It’s a recent photo of our 15-year-old son Peter (he’s just being a goofball throwing up gang signs – love his sense of humor), contrasted with a photo of him from what seems like weeks ago, but in reality was nearly a decade and a half ago. I know every parent says “it goes so fast” but I usually don’t think about it much, until I’m confronted with it every morning as I grab eggs out of the fridge.
Sure, it makes me sad to realize that our babies are growing up, but it’s also a great reminder to cherish making Peter’s breakfast every weekday morning (2 eggs, scrambled, with cheddar cheese) instead of considering it a thankless chore. Soon enough, he’ll be getting his own breakfast at college (and it had better not be kegs and eggs!).
This trip down memory lane made me think of a great tune from 22 years ago, a song by the Velvet Crush called “Time Wraps Around You.” (Never heard of the Velvet Crush? Neither has 99.4% of America – and that’s a crying shame.) It’s on one of my favorite “hidden gem” albums of all time, Teenage Symphonies To God.
Here’s a picture of my two younger kids last night before they went trick-or-treating.
Harry Potter and a Rastafarian – quite a contrast. My two older sons are in high school and therefore too old to go trick-or-treating. Which reminds me of November 1st, 1978, when I was a freshman in high school and had “aged out” of the Halloween goody-grabbing process. However, my sister who is two years younger still was allowed to go with her friends. We lived in the sticks of Arkansas so my dad had to drive her 10 miles into the sprawling metropolis of Clarksville (population 6000) in order for her to get any decent trick-or-treating done.
The next morning my older sister, older brother and I had to get up before daylight and make the 60-mile drive to our high school. (There were only four Catholic high schools in the entire Baptist Bible Belt state of Arkansas, and that was the nearest one for us.) While my older sister drove and my brother rode shotgun, I sat in the back seat of our Ford Pinto. (Deathtrap! Actually ours was a Pinto stationwagon so it wasn’t as dangerous, or so I thought.) When we arrived at our high school, I started walking toward the building and my brother, who was walking behind me, said “Whoa, what happened?”
Apparently my younger sister had spilled a Milk Dud… a single, solitary Milk Dud… in the backseat of the car. And yours truly had proceeded to sit on aforementioned Milk Dud for more than an hour, giving the choocolate-coated caramel plenty of time to warm up and ooze into my pants. My tancorduroy pants. The resemblance to a “pooped my pants” accident was uncanny.
Oh, and did I mention that November 1st was First Quarter Awards day? The entire high school student body assembled in the gym and anyone who won an award had to make a long, solitary walk to the podium at center court to claim their certificate of achievement. I was slated to get two awards.
I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to scrape “a delicious blend of smooth milk chocolate and chewy caramel” out of the wales of corduroy pants, but it’s virtually impossible. Thankfully my older brother had an oversized jacket and I wore that thing the entire day, even though it was about 80 degrees outside.
Ever since that fateful day, I have flashbacks every time I go to the movie theater.
My father Herbert had two enduring loves in his life:
His wife (my mom, if you’re keeping score at home), Olga (nee Osellame).
The Los Angeles Dodgers (nee Brooklyn Dodgers).
He grew up in Jersey City, New Jersey and was just a subway ride away from his beloved Dodgers during their “Boys of Summer” (a must-read book by Roger Kahn) days. He was 10 when they made their first World Series in a generation, 15 when Jackie Robinson made his historic debut. He cheered “dem bums” on in four World Series match-ups where they wound up on the losing end, before they finally broke through in 1955 and beat the dreaded Yankees in a seven-game classic.
The Dodgers broke his heart when they moved to Los Angeles after the ’57 season. But he found joy in the five World Series they won during the rest of his lifetime.
He married my mom on October 15, 1960.
She broke his heart when she died of leukemia in 1968. But he found joy in the four children they had, and their kids’ kids too.
Tonight, October 15, 2016, the Los Angeles Dodgers take on the Chicago Cubs in the first game of the NLCS. I wish Herb were still around to root for his squad. But I know there can be joy after heartache, and I take solace in the symmetry.
My 11-year-old son Andrew came up to me last night and said, “Dad, I got a triple-double!” Normally “triple-double” is a term used in basketball to denote reaching double figures in three statistical categories (e.g. 12 points, 15 rebounds and 10 assists).
But Andrew had a different one in mind:
He’s holding the filling from three double-stuffed Oreos.
Ah, there’s nothing like breaking down 40 miles north of Panama City, Florida, in the family truckster that’s loaded to the gills with kids, bikes and beach supplies. Oh, and our oldest son’s guitar and amplifier too (he really needs to learn how to downsize his packing list). Cargo carrier on top (we call it “the turtle”) and bike rack on the back.
Despite all the technological advances made by the auto industry, there’s still not a whole lot of warning when your car’s alternator dies. One minute you’re cruising along at 60 m.p.h., the next minute all your dashboard controls go haywire and your car dies.
Granted, we were going from the Florida Panhandle to Hilton Head in the middle of a two-week vacation, so I realize this falls into the category of #firstworldproblems. But still, it wasn’t a whole lot of fun. Especially when we got to the car dealer and they said they didn’t have an alternator for a 2003 Honda Odyssey in stock, and it’d take 3 days to order one. Thankfully they were able to find a suitable substitute that afternoon, and 7 hours (and many dollars) later, we were back on the road. Oh well, at least we didn’t get stuck in Hilton Head bridge traffic when we rolled in near midnight.
When our car wasn’t breaking down, here’s the typical scene inside the van:
Yours truly at the wheel, the rest of the family snoozing.
Kevin Sullivan on Life advice from a man who lived it: “A good one Damian. Bring our lens into focus after the long weekend or our long life journey.” Jul 7, 09:38
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