Alice

The Gifts of Life

PinF welcomed his newest addition on July 12th---hence the silence for too long now. Alice Valentina Paynter was welcomed into this world by her mother and I and has consumed the majority of our time since. More to follow....................

Time does Fly

The metaphors of life often speak more clearly to the realities of our lives than we realize.

"Time Flies" comes to mind. I watch daily as my once little girl transforms into a more mature, independent, and individual person; one who seeks to define her identity not as my daughter so much as by who she as a burgeoning young lady is. Today PinF was offered as concrete an example of this fact as one can get. "Time" literally flew, as we walked through the airport where my daughter and I have walked literally dozens of times, hand-in-hand as we embarked on our many trips to my town, Philly. Her dimunitive smooth hand curled in my much larger one, full of wonder, questions and excitement.

Difference today was that my little girl no longer holds her daddy's hand, and she no longer looks like a "little girl". Today as her mother and I looked on in melancholic disbelief we watched as our once little girl walked down the rampway of her own flight; both of us recognizing that time has indeed "flown". And then she was gone; flying alone for the first time in her eleven years to Philadelphia. A truer metaphor I couldn't imagine. Time flew right out of our lives. Her mother dabbing tears, Sophia nervously excited to go, and me in a kind of stunned pride at her confidence and poise.

Sad as I was to see her go, I was equally proud of the young lady she's become. I could hardly imagine at age eleven having either the luxury or confidence to fly on my own. But this is what life really is; we're training our children everyday to be independent, confident, and unafraid to accept new challenges--and instead-- facing their fears, and taking those steps even when they may be uncertain. I'd be lying if I said it didn't have that familiar "first day of school goodbye" feel to it. It was hard, but it's also very necessary in the development and education of a complete person.

Sophia is nothing if not confident; and so now she's off and I'm left with a strange feeling of void right now, something I'll most likely have until my mother calls from the other end and lets me know she's received my precious cargo. But what a great feeling to have a child who wants to strike out on her own and fly to see your mother, her grandmother? She'll be spending days of such quality and joy with her grandmother that I'm pressed to imagine how I couldn't have let her go.

So there it is. The son leaves his mother only to have his daughter leave him. The symbiotic balance is found in the continuative cycle of life and love. My daughter is with my mother for a whole week of exploration, learning, and fun in the "big city". I couldn't think of more fulfilling memory for Sophia when she's older than this experience of learning more about the wonderful mother that made me the competent father I am.

I told Sophia what my father once told me as I boarded a flight "don't forget where you came from". Because in life it's never really "where" you are or even where you're going so much as it is where you've come from and all -that's gone into making you who you are.

Time flew today; metaphorically, and literally--and with it, so too did my daughter. Luckily she's flying in the right direction in life as in destination.

Reeling in the Years.......

A year ago I was 40,000 feet in the air closing in on London for a long overdue visit with some dear friends. Four years ago I was shattered by the loss of my father after a protracted illness and the toll it took on all who cared for him right up to the end. Five years ago I finally emerged from the hell that was divorce after the rigorous toll it took on my health, heart and daughter.

March 13 holds significance for sure. And even though it still has me looking in my rear view mirror at those long cold days spent at my father's bedside as all the familiar traces of his being slowly ebbed away before my eyes in hospice, things are for the most part--ok. And despite the pain, the tears, and the sadness life indeed has gone on, for the better. I have a wonderful woman in my life, my daughter is flourishing before my eyes, and though I miss him terribly; thoughts of my father evoke more smiles than tears now.

Of even greater significance is the fact that my daughter will have a sister in July and I a second daughter. Funny how much difference a year makes in our lives, I certainly would've never imagined the blessing of another child this time last year. And though I haven't posted on here much lately, most likely this is a good sign, as my life has become busier, and in turn it has become whole again after losing so much-- in such a short span.

