"When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me speaking words of wisdom"
Another thing I am not -- is a "clothes" person. Other than to keep warm, dry, and presentable to others, I do not spend much time contemplating clothes. I have had a couple of favorite articles in my lifetime, though (usually a tee-shirt with a smart or smartass expression). Last Christmas I received a hooded sweatshirt with the title "Let It Be" and the classic photo arrangment of the four Beatles from the album of the same name. I love it because it was given to me by a loved one, and that I grew up as a big Beatles fan (as were so many who went through their formative years during the 60's). As a music lover and a musician, I have often been in discussions concerning the Beatles popularity and cultural importance. It started way back when debates would be over who was the greatest band - the Beatles or the Dave Clarke 5 (yes, you youngsters who don't know any better - The Dave Clarke 5 ---- ya had to be there!). I'm happy to say that I was on the winning side of that arguement. My children have often gotten me to dispense wisdom on the historical importance of the Beatles and why they are indeed the most importance influence on popular rock music ever. But my approach was always simply matter-of-fact, of course it's true, unquestioned belief. But recently I noticed something that has gotten me to think deeper. Inveritably, when I wear my Let It Be shirt - people comment about it. Total strangers - young and old - randomly comment about it. Little kids recognize it and are proud that they know who those four faces are - and make a point to let me or their parent know it. Older people react as if they have been instantly brought back to a simpler, happier time - and make it a point to make some expression as if to tell me as much. I was a bit confused as to why my wearing this shirt seemed so important to so many people. I loved the Beatles, but it's not like they changed my life or anything. But maybe -- maybe they did?
I was nine when I first heard them. I was certainly too young to comprehend the mania surrounding them. But I remember that my dad and Pete Grover and Sonny Hefler and Billy Howland would sit in the living room on friday nights playing guitars and singing (we called it our hootanannie) - and I remember the unbridled excitement when Pete brought that first "Meet The Beatles" record with the other classic photo (black & white, semi-sihloetted, 3-in-a-row and 1 set lower than the others, mop-topped). I remember the four local wanna-be guitarists listening to and copying all of the songs - over and over. I remember staying up to watch the Ed Sullivan Show, The Beatles, the screaming audience. I remember learning to play guitar (along with my sister Laurie and cousin Tommy), buying or borrowing any Beatles record we could get our hands on and figuring out chords and harmony lines. I remember discussions of who liked which Beatle best and why (me / Paul -- it wasn't just their music, but they themselves that people clung to), I remember heated arguments with Tommy about whether Paul was really dead or if it was just a publicity brainstorm by them or their management and listening to records played backwards. I remember the disbelief and disappointment over them breaking up way to soon.
So maybe they didn't change or save my life - but they certainly are an integral and important part of the fabric of my life and were therefore part of the creation of my personality and life's direction - and it must be the same for so many others. Now like so many of us and our own lives, two out of four are dead - one taken too young and one of health and age issues. One struggles financially and professionally but still plugs quietly along. The fourth appears to be successful and relevent, still doing OK for himself despite some recent relationship issues. They seemed to represent our lives back in the 60's and evidently still do. They were excitement and change and hope of youth, and today we wistfully remember those good old days. And evidently when people see my shirt it becomes an instant time machine for baby boomers and it is a trigger for youngsters who are proud to show their knowledge some of the most significance men of recent history. They were indeed more famous than Jesus at their peak (or at least people treated them as such). That claim never upset me because they themselves were humble enough to recognize that people were misled to treat them that way, and they had tried from day one to be simple musicians who just loved making music. I sometimes wonder if to this day too many people still revere them more so than Jesus. We would be better off if Jesus was the more noticeable fabric of our lives instead of the Beatles. I admit I sometimes feel a sense of true peace when I am at church, but I ALWAYS can achieve that level of bliss by putting on my headphones and Rubber Soul. Sometimes I feel guilty about that, but maybe I shouldn't. My guess is that God was a big fan of the Fab Four. He certainly bestowed unto them abundant blessings in their hey day -- and through them, we too were blessed. Many of us continue to be reminded of those blessings .
"Let It Be"
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Parents, Teens, and Faith
I stood along the back wall of the chapel with all of the Confirmation teachers while Father M was wrapping up a Confirmation Class. Mrs. DRE was trying to get the teens to sing along with a YOW type song – complete with hand motions. The teens were mostly non-committal and chit-chatting amongst themselves – either ridiculing the adult’s efforts or of topics completely unrelated. The teachers started to quietly comment (complain) amongst themselves about the teens lack of interest in the immediate happenings, their lack of enthusiasm for church in general, and (biggest fear of all) possible rejection of the importance of faith (or at least their reluctance to actively participate and openly express their faith). As the teachers conversation progressed, individuals started to relate how they themselves didn’t go to church as kids – or hated being dragged to CCD – or didn’t get involved until they got married or had their own children. Now these are sincerely and happily and actively Christian people, of whom a surprising number (myself included) either didn’t become Catholic, or get confirmed or get “it” until much beyond their teen years (the predominant time frame was late 20’s to 30’s). They were basically upset – feeling that although they themselves didn’t grasp the value when they were teens, these teens should now be able to learn from our mistakes and accept the truth now and bravely show it.
Myself, I was raised (vaguely) as a Congregationalist, switched to Catholicism after our children were born (took the Readers Digest edited and condensed version of Confirmation with the BSC campus priest) and didn’t do a whole lot with it until my oldest was in high-school. I guess I always had a basic but uneducated belief in God + Jesus, but didn’t get too involved until my wife (who had been a Catholic School girl and who’s father had nearly become a Priest) decided we should do something to create a youth group sort of thing (similar to the old CYO model she grew up in) that our kids could get involved with at Our Lady of Star Market. Mrs. DRE got me to a “Leaders Retreat Weekend” which would prep me to later chaperone a YOW (Youth Outreach Weekend) evangelization retreat in New Hampshire with a dozen kids from our church. I knew nobody but met lots of Youth Ministers, listened to their stories, felt the spirit, had an experience – which I then got to expand on with the kids on the YOW Retreat. And there was music – new music – God music, but unlike any that I had ever encountered at any church service I had ever been to. And what the performance of the music lacked in technical competence, it made up for in enthusiasm and raw power.
So there we were – a group of adults, active and faith-filled all, confessed late bloomers nearly unanimously, believers and followers of the greatest and most influential man in history who himself at the wedding in Cana – even though he had quietly started gathering disciples around him - had to be pushed by his mother into making an open public display (as Jesus at 30ish years old was still claiming that he shouldn’t be made to do this yet!)
It is therefore easy to see that my conclusion is this - while it is good and right to try to teach the importance of faith and belief (building a foundation in our children), we don’t need to be overly concerned if they don’t “get it” or openly display it until what time they are ready to. Children in amazing numbers follow in their parent’s footsteps – no matter how hard they try to reject us during their teen years. As long as we blaze a clear path and keep it well lit and maintained our children are likely to follow it sooner or later.
Myself, I was raised (vaguely) as a Congregationalist, switched to Catholicism after our children were born (took the Readers Digest edited and condensed version of Confirmation with the BSC campus priest) and didn’t do a whole lot with it until my oldest was in high-school. I guess I always had a basic but uneducated belief in God + Jesus, but didn’t get too involved until my wife (who had been a Catholic School girl and who’s father had nearly become a Priest) decided we should do something to create a youth group sort of thing (similar to the old CYO model she grew up in) that our kids could get involved with at Our Lady of Star Market. Mrs. DRE got me to a “Leaders Retreat Weekend” which would prep me to later chaperone a YOW (Youth Outreach Weekend) evangelization retreat in New Hampshire with a dozen kids from our church. I knew nobody but met lots of Youth Ministers, listened to their stories, felt the spirit, had an experience – which I then got to expand on with the kids on the YOW Retreat. And there was music – new music – God music, but unlike any that I had ever encountered at any church service I had ever been to. And what the performance of the music lacked in technical competence, it made up for in enthusiasm and raw power.
So there we were – a group of adults, active and faith-filled all, confessed late bloomers nearly unanimously, believers and followers of the greatest and most influential man in history who himself at the wedding in Cana – even though he had quietly started gathering disciples around him - had to be pushed by his mother into making an open public display (as Jesus at 30ish years old was still claiming that he shouldn’t be made to do this yet!)
It is therefore easy to see that my conclusion is this - while it is good and right to try to teach the importance of faith and belief (building a foundation in our children), we don’t need to be overly concerned if they don’t “get it” or openly display it until what time they are ready to. Children in amazing numbers follow in their parent’s footsteps – no matter how hard they try to reject us during their teen years. As long as we blaze a clear path and keep it well lit and maintained our children are likely to follow it sooner or later.
Monday, December 11, 2006
The Dog Days of Winter
I was always a cat person – not that I didn’t like dogs (although it always appeared that they didn’t care for me) but growing up we never had dogs. Grampa Roddy had a beagle named Dinah that howled a lot when we walked through the yard, and step-brother Billy had a Weimaraner named Dusty for a while. Billy shipped out to sea and Dusty stayed, until his constant jumping the fence became too much trouble. Meanwhile I would get bit doing my paper route and even Golden Retrievers would growl at me while hiking. Then I married HerMajesty – the ultimate dog lover (if you’ve seen her with a baby, put a dog in it’s place – same effect).
Now I must admit we have owned some fun and friendly dogs over the years. Currently we have Lily the shy Bearded Colley, BamBam the uber-friendly Pomer-chon (1/2 Pomeranian, 1/2 Bichon), and Champ the gay Beagle (male dog who ADORES men).
Every December there is a big dog show at the Bayside Expo and as part of HerMajesty’s Christmas I bring her in for a day. She always contemplates which breed she should get into when she someday decides to show, or which breeds would be good for the various kids when they get to have their own purebred someday. Of course, she would always try to get me to commit to a breed(s) that might interest me. As I have indicated, I’m not specifically a dog person – but I admire a lot of the super-sized dogs. Using the disclaimer that “if we had the money and lots of land” (fenced in – fencing is expensive so the less likelihood of it ever becoming a reality) I could see myself with a Newfoundland, a Bernese Mountain Dog, a Great Pyrenees, or my true favorite – an Irish Wolf Hound (seriously – I’m 6’3” and a bit shaggy myself and like to be different and stand out, and not so seriously – they have a short life span).
So again we spend the day with the dogs, with HM reveling in the sights, sounds and smells of a thousand dogs in a large but enclosed space, with me tagging along carrying her chair and soaking up the overflow of love (cause some of that abundance of love is likely to spill onto me if I’m not stupid and blow it).
This year had an extra element to it. Our Jamie joined a 4-H dog agility club and is training BamBam, and HM has a college professor who shows nationally in agility. So we spent a good period of time and attention to this sport. Far different than showing for conformation where the handler simply puts the dog on display for a judge who compares it to the description of what the perfect example of the breed should look like, this is a SPORT (NOW you’re talking my language)! This is a personal challenge! This is a very skilled trainer teaching a very smart dog to follow some very difficult maneuvers through a very complicated obstacle course at a very fast speed! The dog can get too excited and make a mistake which loses time or points, or the handler can make a mistake which confuses the dog into going the wrong way. But winning or losing is totally based on ability, intelligence, strategy and being on the mark on a given day – and performing better & faster than the competition on that day. Not much different than a relay race, a hockey game, or doubles tennis (except that the dog is ecstatic at the finish line win or lose). THIS I could get interested in. And this can be done with any dog – granted some are better suited than others (I'm thinking my future WolfHound would not be a natural - envision a small horse going through the weave-poles! - I would have to downsize to something zippier), but there are different qualifying times for each breed. So you can have your dog for loving companionship, train him to be reliably obedient, and then get the challenge of true team competition – and if you are an adrenalin junkie, get a Border Colley and it becomes an Extreme Sport!
OK – so at my age and with our lifestyle and finances (or lack of) I am pretty safe. It’s highly unlikely that we shall go beyond Jamie and BamBam and 4-H exhibitions – but now I can honestly say to my wife “if we had the money and lots of land” and not have it sound like a blatant easy excuse out. The tightwad builder in me says “give me some plywood and PVC piping and I could make those obstacles cheaper than buying them”. So if you see me in the side yard with some strange contraptions everywhere, give my cats a pat – they may be feeling neglected.
Now I must admit we have owned some fun and friendly dogs over the years. Currently we have Lily the shy Bearded Colley, BamBam the uber-friendly Pomer-chon (1/2 Pomeranian, 1/2 Bichon), and Champ the gay Beagle (male dog who ADORES men).
Every December there is a big dog show at the Bayside Expo and as part of HerMajesty’s Christmas I bring her in for a day. She always contemplates which breed she should get into when she someday decides to show, or which breeds would be good for the various kids when they get to have their own purebred someday. Of course, she would always try to get me to commit to a breed(s) that might interest me. As I have indicated, I’m not specifically a dog person – but I admire a lot of the super-sized dogs. Using the disclaimer that “if we had the money and lots of land” (fenced in – fencing is expensive so the less likelihood of it ever becoming a reality) I could see myself with a Newfoundland, a Bernese Mountain Dog, a Great Pyrenees, or my true favorite – an Irish Wolf Hound (seriously – I’m 6’3” and a bit shaggy myself and like to be different and stand out, and not so seriously – they have a short life span).
So again we spend the day with the dogs, with HM reveling in the sights, sounds and smells of a thousand dogs in a large but enclosed space, with me tagging along carrying her chair and soaking up the overflow of love (cause some of that abundance of love is likely to spill onto me if I’m not stupid and blow it).
This year had an extra element to it. Our Jamie joined a 4-H dog agility club and is training BamBam, and HM has a college professor who shows nationally in agility. So we spent a good period of time and attention to this sport. Far different than showing for conformation where the handler simply puts the dog on display for a judge who compares it to the description of what the perfect example of the breed should look like, this is a SPORT (NOW you’re talking my language)! This is a personal challenge! This is a very skilled trainer teaching a very smart dog to follow some very difficult maneuvers through a very complicated obstacle course at a very fast speed! The dog can get too excited and make a mistake which loses time or points, or the handler can make a mistake which confuses the dog into going the wrong way. But winning or losing is totally based on ability, intelligence, strategy and being on the mark on a given day – and performing better & faster than the competition on that day. Not much different than a relay race, a hockey game, or doubles tennis (except that the dog is ecstatic at the finish line win or lose). THIS I could get interested in. And this can be done with any dog – granted some are better suited than others (I'm thinking my future WolfHound would not be a natural - envision a small horse going through the weave-poles! - I would have to downsize to something zippier), but there are different qualifying times for each breed. So you can have your dog for loving companionship, train him to be reliably obedient, and then get the challenge of true team competition – and if you are an adrenalin junkie, get a Border Colley and it becomes an Extreme Sport!
OK – so at my age and with our lifestyle and finances (or lack of) I am pretty safe. It’s highly unlikely that we shall go beyond Jamie and BamBam and 4-H exhibitions – but now I can honestly say to my wife “if we had the money and lots of land” and not have it sound like a blatant easy excuse out. The tightwad builder in me says “give me some plywood and PVC piping and I could make those obstacles cheaper than buying them”. So if you see me in the side yard with some strange contraptions everywhere, give my cats a pat – they may be feeling neglected.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
"The Dance" (for a moment, wasn't I a king)
Lookin' back,
On the memory of
The dance we shared,
Neath the stars above
For a moment,
All the world was right
How could I have known,
That you'd ever say goodbye?
And now, I'm glad I didn't know
The way It all would end
The way It all would go
Our lives, Are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain,
But I'd have had to miss
the dance.
(The Dance by Garth Brooks)
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
I am usually supportive, but....
so HerMajesty is taking a criminal psycology course at college. I think it's great - her finishing her degree. But this week she has a test about spousal homocide.
I hate to sound unsupportive but I'm thinking I might feel better if she flunks this one!
I hate to sound unsupportive but I'm thinking I might feel better if she flunks this one!
Friday, November 10, 2006
no YOW
YOW officially starts in 20 minutes, and I am not there :-(
I had almost forgotten but at 5:30 PJ called to ask if I had a wireless mic he could borrow (which I do and he can). So between finishing supper and going to rescue a disabled car at the mall, I fit in running to the church to grab my mic, running to south Plymouth, to drop it off (and spending a few minutes saying hi to the team). Shawn is doing the music, and he is excellent (I kid that I hope not too excellent, but I kinda mean it too!). During a prep meeting, I gave a "for instance" to explain how I would pick an opening song - one that everybody would know, upbeat, sing-along-able. Recent animated movies seem to be good for providing songs for YOW - we've drawn from 2 Shrek movies in recent years - so I simply offered as a for instance "Life Is a Highway" remade by Rascal Flatts for the "Cars" movie. To my surprize, that is the song he chose to open with. Thanks Shawn - for in your own little way letting me be there in my own little way. Funny how some things become a part of you so easily. I LOVE YOW, the planning, spending the year listening for potential YOW songs on the radio, meeting with the team, performing, watching and helping the kids transform from reluctant skeptics to eager participants to sad-that-it's-over proud-to-be-Catholic teens - all in about 40 hours. They have more kids this year than in recent years, but I can never understand why it isn't sold out and demanding a second weekend like in the good old days --- it is just such a tremendous retreat experience (for the kids and leaders alike)
YYYYYYYYOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW
I had almost forgotten but at 5:30 PJ called to ask if I had a wireless mic he could borrow (which I do and he can). So between finishing supper and going to rescue a disabled car at the mall, I fit in running to the church to grab my mic, running to south Plymouth, to drop it off (and spending a few minutes saying hi to the team). Shawn is doing the music, and he is excellent (I kid that I hope not too excellent, but I kinda mean it too!). During a prep meeting, I gave a "for instance" to explain how I would pick an opening song - one that everybody would know, upbeat, sing-along-able. Recent animated movies seem to be good for providing songs for YOW - we've drawn from 2 Shrek movies in recent years - so I simply offered as a for instance "Life Is a Highway" remade by Rascal Flatts for the "Cars" movie. To my surprize, that is the song he chose to open with. Thanks Shawn - for in your own little way letting me be there in my own little way. Funny how some things become a part of you so easily. I LOVE YOW, the planning, spending the year listening for potential YOW songs on the radio, meeting with the team, performing, watching and helping the kids transform from reluctant skeptics to eager participants to sad-that-it's-over proud-to-be-Catholic teens - all in about 40 hours. They have more kids this year than in recent years, but I can never understand why it isn't sold out and demanding a second weekend like in the good old days --- it is just such a tremendous retreat experience (for the kids and leaders alike)
YYYYYYYYOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Daddies Little Girl
I've been doing fine. I have my task list to focus on. She's been gone at college for the bulk of the past four years so I've already gotten used to it. But tonight as I was dropping Yon off to swim at the Y, Butterfly Kisses came on the radio.
Unfair sneak attack. God shouldn't need to sucker punch me like that. Damn, I was doing so good up until then.
Unfair sneak attack. God shouldn't need to sucker punch me like that. Damn, I was doing so good up until then.
Monday, November 06, 2006
the punch line is "a baby in a microwave"
"I don't need no one to tell me about heaven I look at my daughter, and I believe. " (from song Heaven by the band Live)
I have three beautiful daughters to whom this lyric easily applies, but last night it was all about Mary. In nineteen days, my Mary will have a different last name than the one I gave her 22+ years ago. "HerMajesty" and "Her Harlequin" looked through the boxes of family pictures - particularly focusing on those that documented the life and times of "the Princess". Newborn polaroids, baby 35mm, toddler instamatics, all the way through digital images of the bridal shower -- the ever-evolving child is documented through the ever-evolving photo-technology. Through it all one can see the big blue eyes taking it all in, the cheerful, inquisitive, and fun-loving expressions - the unmistakable love of life. Most of the photos were taken by HerMajesty - who always has a knack for capturing an emotion or a "look" in even the most ordinary (seemingly) shots. During our journey through the past, Mary came in and got caught up in the process. It was such a pleasure watching the expressions on her face as she looked at herself; the excited recognition as some long forgotten moment returned, smiles for a childhood toy, sympathy for a foster sibling long since moved on, or amusement over a picture she had never seen before.
One day when Mary was 6 weeks old, HM was out for the afternoon and it was just me and Mary home having quality time together. I decided I should take some pictures of her and wanted just the right settings. I propped her up with my guitar across her lap, I tucked her into her little baby seat with my headphones on - all very cute and humerous. But then I thought about Nannie. Being a premie baby nurse, she had a silly sick love of "Baby" jokes (what's red & white and hangs from telephone wires? a baby run over by a lawn mower). Why she thought these were funny is any psychologist's guess, but her favorite one was "what's brown and knocks on a window?"
So I just had to take THAT picture! Well Mary had apparently never seen that particular picture. The look on her face when she realized that baby was indeed her, and that she was indeed inside a microwave (oh stop it - the door was wide open). Such a fun moment. The good news/bad news is that sometime (probably soon) we will go through them all again / but have to decide which ones to give to her and which ones we can keep. Thankfully we did lots of double-prints developing.
It's going to be real hard giving away my little girl - both in person and in photographs.
I have three beautiful daughters to whom this lyric easily applies, but last night it was all about Mary. In nineteen days, my Mary will have a different last name than the one I gave her 22+ years ago. "HerMajesty" and "Her Harlequin" looked through the boxes of family pictures - particularly focusing on those that documented the life and times of "the Princess". Newborn polaroids, baby 35mm, toddler instamatics, all the way through digital images of the bridal shower -- the ever-evolving child is documented through the ever-evolving photo-technology. Through it all one can see the big blue eyes taking it all in, the cheerful, inquisitive, and fun-loving expressions - the unmistakable love of life. Most of the photos were taken by HerMajesty - who always has a knack for capturing an emotion or a "look" in even the most ordinary (seemingly) shots. During our journey through the past, Mary came in and got caught up in the process. It was such a pleasure watching the expressions on her face as she looked at herself; the excited recognition as some long forgotten moment returned, smiles for a childhood toy, sympathy for a foster sibling long since moved on, or amusement over a picture she had never seen before.
One day when Mary was 6 weeks old, HM was out for the afternoon and it was just me and Mary home having quality time together. I decided I should take some pictures of her and wanted just the right settings. I propped her up with my guitar across her lap, I tucked her into her little baby seat with my headphones on - all very cute and humerous. But then I thought about Nannie. Being a premie baby nurse, she had a silly sick love of "Baby" jokes (what's red & white and hangs from telephone wires? a baby run over by a lawn mower). Why she thought these were funny is any psychologist's guess, but her favorite one was "what's brown and knocks on a window?"
So I just had to take THAT picture! Well Mary had apparently never seen that particular picture. The look on her face when she realized that baby was indeed her, and that she was indeed inside a microwave (oh stop it - the door was wide open). Such a fun moment. The good news/bad news is that sometime (probably soon) we will go through them all again / but have to decide which ones to give to her and which ones we can keep. Thankfully we did lots of double-prints developing.
It's going to be real hard giving away my little girl - both in person and in photographs.
Friday, November 03, 2006
One of Her days - or - some day off
I can't complain because it is a rare day for me but common for her.
My day off from work:
6:30am = wake up and get kids ready for school (Carver)
6:50am = see middle kids off
7:15am = call HerMajesty to make sure she is awake as she drives home from work
7:25am = check oil in older kids cars and see Mary off to work
7:40am = welcome HerMajesty home
8:10am = see little kids off to school
8:15 am = see Tim off to college
8:30am = treat HM to breakfast out
9:00am = post office
9:15am = put HM to bed
9:30am = dump run (Rochester)
10:00am = call school nurse (Carver)
10:15am = bank stop
10:30am = get medical form from school nurse
11:00am = feed HM's bunnies
11:30am = work in garden
12:00pm = sew new patch onto referee shirt
12:30pm = stop at dry cleaners
1:00pm = grain store (Hanson)
2:00pm = doctors office (Brockton)
2:30pm = Grossmans Bargain Outlet (Brockton)
3:00pm = pick up Amy (Brockton)
3:30pm = get Yon ready for job interview (Carver)
4:00pm = bring Yon to Shaws
4:30pm = drop off presciption at CVS
5:00pm = drop Julie off at friends house
5:15pm = pick up at CVS
5:30pm = cook supper/ make driving arrangments for Corey/Amy
6:00pm = serve supper
(things slow down here)
7:00pm = walk Nikki to friends house
8:00pm = give Joe a hair cut
8:15pm = give Jamie a hair cut
8:45pm = check emails and write blog
----
still left to do:
9:20pm = prep Sue's supper
10:15pm = see Sue off to work
5:00am = wake up
5:30am = drive to Dorchester
7:00am to 8:30am = ref hockey games (Dorchester)
11:15am = bring Nikki to basketball tryouts (Carver)
12:00pm = pick up Julie
(rest up for Danvers saturday night, Sunday morning hockey Bourne, afternoon hockey Hingham)
so don't get upset when I'm not showing the proper sympathy when you tell me about your busy day!!
and this is just a typical day for Her!
My day off from work:
6:30am = wake up and get kids ready for school (Carver)
6:50am = see middle kids off
7:15am = call HerMajesty to make sure she is awake as she drives home from work
7:25am = check oil in older kids cars and see Mary off to work
7:40am = welcome HerMajesty home
8:10am = see little kids off to school
8:15 am = see Tim off to college
8:30am = treat HM to breakfast out
9:00am = post office
9:15am = put HM to bed
9:30am = dump run (Rochester)
10:00am = call school nurse (Carver)
10:15am = bank stop
10:30am = get medical form from school nurse
11:00am = feed HM's bunnies
11:30am = work in garden
12:00pm = sew new patch onto referee shirt
12:30pm = stop at dry cleaners
1:00pm = grain store (Hanson)
2:00pm = doctors office (Brockton)
2:30pm = Grossmans Bargain Outlet (Brockton)
3:00pm = pick up Amy (Brockton)
3:30pm = get Yon ready for job interview (Carver)
4:00pm = bring Yon to Shaws
4:30pm = drop off presciption at CVS
5:00pm = drop Julie off at friends house
5:15pm = pick up at CVS
5:30pm = cook supper/ make driving arrangments for Corey/Amy
6:00pm = serve supper
(things slow down here)
7:00pm = walk Nikki to friends house
8:00pm = give Joe a hair cut
8:15pm = give Jamie a hair cut
8:45pm = check emails and write blog
----
still left to do:
9:20pm = prep Sue's supper
10:15pm = see Sue off to work
5:00am = wake up
5:30am = drive to Dorchester
7:00am to 8:30am = ref hockey games (Dorchester)
11:15am = bring Nikki to basketball tryouts (Carver)
12:00pm = pick up Julie
(rest up for Danvers saturday night, Sunday morning hockey Bourne, afternoon hockey Hingham)
so don't get upset when I'm not showing the proper sympathy when you tell me about your busy day!!
and this is just a typical day for Her!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
The true meaning of Halloween
People talk about how we forget about the “true meaning” of Christmas and of course this is a very important issue. We should not allow society to alter the basic fundamental reason for and acknowledgement of Christ entering the world. But what about other holidays? There are plenty of stories about the origins of Halloween, but it seems OK that this night has transformed into something more modern – or at least is treated much differently than in times past.
Last night it was a time for children (and kids-at-heart) to loosen up, to be excited about doing something frivolous, to plot and plan about something that has little meaning and likely has no consequences. My little ones selected costumes and make-up (there was no fear of being “wrong”). 15 year old Julie and friends (without direct parental supervision) determined which streets to trick-or-treat on (they are all nearby side streets, mobbed with little ones and parents, and aside from a few mouthy middle-schoolers trying to be cool – totally trouble free). 21 year old Timmy’s goal was to be home from college in time to not miss any trick-or-treaters. 22 year old Mary talked 22 year old Katie (her bridesmaid) into dressing up and going out, then raced home from post-grad college classes to catch up with the gang. Corey casually went to work because none of his friends were going out this year (too old), but when he got let out early – raced to catch up with Mary. No house refused them candy on the grounds that they were too old. 32 year old Yon lost the battle with Katie over who got the cow costume, and settled for the clown suit – and then had to battle Tim over who passed out candy to the next group.
1/4 mile away is “the development” with 8 intersecting roads, hundreds of kids and hundreds of dollars of goodies on every street. Parents are dressed up, yards are dressed up (the merging of art & technology is impressive). Jeeps & ATV’s towing tricked-out trailers (expanding the range of youngsters whose little legs would never take them so far) are equally impressive.
I loved that even my “too old for this stuff” kids could throw caution to the wind and decide to not be too old. And it occurred to me that this is something that society desperately needs. A chance to be silly, creative, young, carefree, out after dark, mingling with strangers, getting rewards for no logical reason or accomplishment (other than for making the afore-mentioned choices). Our lives and our kid’s lives have become so intense, so focused on advancement, so fearful of failure, so devoid of pure fun – we need this night. We need to be ghouls and pirates and ninja’s and cows and clowns for a foolish night – just to get a break from being US. We need to make decisions that DON’T affect what college we might get into. We need to put on a uniform that won’t come with a critiquing coach. We need to step outside of our established boxes and be creative and artistic in whatever medium we choose.
As much as I wish Christmas would stay true to it’s origin, I am very pleased that Halloween has evolved into what it is today – meaningless, foolish, lavish, fun. As much as we need our lives to have deep meaning for our souls sake– we also need it to have moments that are free from any deep meaning for our sanity’s sake.
Happy Halloween!!!
Last night it was a time for children (and kids-at-heart) to loosen up, to be excited about doing something frivolous, to plot and plan about something that has little meaning and likely has no consequences. My little ones selected costumes and make-up (there was no fear of being “wrong”). 15 year old Julie and friends (without direct parental supervision) determined which streets to trick-or-treat on (they are all nearby side streets, mobbed with little ones and parents, and aside from a few mouthy middle-schoolers trying to be cool – totally trouble free). 21 year old Timmy’s goal was to be home from college in time to not miss any trick-or-treaters. 22 year old Mary talked 22 year old Katie (her bridesmaid) into dressing up and going out, then raced home from post-grad college classes to catch up with the gang. Corey casually went to work because none of his friends were going out this year (too old), but when he got let out early – raced to catch up with Mary. No house refused them candy on the grounds that they were too old. 32 year old Yon lost the battle with Katie over who got the cow costume, and settled for the clown suit – and then had to battle Tim over who passed out candy to the next group.
1/4 mile away is “the development” with 8 intersecting roads, hundreds of kids and hundreds of dollars of goodies on every street. Parents are dressed up, yards are dressed up (the merging of art & technology is impressive). Jeeps & ATV’s towing tricked-out trailers (expanding the range of youngsters whose little legs would never take them so far) are equally impressive.
I loved that even my “too old for this stuff” kids could throw caution to the wind and decide to not be too old. And it occurred to me that this is something that society desperately needs. A chance to be silly, creative, young, carefree, out after dark, mingling with strangers, getting rewards for no logical reason or accomplishment (other than for making the afore-mentioned choices). Our lives and our kid’s lives have become so intense, so focused on advancement, so fearful of failure, so devoid of pure fun – we need this night. We need to be ghouls and pirates and ninja’s and cows and clowns for a foolish night – just to get a break from being US. We need to make decisions that DON’T affect what college we might get into. We need to put on a uniform that won’t come with a critiquing coach. We need to step outside of our established boxes and be creative and artistic in whatever medium we choose.
As much as I wish Christmas would stay true to it’s origin, I am very pleased that Halloween has evolved into what it is today – meaningless, foolish, lavish, fun. As much as we need our lives to have deep meaning for our souls sake– we also need it to have moments that are free from any deep meaning for our sanity’s sake.
Happy Halloween!!!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
When Fall Comes To New England
Autumn! Fall! Call it what you will, I love it! For many people spring is THE season – new beginning, rebirth, the whole Easter/flowers/bunnies feeling, new baseball season. And I admit it – those first warm days (over 45 degrees) with a brilliant blue clear sunny sky and you wear a T-shirt – definitely make me want to skip work and go hiking in New Hampshire. But September and October is my time of year. Days are comfortably warm with dry clean air and you can lug 35 lbs on your back without over-heating. Canoeing on water (still warm) surrounded by exquisite foliage colors only makes you wish the days were longer so you could paddle forever.
Nights are “see-your-breath” chilly – perfect for evening campfires and toasty warm sleeping bags and hot chocolate. Mosquitoes don’t exist anymore. Many years I took a week’s vacation in mid-September to hike or camp. Kids are back to school, grownups are back to work, the woods are empty and quiet, and you can pick any site you want at any campground. Some of my best backpacking trips were done in mid-September or over Columbus Day weekend. Vermont’s Long Trail, Acadia National Park, White Mountains – all near perfect, making me wish I had taken two weeks off. I want to play outside. I want to work outside. I want to live in the New Hampshire mountains. One of my few regrets is that I don’t get to go hiking or canoeing very often any more.
The other “new” about Autumn is the start of a new Youth Hockey season. I loved the anticipation as a player, and now as a referee for the past 23 years I still look forward to getting the skates on and being a part of the game. It’s exercise, it’s hobby, it’s challenge, it’s teaching, it’s learning. Each year I have the same wish that other referees would call games tighter. Each year the head honcho’s who run the mandatory seminars and insist that we crack down which will make the games better in the long run. It is encouraging to be part of an organization that is always striving for self-improvement (and means it), even when they don’t improve as much as they hoped. Next year they will come back trying all the harder. And the games are fun. The Mite-C players - 7 & 8 year olds who can barely stand up on skates – treat each game like the Stanley Cup finals. When you have never played before, every game is the most important one you have ever played. I get to help them learn - in some ways better than the coach can (I can talk to the player at the face-off or while skating and quietly give hints or advice one-on-one. The coach has to wait until the player returns to the bench – and both have long since forgotten the exact play to be discussed). Even the older players can benefit from some friendly advice – even if it is while I am closing the penalty box door for him. I can treat a penalty as a teaching opportunity instead of a punishment for doing wrong. Even hormone-fueled teenaged boys appreciate a calm word of instruction over an irate tirade from the coach. I get to take on as many hockey games as I want – fitting them into the weekend at my own (the families own) convenience - or choosing to not take games on a day or weekend when we are just too busy. It’s good Christmas money on top of all the other reasons I love hockey. Sometimes I think I would like to play again (there are lots of leagues for guys my age) but the thought of paying to play over getting paid to ref keeps me in a striped uniform for now.
And then there are the fall holidays! Columbus Day was always a great get-away time. Three days for camping, hiking, sight-seeing. I still can’t believe that the camera malfunctioned on the Mt. Garfield trip – some of the best scenery I have ever been witness to. I hate that I don’t get the day off from work anymore.
Halloween was always a big holiday at my childhood home. First, the idea of people giving you free candy was incredible. Later, the exhilaration of sneaking up to toilet paper a friend’s house without getting caught was addictive. Me, Mark & Dave Tanner, Dana Colley, occasionally others, later my girlfriend (Sue) and friends Eileen and Corey– we prided ourselves on our artistic ability. No heaving whole roles into the tree branches. We decorated shrubs and bushes and lawn ornaments (I even got onto Mr. Robinsons porch roof and tied a toilet paper scarf around the neck of the wooden eagle on the chimney --- and they were expecting us!) as if we were doing gallery work to be judged. We only did our friends houses, people who found humor and appreciated our efforts. One Halloween, Dana’s father wouldn’t let him go out with us – worried that we would get in trouble – and told us not to do his house. Dana TP’ed his own house that year just to get revenge. One year Caron and Kendra lay in wait for us, determined to catch us in the act. After they realized we had come and gone – successfully – Caron came out looking for us. The police happened to come by just then and scolded her and confiscated her softball bat. We were hiding about ten feet away in the bushes. Those days of youth (ok – I was in my late teens and early twenties) are gone but the feelings never leave.
So it’s Autumn, I’m wistful, I’m happy, I am antsy. Luckily for Mary I wouldn’t have gotten away this fall for any grand adventures – so I can’t blame her wedding on my not living my dreams. She will be starting a whole new life this fall. I get to give her away. I wonder if she will feel like I do about fall (that would be nice). I wonder if this will change how I feel (I doubt it).
To sum it up – here is one of my favorite songs
When Fall Comes To New England Words And Music By: Cheryl Wheeler
· When fall comes to new england The sun slants in so fine
· And the air's so clear You can almost hear the grapes grow on the vine
· The nights are sharp with starlight And the days are cool and clean
· And in the blue sky overhead The northern geese fly south instead
· And leaves are Irish Setter red When fall comes to New England
· When fall comes to New England And the wind blows off the sea
· Swallows fly in a perfect sky And the world was meant to be
· When the acorns line the walkways Then winter can't be far
· From yellow leaves a blue jay calls Grandmothers Walk Out In Their Shawl
· And Chipmunks Run The Old Stone Walls When fall comes to New England
· The frost is on the pumpkin The squash is off the vine
· And winter warnings race across the sky
· The squirrels are on to something And they're working overtime
· The foxes blink and stare and so do I
· 'Cause when fall comes to New England Oh I can't turn away
· From fading light on flying wings And late good-byes a robin sings
· And then another thousand things When fall comes to New England
· When fall comes to New England
Nights are “see-your-breath” chilly – perfect for evening campfires and toasty warm sleeping bags and hot chocolate. Mosquitoes don’t exist anymore. Many years I took a week’s vacation in mid-September to hike or camp. Kids are back to school, grownups are back to work, the woods are empty and quiet, and you can pick any site you want at any campground. Some of my best backpacking trips were done in mid-September or over Columbus Day weekend. Vermont’s Long Trail, Acadia National Park, White Mountains – all near perfect, making me wish I had taken two weeks off. I want to play outside. I want to work outside. I want to live in the New Hampshire mountains. One of my few regrets is that I don’t get to go hiking or canoeing very often any more.
The other “new” about Autumn is the start of a new Youth Hockey season. I loved the anticipation as a player, and now as a referee for the past 23 years I still look forward to getting the skates on and being a part of the game. It’s exercise, it’s hobby, it’s challenge, it’s teaching, it’s learning. Each year I have the same wish that other referees would call games tighter. Each year the head honcho’s who run the mandatory seminars and insist that we crack down which will make the games better in the long run. It is encouraging to be part of an organization that is always striving for self-improvement (and means it), even when they don’t improve as much as they hoped. Next year they will come back trying all the harder. And the games are fun. The Mite-C players - 7 & 8 year olds who can barely stand up on skates – treat each game like the Stanley Cup finals. When you have never played before, every game is the most important one you have ever played. I get to help them learn - in some ways better than the coach can (I can talk to the player at the face-off or while skating and quietly give hints or advice one-on-one. The coach has to wait until the player returns to the bench – and both have long since forgotten the exact play to be discussed). Even the older players can benefit from some friendly advice – even if it is while I am closing the penalty box door for him. I can treat a penalty as a teaching opportunity instead of a punishment for doing wrong. Even hormone-fueled teenaged boys appreciate a calm word of instruction over an irate tirade from the coach. I get to take on as many hockey games as I want – fitting them into the weekend at my own (the families own) convenience - or choosing to not take games on a day or weekend when we are just too busy. It’s good Christmas money on top of all the other reasons I love hockey. Sometimes I think I would like to play again (there are lots of leagues for guys my age) but the thought of paying to play over getting paid to ref keeps me in a striped uniform for now.
And then there are the fall holidays! Columbus Day was always a great get-away time. Three days for camping, hiking, sight-seeing. I still can’t believe that the camera malfunctioned on the Mt. Garfield trip – some of the best scenery I have ever been witness to. I hate that I don’t get the day off from work anymore.
Halloween was always a big holiday at my childhood home. First, the idea of people giving you free candy was incredible. Later, the exhilaration of sneaking up to toilet paper a friend’s house without getting caught was addictive. Me, Mark & Dave Tanner, Dana Colley, occasionally others, later my girlfriend (Sue) and friends Eileen and Corey– we prided ourselves on our artistic ability. No heaving whole roles into the tree branches. We decorated shrubs and bushes and lawn ornaments (I even got onto Mr. Robinsons porch roof and tied a toilet paper scarf around the neck of the wooden eagle on the chimney --- and they were expecting us!) as if we were doing gallery work to be judged. We only did our friends houses, people who found humor and appreciated our efforts. One Halloween, Dana’s father wouldn’t let him go out with us – worried that we would get in trouble – and told us not to do his house. Dana TP’ed his own house that year just to get revenge. One year Caron and Kendra lay in wait for us, determined to catch us in the act. After they realized we had come and gone – successfully – Caron came out looking for us. The police happened to come by just then and scolded her and confiscated her softball bat. We were hiding about ten feet away in the bushes. Those days of youth (ok – I was in my late teens and early twenties) are gone but the feelings never leave.
So it’s Autumn, I’m wistful, I’m happy, I am antsy. Luckily for Mary I wouldn’t have gotten away this fall for any grand adventures – so I can’t blame her wedding on my not living my dreams. She will be starting a whole new life this fall. I get to give her away. I wonder if she will feel like I do about fall (that would be nice). I wonder if this will change how I feel (I doubt it).
To sum it up – here is one of my favorite songs
When Fall Comes To New England Words And Music By: Cheryl Wheeler
· When fall comes to new england The sun slants in so fine
· And the air's so clear You can almost hear the grapes grow on the vine
· The nights are sharp with starlight And the days are cool and clean
· And in the blue sky overhead The northern geese fly south instead
· And leaves are Irish Setter red When fall comes to New England
· When fall comes to New England And the wind blows off the sea
· Swallows fly in a perfect sky And the world was meant to be
· When the acorns line the walkways Then winter can't be far
· From yellow leaves a blue jay calls Grandmothers Walk Out In Their Shawl
· And Chipmunks Run The Old Stone Walls When fall comes to New England
· The frost is on the pumpkin The squash is off the vine
· And winter warnings race across the sky
· The squirrels are on to something And they're working overtime
· The foxes blink and stare and so do I
· 'Cause when fall comes to New England Oh I can't turn away
· From fading light on flying wings And late good-byes a robin sings
· And then another thousand things When fall comes to New England
· When fall comes to New England
Thursday, October 05, 2006
My kind of baby
My sister Heather at 9:51pm 10/5/06 delivered Jessica Alyson (or maybe Allison) - her first child, my 10th niece. I will happily visit, Susie will greedily hold her (get her baby "fix") and we will return home WITHOUT it!!!!
In case you couldn't guess, HerMajesty was a bit excited as I called her (she was on her way to work) at 10:30.
"JESSICA ALYSON! 7.4lb! WHAT COLOR HAIR? HOW LONG? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T ASk?
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LET THE KIDS TALK TO HER BUT YOU DIDN'T? CALL YOUR MOTHER BACK RIGHT NOW ON THE OTHER PHONE WHILE I'M ON THIS ONE!
So I call but the line is busy. SuB hangs up
So I call my mother back again but who is already on the line with her? You guessed it!
In case you couldn't guess, HerMajesty was a bit excited as I called her (she was on her way to work) at 10:30.
"JESSICA ALYSON! 7.4lb! WHAT COLOR HAIR? HOW LONG? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T ASk?
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LET THE KIDS TALK TO HER BUT YOU DIDN'T? CALL YOUR MOTHER BACK RIGHT NOW ON THE OTHER PHONE WHILE I'M ON THIS ONE!
So I call but the line is busy. SuB hangs up
So I call my mother back again but who is already on the line with her? You guessed it!
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Peaceful Meadows
Dad (Don Sr.) worked for many years at Peaceful Meadows Farm in Whitman. It was a short walk from the house he grew up in and was owned by his good friend Billy Hoag. I can remember going there with him and walking through the cow barns and being nervous that one might swat me with a tail or worse - poop on me. There were some chicken roaming freely, a cool hay storage room, and strange piping and equipment. I think dad was more of a maintenance man and machine operator (not a herdsman) and he occasionally drove a milk truck. The milk trucks were so exciting - with bins filled with little ice chips, milk, butter, eggs, etc...
(actually, another guy was the driver who came to our house and us kids would "sneak" into the truck and grab a few ice chips to eat while he brought the milk in - yes, the milk man delivered to our house will dad was away!). During the summer, Dad drove a supply of milk to Camp Squanto in Myles Standish Forest. I was amazed at how BIG the main dining hall seemed and there was a HUGE moose head hanging on the wall. As a little kid I was greatly impressed. Sometimes for a treat we would drive to the farm and get an ice cream cone (which is what Peaceful Meadows has been famous for over the past many decades). You could take your cone and walk inside the barn and look at the cows (and flies and poop) and even some goats.
I stopped there on my way home from Brockton today - got an ice cream and picked up a gallon of milk. There are only two cows left - a mother and calf for display. With Mr. Hoag old and ill and no local herdsmen to be found, the herd has been fostered out to a farm in Springfield. A bunch of friendly but unknown teens worked the ice cream stand. The woman in the store didn't know who Mr. Hoag was. Barns are empty and fields are getting over grown and new houses are encroaching all around. The Toll House (which was a mile up the road and a night job for Dad as a cook) burned down many years ago and replaced by condos and a Wendy's. Dad's childhood home (about halfway between the two) burned down 10 years ago, replaced by an AutoMart. Get ready to say goodbye to an icon and a childhood memory and a link to my personal history.
(actually, another guy was the driver who came to our house and us kids would "sneak" into the truck and grab a few ice chips to eat while he brought the milk in - yes, the milk man delivered to our house will dad was away!). During the summer, Dad drove a supply of milk to Camp Squanto in Myles Standish Forest. I was amazed at how BIG the main dining hall seemed and there was a HUGE moose head hanging on the wall. As a little kid I was greatly impressed. Sometimes for a treat we would drive to the farm and get an ice cream cone (which is what Peaceful Meadows has been famous for over the past many decades). You could take your cone and walk inside the barn and look at the cows (and flies and poop) and even some goats.
I stopped there on my way home from Brockton today - got an ice cream and picked up a gallon of milk. There are only two cows left - a mother and calf for display. With Mr. Hoag old and ill and no local herdsmen to be found, the herd has been fostered out to a farm in Springfield. A bunch of friendly but unknown teens worked the ice cream stand. The woman in the store didn't know who Mr. Hoag was. Barns are empty and fields are getting over grown and new houses are encroaching all around. The Toll House (which was a mile up the road and a night job for Dad as a cook) burned down many years ago and replaced by condos and a Wendy's. Dad's childhood home (about halfway between the two) burned down 10 years ago, replaced by an AutoMart. Get ready to say goodbye to an icon and a childhood memory and a link to my personal history.
Friday, September 29, 2006
one thing leads to another - or - Fathers & Sons
So - it's hard to find time to blog, dealing with everybodies wants & needs. I did get rather mad at 17yr old son, so before I really let him have it, I wrote down some thoughts just to get them organized. But jotting down thoughts turns into story telling, story telling requires someone to read it (proofread, give feedback, decide if it's suitable for public consumption, etc..), feedback sends me down another path. Just for kicks maybe I'll tag the original thoughts at the end (but you must remember I was pretty T.O.ed and had the uncontrolable urge to give him a really good jab at the end). HerMajesty advised I should cut the last paragraph. 22 yr old daughter noted she hadn't heard some of the info I included about MY dad. This led me to think I should be kinder and more productive and just tell some stories about him. It would be a nice way for me to remember him and for my kids to have a feel of who he was (he passed away before they were old enough to develope any blasting memory of him). Now I hope I can find a few moments and an available computer at a time when I can actually remember ANYTHING!
Anyway - here is a start for some "Dad" stories - in it's entirety - 17yr old son is actually pretty good about understanding my sarcasm and my occasional frustration with him - he gets over it pretty easily most the time - and what I say about him shouldn't bug him half as much as what he said bugged me.
*****
I don’t usually "miss" my Dad (he passed away around fifteen years ago ) although I do occasionally think about him and contemplate comparisons to him. Mostly it’s the "when Dad was this (my) age, he….." comparisons. OK – at 51 he had seven kids, was 10 years divorced, remarried, worked maintenance at Ocean Spray and saw us kids on most major holidays if we drove to his house. I stopped to think of him today.
Corey at seventeen has decided his life is pretty bad, never gets a break, his parents are mostly unsupportive of his choices in life and love, can never afford to supply him with life’s necessities, and his father never plays with him.
So - I’m a bad Dad. Am I following in my own father’s footsteps, repeating the same mistakes he made? Even though we were always poor and rural, I always thought he was a pretty OK Dad? Maybe I’m worse. I’ll have to see where I went wrong.
When I was little he took me with him on summer Saturday mornings as he delivered Peaceful Meadows milk to Camp Squanto (that’s when I learned about Savery Lane in Carver – nations first "divided" hiway!). I took Corey backpacking a couple of times, but he never wanted to go to the rink like Timmy did or the dump or hardware store like Jamie does - so I never made him.
Even though he never played baseball, Dad came to quite a few of my baseball games and would beep the horn at good plays when I was nine (the one year they signed me up to play). Corey had AT LEAST one parent at every game he played up until Babe Ruth League. I coached him in the minors, and Corey was the child most willing to go into the yard and practice with me - baseball spring and summer (and fall when "Fall Ball" was invented), basketball and football in the fall, street hockey on occasion. I can’t count the number of times when I had to console him after he had been short-changed by a coach, and often would have discussions with the coach (but only if Corey thought it would help). We did discourage football, but allowed him to sign up freshman year and we were very consoling when he decided he should quit. When he decided that anyone could make the Carver High Hockey team and that would become his new sport, I helped him get equipment and gave him permission – one of the few times I openly defied Sue’s wishes and sided with a child. I always tried to be honest with him regarding his athletic strengths and weaknesses and what the likely outcome would be in pursuing certain courses of action (be it a sport or a problem with a team-mate or coach) but I suppose people don’t really want honesty from a parent. They just want you to make them feel better. Even though he is no longer on any team, we still throw, pass, and shoot in the side yard at least once a week.
Dad loved playing games and taught us "Kick The Can". We learned all of the sneaky tricks of the trade from him. I in tribute taught the game to my children. Sue would be humored and appalled as I would re-explain ALL of the rules, argue when one of the kids said they "Caught" me when they hadn’t, helped the littlest ones find the best hiding places, and gloated when I was "It" and caught EVERYBODY (without cheating thank you!)
Dad was a talented woodworker and showed me how to use many of his tools. I now have and use some of Dad’s tools, but Jamie is the one who always wants to help me when I ask (or even when I don’t ask). Video games don’t hold the same importance to Jamie as they do for Corey. Dad could build or fix most anything (nothing was "disposable" back then). Corey is more than happy to have me buy things and replace them after they’ve been neglected, not maintained properly, and don’t work right anymore. Fixing things takes time and effort and leaves him with a not-so-cool used item. When his bike chain breaks he would prefer a new bike over having me waste his time teaching him how to fix it.
Dad worked nights, cleaning Ocean Spray offices across the street from our house. I used to go there after supper and I learned to use a buffing machine to polish the floors. Dad knew the head janitor at the school and helped me get my work permit and first paid job buffing floors at the school one summer. Sue and I always felt getting good grades in school and babysitting siblings was our kids jobs so we never made Mary or Tim or Corey work.
Dad played some guitar, like his father before him, and taught us kids to play some basic chords. He knew all the fresh-word versions of songs and drove Mom nuts when he sang them in front of (to) us. Now all my kids know the words to "A Peanut Was Sitting" but Mary secretly taught herself to play guitar and still doesn’t play publicly too willingly, Tim never took to music, but Corey happily picked up the guitar would show me what he could do and asked how to do other chords. We often sit face-to-face, guitars on laps and try songs and techniques and discuss general music knowledge.
Dad loved to dance. Dad smoked and drank a lot. He didn’t pass any of that on to me. Corey likes to dance but so far has avoided the other habits.
Dad was remarried and living in Hanover long before I started dating so I didn’t get much advise regarding dealing with girls other than "keep it in your sneaker". I’m no expert now but at least I try to be aware of what the state of his love life is and offer advice or comfort even after his mother has given him good advice.
My dad never graduated from highschool and worked two or three jobs most of his life. I graduated from highschool without missing too many naps and only work one job (although my hobbies/interests of playing guitar and hockey have turned into flexible part-time money as gigs and refereeing. Maybe I should work more hours and make more money). It never occurred to me to debate if I was smarter than my father. Corey will graduate this year with a higher grade average to show for the same amount of effort – and fully plans on going to college (even if only to get out of this dump). He is well aware of how much smarter than me he is.
I liked and loved my father, as did most everybody. He was a good guy, funny, worked hard, and taught us some things when he had the time. Then he left - but we were always welcome to stop and visit. Evidently, if I use Corey’s criteria, he must have been as bad of a father as I am.
I’m still here, but it’s true we have little discretionary income to divide between ten peoples wants, and the additional free time I have to spend giving individual attention to my wife and children is also divided to the same degree. So – I guess Corey’s lot in life is no better than mine was at his age. Unfortunately for him, he knows it sucks where I apparently wasn’t observant enough to notice. Thankfully Corey is smart enough to know that he will need to work harder and be more loving and be much more interactive than I have been with him, so he will succeed in raising much happier teenaged boys than I was able to do. Should be easy for someone who’s so honestly introspective.
Anyway - here is a start for some "Dad" stories - in it's entirety - 17yr old son is actually pretty good about understanding my sarcasm and my occasional frustration with him - he gets over it pretty easily most the time - and what I say about him shouldn't bug him half as much as what he said bugged me.
*****
I don’t usually "miss" my Dad (he passed away around fifteen years ago ) although I do occasionally think about him and contemplate comparisons to him. Mostly it’s the "when Dad was this (my) age, he….." comparisons. OK – at 51 he had seven kids, was 10 years divorced, remarried, worked maintenance at Ocean Spray and saw us kids on most major holidays if we drove to his house. I stopped to think of him today.
Corey at seventeen has decided his life is pretty bad, never gets a break, his parents are mostly unsupportive of his choices in life and love, can never afford to supply him with life’s necessities, and his father never plays with him.
So - I’m a bad Dad. Am I following in my own father’s footsteps, repeating the same mistakes he made? Even though we were always poor and rural, I always thought he was a pretty OK Dad? Maybe I’m worse. I’ll have to see where I went wrong.
When I was little he took me with him on summer Saturday mornings as he delivered Peaceful Meadows milk to Camp Squanto (that’s when I learned about Savery Lane in Carver – nations first "divided" hiway!). I took Corey backpacking a couple of times, but he never wanted to go to the rink like Timmy did or the dump or hardware store like Jamie does - so I never made him.
Even though he never played baseball, Dad came to quite a few of my baseball games and would beep the horn at good plays when I was nine (the one year they signed me up to play). Corey had AT LEAST one parent at every game he played up until Babe Ruth League. I coached him in the minors, and Corey was the child most willing to go into the yard and practice with me - baseball spring and summer (and fall when "Fall Ball" was invented), basketball and football in the fall, street hockey on occasion. I can’t count the number of times when I had to console him after he had been short-changed by a coach, and often would have discussions with the coach (but only if Corey thought it would help). We did discourage football, but allowed him to sign up freshman year and we were very consoling when he decided he should quit. When he decided that anyone could make the Carver High Hockey team and that would become his new sport, I helped him get equipment and gave him permission – one of the few times I openly defied Sue’s wishes and sided with a child. I always tried to be honest with him regarding his athletic strengths and weaknesses and what the likely outcome would be in pursuing certain courses of action (be it a sport or a problem with a team-mate or coach) but I suppose people don’t really want honesty from a parent. They just want you to make them feel better. Even though he is no longer on any team, we still throw, pass, and shoot in the side yard at least once a week.
Dad loved playing games and taught us "Kick The Can". We learned all of the sneaky tricks of the trade from him. I in tribute taught the game to my children. Sue would be humored and appalled as I would re-explain ALL of the rules, argue when one of the kids said they "Caught" me when they hadn’t, helped the littlest ones find the best hiding places, and gloated when I was "It" and caught EVERYBODY (without cheating thank you!)
Dad was a talented woodworker and showed me how to use many of his tools. I now have and use some of Dad’s tools, but Jamie is the one who always wants to help me when I ask (or even when I don’t ask). Video games don’t hold the same importance to Jamie as they do for Corey. Dad could build or fix most anything (nothing was "disposable" back then). Corey is more than happy to have me buy things and replace them after they’ve been neglected, not maintained properly, and don’t work right anymore. Fixing things takes time and effort and leaves him with a not-so-cool used item. When his bike chain breaks he would prefer a new bike over having me waste his time teaching him how to fix it.
Dad worked nights, cleaning Ocean Spray offices across the street from our house. I used to go there after supper and I learned to use a buffing machine to polish the floors. Dad knew the head janitor at the school and helped me get my work permit and first paid job buffing floors at the school one summer. Sue and I always felt getting good grades in school and babysitting siblings was our kids jobs so we never made Mary or Tim or Corey work.
Dad played some guitar, like his father before him, and taught us kids to play some basic chords. He knew all the fresh-word versions of songs and drove Mom nuts when he sang them in front of (to) us. Now all my kids know the words to "A Peanut Was Sitting" but Mary secretly taught herself to play guitar and still doesn’t play publicly too willingly, Tim never took to music, but Corey happily picked up the guitar would show me what he could do and asked how to do other chords. We often sit face-to-face, guitars on laps and try songs and techniques and discuss general music knowledge.
Dad loved to dance. Dad smoked and drank a lot. He didn’t pass any of that on to me. Corey likes to dance but so far has avoided the other habits.
Dad was remarried and living in Hanover long before I started dating so I didn’t get much advise regarding dealing with girls other than "keep it in your sneaker". I’m no expert now but at least I try to be aware of what the state of his love life is and offer advice or comfort even after his mother has given him good advice.
My dad never graduated from highschool and worked two or three jobs most of his life. I graduated from highschool without missing too many naps and only work one job (although my hobbies/interests of playing guitar and hockey have turned into flexible part-time money as gigs and refereeing. Maybe I should work more hours and make more money). It never occurred to me to debate if I was smarter than my father. Corey will graduate this year with a higher grade average to show for the same amount of effort – and fully plans on going to college (even if only to get out of this dump). He is well aware of how much smarter than me he is.
I liked and loved my father, as did most everybody. He was a good guy, funny, worked hard, and taught us some things when he had the time. Then he left - but we were always welcome to stop and visit. Evidently, if I use Corey’s criteria, he must have been as bad of a father as I am.
I’m still here, but it’s true we have little discretionary income to divide between ten peoples wants, and the additional free time I have to spend giving individual attention to my wife and children is also divided to the same degree. So – I guess Corey’s lot in life is no better than mine was at his age. Unfortunately for him, he knows it sucks where I apparently wasn’t observant enough to notice. Thankfully Corey is smart enough to know that he will need to work harder and be more loving and be much more interactive than I have been with him, so he will succeed in raising much happier teenaged boys than I was able to do. Should be easy for someone who’s so honestly introspective.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Youth sports and sportsmanship
I had the good fortune to see a recent copy of the Hanson Express. Having lived in Carver for the past 14 years it is fun to read about my old home town and see who is still around doing what. Sadly what caught my eye was the letter from a teenage softball umpire who was announcing that he was quitting and why. I started coaching in 1973 when I was 18 – WH Youth Hockey in the winter and Hanson Girls 13-17 softball in the summer. Since then I have also been at various times President of the Hanson Girls Softball League, President of the North River Girls Fast Pitch Softball League, coached in East Bridgewater and Carver, Baseball, Softball, Basketball, been a USAHockey certified referee for 25 years and have umpired many youth softball games in my time. My 17 year old son has been umpiring Carver Girls Softball for three years. I certainly do not know the state of Hanson’s softball program or the people who run it but I am well aware of some universal truths about youth sports. This young man hit the nail right on the head with a couple of observations he made in his letter.
1) Officials are not paid enough to take the verbal abuse they too often get. Every league – no matter what the sport – needs to adopt zero tolerance policies against spectator misbehavior, assure that every parent gets a copy, and the game officials need to have full confidence that abusive spectators will be removed.
2) winning/losing isn’t as important to the kids as it is to the parents. Children are taught by adults what is important or not. Learning how to handle losing well is possibly more important than learning to win well. If your child is overly sensitive about losing, you probably are responsible for that. Every decent youth sport coach starts the season with a talk about how winning and losing is not important. Participation, fair playing time, learning skills and having fun are the team goals. We coaches and parents need to remember these words while the game is in progress.
Hours before reading the Express, I discovered that the mother of one of the players on my youngest son’s Little League team happened to be a girl I coached in Hanson many years ago. As she and I and Coach Costa (also a former Hansonite) discussed the team and how good the kids did and how much fun everybody had, she commented that she only wished they had won the championship. I asked if she had enjoyed playing way back when. Without hesitation she said “Absolutely”. I asked her if we had won any championships while she played. She was pretty certain we had a good team, and thought maybe we had – but couldn’t say for certain (PS: we didn’t, we were OK – some years better than others). But to prove what the teenaged umpire had stated – we seldom remember the wins or losses. I remember being 9 years old on the Robinson Street lower field and hitting a double over Charlie Hatches head in left field – then getting spoken to by Mr. Ruxton because the pitch had bounced two feet in front of the plate and I shouldn’t have swung (but I’m so glad I did). I remember catching Nick Gardner in a rundown between 2nd & 3rd and bluffing him into turning around then tagging him out. Most importantly I remember looking up to discover my father had arrived in time to see my smart play. Dana Colley remembers being 12 and leading a’cappela versions of the Doobie Brothers “Black Water” in the Hobomock locker room. Ruth McDonnell remembers nearly decapitating me in batting practice. Johnny Casoli remembers playing “steal the puck from the coach” in practices - first as a 12 year old player (a game where the entire team would gang up and try to take the puck away from the two man coaching staff), later as my assistant coach as we tried to out-stickhandle and out-pass fifteen 12 year olds. “Bobby-Gay” Gora remembers the Scituate runner at 3rd base who was being called “Blueberry” by her team-mates. In a display of sympathy, Jill Bernado shouted back from our bench (while pointing out her best friend Roberta) “at least her middle name isn’t “Gay”! I remember the Scituate coach being irate that the girls were having too much fun. Most former players I run into (and there are literally thousands of them now) all have similar memories – and hardly any can tell you what our won-loss record was. They remember snapshot moments of a play or a hit or a joke that someone told or the rides to away games or the team song they made up. These are the moments we need to encourage. These are the stories we want to hear recalled decades from now.
1) Officials are not paid enough to take the verbal abuse they too often get. Every league – no matter what the sport – needs to adopt zero tolerance policies against spectator misbehavior, assure that every parent gets a copy, and the game officials need to have full confidence that abusive spectators will be removed.
2) winning/losing isn’t as important to the kids as it is to the parents. Children are taught by adults what is important or not. Learning how to handle losing well is possibly more important than learning to win well. If your child is overly sensitive about losing, you probably are responsible for that. Every decent youth sport coach starts the season with a talk about how winning and losing is not important. Participation, fair playing time, learning skills and having fun are the team goals. We coaches and parents need to remember these words while the game is in progress.
Hours before reading the Express, I discovered that the mother of one of the players on my youngest son’s Little League team happened to be a girl I coached in Hanson many years ago. As she and I and Coach Costa (also a former Hansonite) discussed the team and how good the kids did and how much fun everybody had, she commented that she only wished they had won the championship. I asked if she had enjoyed playing way back when. Without hesitation she said “Absolutely”. I asked her if we had won any championships while she played. She was pretty certain we had a good team, and thought maybe we had – but couldn’t say for certain (PS: we didn’t, we were OK – some years better than others). But to prove what the teenaged umpire had stated – we seldom remember the wins or losses. I remember being 9 years old on the Robinson Street lower field and hitting a double over Charlie Hatches head in left field – then getting spoken to by Mr. Ruxton because the pitch had bounced two feet in front of the plate and I shouldn’t have swung (but I’m so glad I did). I remember catching Nick Gardner in a rundown between 2nd & 3rd and bluffing him into turning around then tagging him out. Most importantly I remember looking up to discover my father had arrived in time to see my smart play. Dana Colley remembers being 12 and leading a’cappela versions of the Doobie Brothers “Black Water” in the Hobomock locker room. Ruth McDonnell remembers nearly decapitating me in batting practice. Johnny Casoli remembers playing “steal the puck from the coach” in practices - first as a 12 year old player (a game where the entire team would gang up and try to take the puck away from the two man coaching staff), later as my assistant coach as we tried to out-stickhandle and out-pass fifteen 12 year olds. “Bobby-Gay” Gora remembers the Scituate runner at 3rd base who was being called “Blueberry” by her team-mates. In a display of sympathy, Jill Bernado shouted back from our bench (while pointing out her best friend Roberta) “at least her middle name isn’t “Gay”! I remember the Scituate coach being irate that the girls were having too much fun. Most former players I run into (and there are literally thousands of them now) all have similar memories – and hardly any can tell you what our won-loss record was. They remember snapshot moments of a play or a hit or a joke that someone told or the rides to away games or the team song they made up. These are the moments we need to encourage. These are the stories we want to hear recalled decades from now.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Helplessly Hoping
So - I'm not sure I want to blog. I clearly see it as a dangerous proposition - not because somebody might see it and take exception to what I say or that I might leave myself vunerable to scorn or critisism, but that maybe nobody cares. I was told by a very wise person that most people who blog do so simply as a private journal - that it is not necessarily meant for public consumption nor to initiate an exchange of comments and ideas. Most bloggers do not expect feedback, and they expect to remain anonymous I am advised. This sounds strange to me because if I blog, if I post my personal thoughts, philosophies, gripes, dreams - I am going to be deeply disappointed if nobody responds. I would want the validation of knowing somebody agrees with me, or the enlightenment of someone who has a different perspective that I have overlooked. I could attempt to remain anonymous, but all of the people who I told to "Check out this blog" are smart enough to figure it out. This brings up the "writing for a specific audience" conflict. When you know who is reading it, can you really be free and honest? The intelligent answer is "No". As a blogger, I am dangerously exposing my inner self - offering to let others know me better and more intimately (although there are always things that you simply don't need (or probably want) to know). For this to be useful, you must actually know me to begin with so you can compare my autobiographical me to the live-in-person me. Then you can fill in the gaps with what we don't get the time or space to share (parties with 20 friends - some vague, some close - aren't good "getting-to-know-you" events), or throw out the crap when I am just trying too hard to be intelectually deep and meaningful.
As a writer who personally knows most of his readers, I don't want to hurt or disappoint them so I have to be cautious what I choose to say - which limits my ability to let you know me completely (which was part of the premise for doing this in the first place). My dilema is that I have plenty of things I would love to discuss with plenty of people (which might come as a surprize to some of you already). But I don't self-edit that well in improv settings and I am very insecure that you will "understand or grant me the benefit of the doubt" when it comes out not quite right. So - am I better off having acquaintences who happen to view me in a good enough light ("his wife is great so he must be OK and he plays the guitar pretty good"), but not deep friendships? Should I let you all in on my thoughts and emotions at the risk of it back-firing? Does anybody care what I have to say or am I just being presumtuous and bothering you with info that you never asked for?
If I choose to blog, these are the issues that I face. If you read this then I have put pressure on you to respond - but how will I know if it is because I touched you in some way and you are honoring me with your feedback, or that you feel you had to simply to not hurt my feelings? Then we have two people corresponding - neither of whom feel safe enough to be totally free and honest with each other. Then what's the point. One of my problems is that I usually can see and understand the value of many sides of an arguement - I just can't tell which one is the side that suits me best. (I know the glass can be half full or half empty and why, but I can't tell you which view is me - it does help me help discern other peoples problems, though) .
So- (the final "So" for today) - if you wish to know me, read the lyrics to "Helplessly Hoping" by CSNY. There I am in a simplified nutshell. Obviously there is more but I might never offer it while I am "wordlessly watching, waiting by the window and wondering". Typically, people assume I don't wish to share because I don't invite it. Typically, I wait and hope that somebody is interested enough to ask (You don't know why I'm so stand-offish, I don't know why you don't approach me). One person once did ask and now she's stuck with me til death do us part. If THAT doesn't scare you out of responding.......
See - I told you this could be dangerous!
So - I'm not sure I want to blog. I clearly see it as a dangerous proposition - not because somebody might see it and take exception to what I say or that I might leave myself vunerable to scorn or critisism, but that maybe nobody cares. I was told by a very wise person that most people who blog do so simply as a private journal - that it is not necessarily meant for public consumption nor to initiate an exchange of comments and ideas. Most bloggers do not expect feedback, and they expect to remain anonymous I am advised. This sounds strange to me because if I blog, if I post my personal thoughts, philosophies, gripes, dreams - I am going to be deeply disappointed if nobody responds. I would want the validation of knowing somebody agrees with me, or the enlightenment of someone who has a different perspective that I have overlooked. I could attempt to remain anonymous, but all of the people who I told to "Check out this blog" are smart enough to figure it out. This brings up the "writing for a specific audience" conflict. When you know who is reading it, can you really be free and honest? The intelligent answer is "No". As a blogger, I am dangerously exposing my inner self - offering to let others know me better and more intimately (although there are always things that you simply don't need (or probably want) to know). For this to be useful, you must actually know me to begin with so you can compare my autobiographical me to the live-in-person me. Then you can fill in the gaps with what we don't get the time or space to share (parties with 20 friends - some vague, some close - aren't good "getting-to-know-you" events), or throw out the crap when I am just trying too hard to be intelectually deep and meaningful.
As a writer who personally knows most of his readers, I don't want to hurt or disappoint them so I have to be cautious what I choose to say - which limits my ability to let you know me completely (which was part of the premise for doing this in the first place). My dilema is that I have plenty of things I would love to discuss with plenty of people (which might come as a surprize to some of you already). But I don't self-edit that well in improv settings and I am very insecure that you will "understand or grant me the benefit of the doubt" when it comes out not quite right. So - am I better off having acquaintences who happen to view me in a good enough light ("his wife is great so he must be OK and he plays the guitar pretty good"), but not deep friendships? Should I let you all in on my thoughts and emotions at the risk of it back-firing? Does anybody care what I have to say or am I just being presumtuous and bothering you with info that you never asked for?
If I choose to blog, these are the issues that I face. If you read this then I have put pressure on you to respond - but how will I know if it is because I touched you in some way and you are honoring me with your feedback, or that you feel you had to simply to not hurt my feelings? Then we have two people corresponding - neither of whom feel safe enough to be totally free and honest with each other. Then what's the point. One of my problems is that I usually can see and understand the value of many sides of an arguement - I just can't tell which one is the side that suits me best. (I know the glass can be half full or half empty and why, but I can't tell you which view is me - it does help me help discern other peoples problems, though) .
So- (the final "So" for today) - if you wish to know me, read the lyrics to "Helplessly Hoping" by CSNY. There I am in a simplified nutshell. Obviously there is more but I might never offer it while I am "wordlessly watching, waiting by the window and wondering". Typically, people assume I don't wish to share because I don't invite it. Typically, I wait and hope that somebody is interested enough to ask (You don't know why I'm so stand-offish, I don't know why you don't approach me). One person once did ask and now she's stuck with me til death do us part. If THAT doesn't scare you out of responding.......
See - I told you this could be dangerous!
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