It’s been a pretty tough couple of months since I was laid off from my job. I’ve pretty much run out of money, self-esteem and the ability to laugh at myself. It’s become quite the pity party on this side of the road. I’m not apologizing; I think I’m allowed to feel this way. I was finally offered a job and accepted it here in the area. I was hired by Rite Aid as a Store Manager. If that doesn’t make you wonder about the well being of that company I don’t know what will. Anyway, it’s good to have a job and hopefully I’ll get that mojo back that I seem to have lost along the road.
There have been a few things that have gone on around here over the last few weeks that I feel are worth mentioning. I told you all about Jodie getting married. I think you can all imagine how much work goes into an occasion like that. Karen, the mother of the bride and my sister, worked like crazy to throw the magnificent shindig that a number of you attended. I think she deserves quite a lot of accolades for the good time she arranged for us all.
What some of you don’t know is what else was happening at the same time as the wedding. About a month or so before the wedding, Karen got a call from some people telling her that some folks from the television show “Extreme Home Makeover” were coming to town and wanted to speak to her about being the builder for the house they were going to build in the area.
Karen and Bob have always been big on the charity thing. The company has received awards for their giving nature. Hell, the house I live in was originally built to raise funds for St Jude’s Children’s Hospital. That being said, Karen was quite interested in helping out. As more and more information came in she started seeing how big of a job this was going to be. I know there were many moments when she just plain wanted to call the show and say she couldn’t do it but she stuck with it.
I have never seen the show but those that have will know what I mean when I talk about this next thing. They have this thing called a door knock at the beginning of the show where they surprise the family and let them know that they have been chosen for the “Makeover”. Well, Karen asked when the door knock was and she was given the date. The “Door knock” was set to be on the same day as her daughters wedding. Be honest with yourselves here, how many of you would have quit the show right there? I know I would have and I’m pretty positive a huge percentage of you guys would have too.
Karen and I laughed a great deal about the timing of all this but I don’t think there was ever a time when anyone knowing her didn’t think she could pull this off. The common response when people were told of the dual jobs Karen had going on at the same time was along the lines of, “ well, if there’s anyone that can get this done, it’s your sister”.
I use to marvel at how well my ex-wife would perform under pressure. Well, Shelly, you’ve met your match and more. Here’s a woman who, with her husband, is running a company and trying to keep it afloat during some of the most trying economic times of our lives, while also trying to arrange a large wedding for her daughter while at the same time gathering a huge volunteer group to build a 3100 sq. ft. house in 106 hours. Overwhelming is one word that comes to mind.
The end result of all this is the newlyweds are now in Hawaii on their honeymoon and the house was given to the family this past Friday but there was so much more to it and I have nowhere near the talent to put it all into words. You should have seen her in action. There’s not a retail outlet in the world that couldn’t use her organizational skills. Her ability to get all these volunteers to give their time and money to the house was astounding. Yes, she had a ton of help but they wouldn’t have helped if it weren’t Karen asking for it.
I was at the site of the house a bunch of times and she was like a buzz saw. Looking left and going right with barely a blink while commanding a group of volunteers who all deserve an award for their efforts. Karen was certainly at the top of the mountain of people who did this amazing act of kindness. You should have seen her…
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Monday, October 6, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
Extra!! Extra!! Read All About It!!!!!
As most of you know by now, I’m not what one would consider a rah, rah type of guy. Depression is something that I’m quite familiar with. I’m always looking for that ever elusive permanent happiness and always seem to fall just one step shy of the mark.
Well kids, something happened today that simply won’t allow me to be sad. Ladies and gentlemen, I am so incredibly proud to announce the four and ½ week early birth of Jenivieve Amber Einsohn. She arrived today at 5:00 AM pacific time and both Mom, (Amanda) and Jena are doing fine. She came in at a svelte 5 lbs 14 oz. and seems to take after me in the hair department though I can’t really tell because of the stylin hat.
Easily one of my proudest moments and I just want the whole world to know how much I love Jena, Amanda and dear old “new” dad Adam. Congrats to you all. Now we just have to wait and see what Jena will call the old guy. That’s Me!!!!
Sunday, August 3, 2008
The Carter Family
“I didn’t cry when granny died.
She made me so depressed;
And now I find I miss her
More than I’d ever have guessed”.
When I was a kid we lived in a small city in Michigan called Trenton. There were six of us living in this tiny house that probably had around the same square footage as the two bedroom duplex I live in now. Typical suburban city that was part of the spread of suburbia in the late fifties and early sixties.
I always try to think of the earliest time in my life I can remember and I think my first memory is of sitting on my Grandfathers lap and pretending to shave him with his set of keys as the razor. He had a little can opener that seemed to do the trick. I don’t know if anyone that was around could describe the relationship between Grampa and me without giving the bond its true justice. To say we were close would be downplaying the relationship in every sense imaginable. I remember as a very small child whenever we would visit with Grampa I would be stuck to his lap like glue. I have a slight memory of calling him Papa for a short while when everyone else was calling him Grampa. I recall one time, after calling him papa while on his lap, my sister Karen looked at me and said “His name is Grampa” and that’s what I called him from that day on.
He had seven Grandchildren and I was the youngest and I belonged to him. I remember my Grandmother telling me when I was a bit older that he told her after I was born that she had this great relationship with all the other kids and that I was his. He loved me more than one should be allowed. I can safely say that I was truly the light of his life. The really strange part was that this was accepted by all. It was known by everyone that at any function where we all got together I would be with Grampa and that was that.
We, as a family, were not what one would consider wealthy. When I was very young I think you could say we were struggling to be lower middle class. Don’t get me wrong, we never went hungry, but we were never the ones on the block to be the first to get any new product or have fancy things like some other kids. Mom would always make sure we had enough to eat and clothes on our back. One thing she could always count on without even asking was that Grampa would always take care of my needs. I remember getting winter jackets and my first new bike while with him. I also had some sort of problem with my feet and needed orthopedic shoes that were always more expensive than my brothers shoes. Again, Grampa would take me to get them. I still see him bending down and feeling the fit to make sure they weren’t too tight. There was not a single day up to about the age of 11 that I did not talk to him on the phone unless they were out of town. I have distinct memories of sitting in school on certain days and just wishing he would show up to take me out to eat or shopping and the absolute joy of seeing his car pull up from my classroom window.
As I grew older I became less and less enchanted with the attention he would shower me with. Looking back on it I know that this is a normal growing process. I started to actually feel annoyed when he would call and put out when forced to go see him. I was becoming a typical teenager and didn’t have time for him. I feel sad today knowing that he never really understood that.
When I was thirteen, like most Jewish boys, I was Bar-Mitzva. During the ceremony, as I was on the stage holding the torah, he stood up while the rabbi was leading the congregation in prayer and walked onto the stage, kissed me on the forehead and walked back down to his seat. I felt so embarrassed. Looking back now I feel ashamed to have felt that way. This occasion was his dream come true and I was too young and stupid to recognize it. Those that knew him never thought anything about the incident. They knew what it meant to him. My grandmother later told me that he always said he wanted to live long enough to see this day. Again, in my youth, I couldn’t appreciate the moment. It’s true when they say that youth is wasted on the young.
Grampa died when I was fifteen. I didn’t grieve for him at the time as I was too wrapped up in my own life as a teen that only cared about himself. I miss him dearly and often long for the days of my youth when we would always know that I was his and he was mine. Looking back I see how easy it would have been to let him know how important he was to me. I know how proud he would have been of Shelly and the kids and how he would have just lost himself in Maegan. I know he thought I could do anything and would someday rule the world and I often wonder what he would think of where I’ve ended up in life. Knowing the way he felt about me he’d probably think that this was the world I was meant to rule.
At the top of this post are lyrics from a Carly Simon song called “The Carter Family”. Whenever I hear this part of the song I always change the words in my head to Grampa and get all teary eyed. I don’t know why I do this to myself but I have it on my ipod and listen to it almost daily. Yes it brings tears but it also reminds me of a day when I felt totally secure in the love of another and even if I did wrong I would get a little tap on my head and know that all was well. I also know that he’d still tap me on the head today.
She made me so depressed;
And now I find I miss her
More than I’d ever have guessed”.
When I was a kid we lived in a small city in Michigan called Trenton. There were six of us living in this tiny house that probably had around the same square footage as the two bedroom duplex I live in now. Typical suburban city that was part of the spread of suburbia in the late fifties and early sixties.
I always try to think of the earliest time in my life I can remember and I think my first memory is of sitting on my Grandfathers lap and pretending to shave him with his set of keys as the razor. He had a little can opener that seemed to do the trick. I don’t know if anyone that was around could describe the relationship between Grampa and me without giving the bond its true justice. To say we were close would be downplaying the relationship in every sense imaginable. I remember as a very small child whenever we would visit with Grampa I would be stuck to his lap like glue. I have a slight memory of calling him Papa for a short while when everyone else was calling him Grampa. I recall one time, after calling him papa while on his lap, my sister Karen looked at me and said “His name is Grampa” and that’s what I called him from that day on.
He had seven Grandchildren and I was the youngest and I belonged to him. I remember my Grandmother telling me when I was a bit older that he told her after I was born that she had this great relationship with all the other kids and that I was his. He loved me more than one should be allowed. I can safely say that I was truly the light of his life. The really strange part was that this was accepted by all. It was known by everyone that at any function where we all got together I would be with Grampa and that was that.
We, as a family, were not what one would consider wealthy. When I was very young I think you could say we were struggling to be lower middle class. Don’t get me wrong, we never went hungry, but we were never the ones on the block to be the first to get any new product or have fancy things like some other kids. Mom would always make sure we had enough to eat and clothes on our back. One thing she could always count on without even asking was that Grampa would always take care of my needs. I remember getting winter jackets and my first new bike while with him. I also had some sort of problem with my feet and needed orthopedic shoes that were always more expensive than my brothers shoes. Again, Grampa would take me to get them. I still see him bending down and feeling the fit to make sure they weren’t too tight. There was not a single day up to about the age of 11 that I did not talk to him on the phone unless they were out of town. I have distinct memories of sitting in school on certain days and just wishing he would show up to take me out to eat or shopping and the absolute joy of seeing his car pull up from my classroom window.
As I grew older I became less and less enchanted with the attention he would shower me with. