no less than three waiting list's since we are "grieving" the passing of a Maine Coon, and not first time buyers. PinF has to admit, these Maine Coon people are mighty classy, and very accomodating, further proving that "membership does indeed has its privileges" .

After narrowing the list down from either readily available Coons that were either a little older than we wanted, or not the gender we wanted, or 450 miles away from us-- we were finally contacted by a breeder just south in Dade County. She informed me who upon learning of our plight, that she had one male who would indeed be "very, very, large" who was promised out already, but due to my "grieving" status I would trump this person's wait on the list of next adoption. Cool. PinF is considering applying his grieving status to other purchases....maybe his next motorcycle, or even his groceries...like "my bananas died, they just turned black"....

And so, without further adieu I have photo of the heir apparent to the now vacant throne of Peabody I, he is only 8 weeks old, as such he will not be released to ascend to his rightful role as Monarch for another 3-4 weeks. He has been informed of his duties--quite simple really. Get fat, chill out, guard the kingdom, make Sophia and myself happy. Simple no? So PinF is now in a holding pattern, his search completed, he sits atop the adoption list waiting (and saving $$$$) prepared to enter into yet another bond of responsibility to another living creature. Sure it would be easier to just worry about myself and Sophia, but it's obvious I got so much more from my cat than he ever got from us; that and the fact that Sophia deserves to have a pet now more than before. Besides, now that she can really enjoy one as a young child and not as a hair tugging toddler. Another real "plus" is that I can assign her "cat litter duty" so maybe this isn't so bad after all. His new name? Tenatively it's "PEABODY-TOO".

Nine Lives Are Not Enough

PEABODYinFLORIDA 1992-2006

UPDATE: Had "the talk" with Sophia last night. Tough break for this little kid. First her pop-pop, now her beloved little buddy Mr. P. She wants to get a new Peabody and name it......you guessed it, Peabody. Of all the events you can shield your child from, death is not one of them. Death sucks.


PinF loves cats. Not dogs-- cats. I tolerate dogs, I like dogs, I also admire dog owners' dedication to their pets; because unlike the cat they require much more "involvement". Want to experiment with the idea of having a child? Get a dog. You have to walk them, keep them out of things, clean up their poop and basically raise them as steadfastly as a two year-old child. Cats? Well they are independent, clean, and come with a built in program of survival. Unlike the dog, the cat is a predator and hunter; more importantly the cat is not a pack animal, but rather a solitary animal--- one that relishes it's solitary life of sleeeping up to 18 hours a day while it's owner is away, then patrolling the night time hours as it's owner rests comfortably. Try as man may, you cannot remove the predatory tendancies of a cat, something that fascinates me. I guess that's why cats have nine lives...because they're so damn rested.

PinF's lifestyle dictates his pet be self sufficient, quiet, and clean. So give PinF a cat anyday. When travelling it's nice to know I can leave a clean littler box, several strategically placed bowls of water and food and know that my animal is good to go. Try this with a dog. Most likely your house will resemble pooptown with a few articles of furniture chewed for spite.

PinF has had a Maine Coon cat for 15 years, Mr. Peabody is his name. He was adopted by PinF and his brother Flash back in 1993 from a woman in Philadelphia who was on the verge of an emotional break down due to a divorce and her landlord's edict that she get rid of four of her five exotic cats she was co-habitating with in a 800 sq. ft. apartment. Flash and I were imediately taken with Mr. Peabody when we visited to look over the "goods". She had a collection of cats that spanned the feline genus; a siamese, a persian, a ragdoll, a tabby, and standing tall as all the others scattered--- was 20lb. Mr. Peabody. We knew immediately he was "the one". This shook his very unstable owner to the core, and as Flash went out to the car to fetch the much to small small cat carrier, Peabody's owner broke down in a fit of tears crying "..he's my favorite..." in my arms. It was not pretty, and a bit much more than I had bargained for. My mouth was uttering words I tried to take back like "you can visit him anytime you want"....Flash came back in and was wondering what the hell had happened in the five minutes he had stepped out.

Maine Coons are much more than just cats as anyone who has ever owned one will tell you. They are true companions. They are also an indigenous feline to North America, big, strong, and eternally playful. They are incredibly dextrous with their paws and will open doors and clutch things like a child would with a hand. They are very durable, and extremely loyal. Maine Coons were originally from Maine and were nototious for their skills at ridding farms of vermin, so they were endeared to generations of farmers. More than anything the MC is quite unlike many other breeds in that they are very people oriented, gregarious, and downright friendly cats. Choosing always to be in whatever room their owners occupy, almost to annoyance. If I'm in the shower he's stretched out on the bathroom rug, cooking?--he's on the floor in front of the stove. You get the picture.

Over the past 15 years Mr. Peabody has defended me from bats, squirrels, dogs, raccons, and mice. Most recently he has been called on to repel the reptilian invaders all around PinF's headquarters, killing no less than 500 lizards since moving to Florida 9 years ago. About seven years ago PinF was awoken at 4AM to the most un-Godly noises I had ever heard--clearly a fight was in progress, something Mr. Peabody never really got into much so I rushed downstairs in my underwear and threw on the outside lights to see what was going on. In my haste I gashed my big toe open; at the time I had a pool and and a one year-old so I had the child fence around the pool to prevent Sophia from access. In my still half asleep state I could make out a huge ball of snarling fur running, fighting, snapping, and splashing within the fence. I quickly went back in and grabbed a broom and came back to break up what I believed to be a "cat" fight.....as I came upon the the furious ball of fur I relaized that it was a racoon--not one but two! Peabody was on top of one with a throat hold, while its mate was on top of Peabody.

By this time I was fearful for my trusty mate's life, so I rushed the now snarling and backtracking racoons with the broom handle, swinging and prepared to kill the raccoon to protect Mr. Peabody. The first raccoon leapt 6 ft. over the fence, and just as the bottom raccoon stumbled trying to make the fence I swatted the snarling pest. He was clearly injured from his engagement as he scurried up the fence with a lame front paw and a now sore backside. Mr. Peabody had opened a family size can of whoop-ass on him, I was quite sure that these coons being the smart animals they are wouldn't be back through these parts again. By this time the adrenelan was pumping hard as I grabbed the soaking wet Mr. P in a towel and brought him inside for a post battle inspection. He was clearly freaked--shaking and soaked. As I was to find out later from the vet, the raccoon will often take the fight to the water in order to use his webbed feet in an attempt to drown his adversary. Poor Mr. P!. At first light I called work and hurried Mr. Peabody over to the Vet where he was seen immediately, fearing the worst-- my wife said her good-byes in advance. I was sure due to rabies and such that Mr. Peabody's valiant fight may have cost him his life. Much to my surprise after an intense head to tail inspection Mr. Peabody showed no skin breaks what so ever!! He was issued a rabies booster and awarded a unanimous decision over two wild animals! The Vet had explained that due to Mr. Peabody's size (almost 24 inches long, and 20lbs.) and his thick, long, waterproof coat of hair he was able to surprise, over power, and dominate not one--but two raccoons.

It was further discovered to be trash day, as such the coons were doing what coons do--trash picking. The hour of the night and the fact that the coons were traveling in a pair further suggested that they were not rabid but were healthy, curious, albeit very unlucky-- coons, that just happened to take a short cut through Mr. P's domain, violating his perimeter. Being the incredibly vigilant cat that he was--he engaged the "enemy". All of this with no front claws. He was afforded macho hero status in the Vet that day, and I as his owner could not have been prouder of what he had done. For to know cats, you must also know that as solitary animals they see their owners as their parents; as such he was protecting me and my perimeter. Conversely, dogs are pack animals, and have Alpha leaders, humans walking behind their dogs on a leash essentially are showing their place in the "pack" to their dog.

Mr. Peabody is old now. I noticed he had been losing weight since the hurricane something I had attributed to his getting lost for 6 days, possibly he had eaten something that had given him parasites? This combined with the fact of his old age. Still, after being away for three weeks for my father's death I returned and saw Mr. P. very differently. I rushed him over to the Vet where he was subjected to a battery of tests and lab work. The initial diagnosis was hyperthyroidism, a controllable condition, so my hopes were high as I left the Vet Friday night. I received a call yesterday that all the labs were normal, as such they would need to do an X-ray on Mr. P. So back we went, me and "Mr. Famous", as the staff had read his file and were aware of his bravery in battle. I no sooner arrived home and my phone rang. It was the Vet and she said she had "bad news", the X-ray had revealed a large mass on Mr. Peabody's liver. I was stunned. I could not say anything, the Vet could sense my shock and said nothing, allowing me time to absorb this. My options are clear, but due to his age, and the size of the mass, she advised I should probably put him down. Loss is becoming a recurring theme in PinF's life as of late. Yes he is "just a cat", and yes he's lived a long, faithful, and fun life. He's even gotten to live in a tropical climate, freeing him from the "housecat" chains he was raised under in Philadelphia. But he's my buddy.

The one true constant in my life despite all the up's and down's and incredible changes I've experienced--has always been P and me. He is my last connection to Philadelphia, and his passing represents much more than that of a pet, but of an era, one which saw me leave everything in Philadelphia except my buddy, Mr. P. The moves from Philadelphia and around Florida, the hurricanes, the divorce, all of it-- he's been there. This era ends Monday. I have the week-end to explain death once again to Sophia and to pamper Mr. Peabody, as she has been Mr. P's biggest admirer for ALL of her life. PinF has had many pets in his life--none like Mr. Peabody, he was a giant amongst his peers. His size was small compared to the joy he brought and the loyalty and love he so unselfishly showed us. PinF is trying to find the message in all the loss. It's in there, I know. For now I shall focus on indulging Mr. Peabody with all his desires--shrimp, salmon, raw hamburger. He's going out the way he's always longed to live--in gluttony.

Chilling