by Damian | Nov 1, 2016 | Family, Funny Business |
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 tan corduroy 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.
by Damian | Oct 15, 2016 | Deep Thoughts, Family |
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.
by Damian | Sep 1, 2016 | Family |
Here’s how my daughter (#4, the non-blonde) is when she’s around her friends:
And here is her reaction when she has to be seen with her old man:
by Damian | Aug 30, 2016 | Family, Funny Business |
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.
My son, the Magic Johnson of sugary snacks.
by Damian | Jul 30, 2016 | Family |
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.
by Damian | Jul 24, 2016 | Family |
Here’s a photo of my son, buckling up before his first solo car drive:
The good news: he has a job so he can help pay for gas. The bad news: our car insurance rates doubled… and my heart rate tripled. I suppose it’s just the first in a series of “letting go” moments. Soon he’ll be heading off to college. Then moving out of the house permanently after college (at least we hope so). Then starting a life of his own, where his parents merely make cameo appearances. There’s not much we can do about it – he’s in the driver’s seat.
Oh, and if you see a blue, 2003 Honda Odyssey on the road in the eastern part of Cincinnati, with a bunch of school stickers on the back and some rock music cranked up really high, you might want to give the car a wide berth.
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