Spring awaits just around the corner both figuratively and literally in my life today. I can say for sure that I still miss my pop a lot, but I know now better than I did then that the course of life is generally 85-90% joy, happiness, and love. The other 10-15% is heartache, pain, loss, and tears. If we're lucky in this life we get to space that 10-15% of pain over the span of our lives so as to not feel the awesome totality of life's losses. I know now how lucky I've been. And after a particularly nasty little spell, I too am back in the happiness, joy, and love.

My daughter continues to be the eternal spring of my life's joy. Sprinkle in a special someone and the pending birth of our daughter and you have the ingredients for another good run on happiness. So for all those who ask me when/where has PinF gone, or will I post again soon, trust me--it isn't because I haven't the stories to tell--on the contrary. I'm living the stories, so much in fact that finding the time to write them is the challenge now................

Brother Can You Spare a Dime?

I like to think I'm a good judge of character, motives, and the genuineness of people. I also like to consider myself a compassionate person, though these days, when out and about one can never be too careful. PinF has always had an ability to talk to all people-irrespective of race, color, or station in life, knowing well that there's good in all of us and that none of us is immune to the pitfalls of life.

And so it was yesterday that I would find myself in one of West Palm Beach's less than picturesque neighborhoods while working--you might call it "seedy". I think you can get the picture no matter where you live when you consider the economic climate and of the profound effect it's having on those less fortunate than you. This is a neighborhood that by day looks innocent enough, but by night you'd be sure to avoid. Where scruffy men drink beer out of cans in paper bags, and women of nefarious intent prowl the main street. Edgy for sure, but nothing where you feel endangered by daylight.

I had stopped into 7-11 to grab a paper and a coffee and had just gotten in my car and took a phone call. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him. Three clear plastic bags with what appeared to be his life. Reasonably well dressed, newer sneakers, clean shaven--he didn't look the part. For in that instant our eyes met--and I knew instinctively what this often means---he was going to approach me like so many other unfortunate people for any "loose change". Seems Florida has a disproportinate amount of street and homeless persons--due in large part to the climate.

As I spoke on the phone with a wary eye to my car's side and rear view mirrors, I saw the man take a shaking, almost spasmatic step from the curb. As he moved closer I recognized his Palsy-like symptons and watched as he struggled the twenty-feet or so to where I sat in my comfortably idling, and locked vehicle. He was putting forth each clumsily paralyzed foot and willing his body to follow; strained, almost pained looks filled his face. By now he placed his bags on the pavement in front of the 7-11 in an effort to better navigate his way towards me.

Clearly he was zeroing in on me, our brief glance moments before setting the scene for this encounter, now made much more dramatic by his arduous approach. He mimed for me to rolll down my window, though ever so politely, as he was acknowledging I was on the phone. I finished my call, rolled down the window and I as I greeted him with good morning, he began to slur his words to me, struggling with emotion. "Excuse me sir, I'm a Marine with Cerebal Palsy and I need help".

Like I said, I've seen my share of homeless drunks with far flung stories. But something on this guys face, the way he was dressed, and the way he struggled so mightly to take three or four steps told me this guy was for real, and he needed a little help. I asked him what was going on? He said he was Veteran who served in the Marine Corps, and by the look of him he didn't seem much older than myself. He said he was diagnosed a few years ago and has been in and out of the VA hospital. He admitted he maintained a one bedroom flat in this dubious neighborhood, but that he had no money and was in need of a meal.

Normally I'd take what ever loose change in my console and dump into a grimy hand. Not today, he looked too hungry, too desperate. He asked if I could spare some change so he could get a "donut or something". I handed him a five dollar bill. A stunned look came over his face and he started muttering "..Oh my God, oh my God..", "thank-you and more God bless you's soon followed, and how "I didn't know how much this meant to him". And as he struggled for the right words, I watched as a tear that had been welling in his eye finally broke free and ran down his brown weathered face leaving a track of pain. I told him him God Bless him too and to stay strong. With his he turned to struggle back to his three clear plastic bags that held his belongings.

Just as he got to the door of the 7-11, he turned to me and said he was going to go to the Publix supermarket, "because he could make his $5.00 go further there than at the 7-11 and get something he could put on the stove". I told him good idea.

Problem was---the Publix was another 2 blocks away. Kind of put my day, my life and my world into a much needed perspective.

The Long Days of Time

We sat at an outdoor plaza, its fountains dancing in the late day sun as laughing children streamed about tossing pennies and nickels into the water as father's stopped to pose for photos with their children. I mentioned to Sophia as we enjoyed our dish's at her favorite Italian restaurant that today was the summer solstice--the longest day of the year. And as I told her this I thought to myself what a wonderful metaphor for this-- my father's day with her that it should fall on a day that is longer than any other, since what we all seek is more time. More time to live, experience, laugh, and enjoy.

I had 44 Father's Days' with my dad and I wondered as she spoke so animatedly and passionately about everything a ten year-old girl discusses with her dad, whether I too would get at least 34 more "Days" like this. We all want to live long and healthy lives, filled with rich experiences and satisfying days. Yet 34 more years seems so "soon", though in reality my daughter would be almost 50 in 34 years.

And so it was as we enjoyed each other's company gabbing about everything and nothing, my little girl not looking so "little" anymore as toddlers caught my eye tying to touch the splashing water of the fountains. Still, as the sky painted the evening in pastel colors over her shoulder, I was able to drink in all that this one day really means. We so often stumble through the days, weeks, months and years until one day we wake up and our parents begin to look like our grandparents, we begin look like our parents, and our children all of a sudden look like us. Fitting indeed that I had the extra daylight, the extra hour, and extra time to appreciate my beautiful daughter and stop to appreciate that which I try not to take for granted.

Being a father is one thing you never really think too much about until you are one. Though once you are, you struggle to recall a time when you thought of anything else really. It's one of life's riddles in a way. So there we sat, enjoying an Italian gelato and still gabbing, only now we were discussing our upcoming vacation. It felt good just being in the moment especially since by virtue of the calender it was an extra few moments on an extra glorious summer day.

Time Surfing

I'm often struck by the many contrasts of my own childhood and that of my daughter, especially since I was raised in the northeast as one of five children as opposed to being an only child growing up in the year-round warmth of Florida.


Case in point, my daughter attended surfing school all last week. When school would end for PinF after 5th grade back in 1974 the BIG focus would the local swim club, something my brothers and I loved mind you, though it certainly wasn't 'surf school". My brother's and I would of course also have two weeks of coastal bliss to look forward to usually down at the beach at Sea Isle City, N.J., with all the wonder and excitement of playing on the beach and the boardwalk while literally lost in the time warp of youth. So it was, all last week I had a week of surf lingo: "shredding, gnarly, and surfing the line".....etc. I couldn't help but to think to myself how I would've died for such an experience at age 10.

While pondering my own childhood I realized that it was really all bout "time". How we spend it, how we waste it, and ultimately how we all pay little attention to it, especially as children, because what real significance does time have other than "bedtime" or "dinnertime"? Something I find myself saying more and more as my child becomes a part of consumer America is "....when I was a kid....", trying to make her realize how lucky she is to spend a week on the beach with nothing more to do than learn to surf, not to mention her affinity for computers, cell phones and MP3 players. I'm often transported back to the long hot summer's of my youth playing stepball in front of the house with the neighborhood kids all assembling with my mother acting as referee/nurse/commisioner of the many leagues and disputes that would arrise from such concentrations of kids on her doorstep.

"When I was a kid" comments have about as much effect on my daughter as they had on me by my father, still the temptation to try to make a kid appreciate, realize, and be grateful for their daily lives is great and often irresistable. Making a child of today understand the fact that there were no computers, MP3's, and cell phones, not to mention 150 TV channels and endless amusement parks back "in the day" is like trying to convince Dick Cheney that waterboarding was torture.

Still time ebbs ever forward and we soon fall back into the routine of living in the moment, not the past. I'm grateful that my daughter can do things and go places I may not have as a child, because afterall this is what is supposed to happen. The challenge is trying to compete with the many external distractions of youth that exist today. Aside from television, there wasn't as much of a social disconnect from my parent's generation to my mine. Sure, social mores and attitudes changed, but the world in general wasn't turned upside down with regard to what kids were doing, expected, and wanted. The life of ten-year old me, was the desire to play in a pool, play little league baseball, and go to the beach. Life was simple.

So it was that as exotic as "surfing' camp sounded, Sophia found her "simplicity" of being. Arriving each morning at 8:30 to the glistening ocean front park where a day's worth of water excitement waited, either surfing, tubing, jet skiing, or just plain old beach games. No cell phones, MP3's, or computers for a whole week? The result? A very happy, tanned, and satisfied little girl who got off the techno roller coaster and got on the slow "wave" of fun.

The changes taking place at age ten are so stark and contrasting to the little girl who has up until recently needed/wanted her papi is both a bit sad and exciting all at once. I see in her a

confidence that comes from both maturing as well as wanting to be seen as fitting in, and not tethered to her "daddy". Oh sure, she's still papi's girl when we have time together, but I see through my own past what she is thinking and feeling as she attempts to spread her wings and fly a little further each time. Stretching the boundaries is now the norm, either in asking if she can do another sleepover, or meeting her friends in the mall. These are all natural developments I know, still they are stark reminders that we are all growing apart physically in life, depsite the increasing emotional investments.

I've often commented that the key to being a good parent is quite simple. Remember what it is to be the kid. That's all there is to it. Empathy, coupled with memory and a touch of some thicker skin as the child grows into the adolescent is all it takes to be a fair, fun, and good parent. Of course you have to temper this with strong disciplinary judgement since the child is constantly testing the rules/boundaries/and expectations. My belief is that most of us know how to be authority figures, the key is in learning to be trusting parents, despite knowing what we all know by the time the child is them self a reflection of paths we've already walked.

To this endeavor I am still learning, evolving, and trying to be. For her part, the child is still lost in time enjoying her summer.

As it should be.

A Sage at 70

The more I parent, the more I remember and understand, and the more I appreciate how I was raised and by who.

Today was school picture day, as if I don’t already own 6,000 images of my daughter; I now need to write a check to purchase more with an artificial background included as well. Last night I was up until 10PM with my little lovely putting the final touches on this year’s science fair submittal.

Yesterday I sat at St. Paul’s with my daughter and brother listening to an Easter homily while remembering the many Easter Sunday’s of my youth while wanting nothing more than for the mass to end so that the candy eating might commence. As I sat, listened, and looked around I saw many poignant reminders of my childhood. Fidgety children reprimanded discreetly by their mothers in the pews. I could, and I believe my brother did also, remember many a Sunday were our mother in an attempt to receive the message, would have to rearrange the order of her five sons so as to minimize the church antics of five little boys bent on antagonizing one another.

Here I was now, the parent. Of course being a parent to one daughter hardly compares to shepherding five sons through an hour of silence and good behavior. Still I have great respect now as a parent for those who do. All of which brings me to the point of this post.

One of the most influential and admired people of my life is celebrating a true milestone today. And as much as it an event to ponder, rejoice, and celebrate, it is equally if not more, a moment to reflect from whence I’ve come. If we’re really lucky in life; and many aren’t, we get two loving, fun, and truly caring parents. If we’re even luckier we get them for our entire childhood. Luckier still, would be that they stay together and grow old, each watching over each other despite the other’s faults and hang-ups into the golden years of their lives. And of course one of life’s truest gifts is to have your parent(s) well into your own adult years; this of course serves two purposes depending on whose perspective you get, though perspectives aside, this is when the true friendship blossoms. For no longer is the parent serving the strict advisor, teacher, and disciplinarian role; but rather they become more of a contemporary, and if we’re lucky they open up and allow us a glimpse in the mysteries of our past.

For the child, this period allows a certain candor that really doesn’t exist as a child or even a young adult; this candor can only be earned through experiences of the heart. These experiences are of course well known to all; death, marriage, childbirth, divorce, depression, triumph, achievement, and loss. For all that we think we know at twenty or even thirty for that matter, we still know very little when compared to our parents. So like the maturation of sapling, so too is maturation of a person; you must be weathered by many storms, and caressed by the warmth of many summers to truly understand the joys and pains of our lives, and the fact they too will pass quickly. This is the luxury of having a parent into your middle age. You can now as an adult admit your impetuousness, your naivety, and your mistakes, since you are hopefully at a place where the candidness of truth outshines the pompousness of ignorance and pride.

Now for the parent, I imagine the truest advantage to having the child reach middle age is in finally being recognized as having known what the hell they were talking about all bloody time the child was not listening, or at least not wanting to admit they were. They say the greatest revenge of a parent is in watching the child become one them self. This I can attest is true. The sage wisdom of the parent is much like wine, it cannot, nor should it be, enjoyed or even appreciated by the child until such time as the child has come to understand the lessons that go into the grapes.

Like any relationship we have in life, the parent-child relationship needs to be nourished; yet unlike our friendships which are relationships of choice, our family, specifically our parents, are relationships of chance. We are given no choice in which we are given-- both parents and children. Yet inextricably we are mirrors of each other. For there is no greater gauge of who a person is than by speaking with the person who raised, taught, and guided that person. Of course there are exceptions, maybe the person who rose up despite parental addictions, or shortcomings of character, but for the most part our parents are our blueprint if you will. And rather justifiably, we too leave our mark on our parents as well. Either in teaching them tolerance, patience, or laughter we’re all affecting each other in some form; hopefully it’s in the positive form.

Today is my mother’s 70th birthday. She isn’t your average seventy year old though, and many of you who know PinF know this already. Never having been defined by traditional labels, she has raised five sons, a good part of which was done as a single mom, educated her self at night while working full-time, and then gone on to return the goodness she acquired to so many others who’ve been touched by her love, knowledge and experience. We all love our mom’s, or at least we all want to. I’ve been blessed in that my experience has taught me that good parenting comes from steady, consistent, and loving lessons, doled out with equal parts of self responsibility, sprinkled with letting the child fail or fly on their own when the lesson is at stake. It isn’t easy, yet nothing in life that’s worth a shit ever is.

On this day exactly six years ago, I sat with my mother deep in the heart of Central America at the Yohoa Lake at a pretty much empty lakeside resort. We were as alone together as two people possibly could be. She was living and serving the impoverished people of Honduras, all the while questioning whether her commitment and sacrifice were her true calling, all while her sister slowly expired to cancer. I too was questioning many issues as well; as I navigated through the land mines of a dying marriage, while trying to hold onto the lessons and ideals of being a responsible and loving parent to a little girl who I knew was facing a changing future. So there we both sat, each kind of broken inside, yet still each trying to be the stronger one for the other. Incredibly I came away recharged, and refocused ready to face whatever may come, and for her part she felt reaffirmed in her decision to spend 2 ½ years away from her family, friends, and home to fulfill her mission in the Peace Corps.

This trip for me was a very candid and powerful two weeks of talking and really listening to one another. I think I could speak for us both when I say that we learned more about each other as adults in that two weeks than we had in the years leading up to us meeting in the middle of a third world country. Strange in a way, how we often must travel many roads metaphorically, and here we were alone in a tiny country, with no TV, no outside interaction; just the two of us fulfilling our metaphorical destinies. I remember well my pride in seeing her, as she had literally blossomed into the person she had wanted to be, and indeed was all that time, but now with the opportunity to separate, face an incredible challenge, and make a difference, she was more than just “mom”, she was someone I was so proud to have as a friend and confidant in my life. I remember telling her that the seeds she was sowing in Honduras may not take root for twenty years, but that her presence in so many young girls and boys lives as an educated and empowered woman, teacher, advisor, and mother, would surely pay dividends and live on long after her life to affect and hopefully change many more lives for the better, and how many people can say this?

So today, April 13th I celebrate one of my truest and certainly oldest friend’s birthday. She just so happens to be my mother as well; a fact that makes her special day also mine, as without her I’d have never known the fullness of the life I’ve lead and enjoyed as a brother, father and a friend.

Words, Places, People, and Faces

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.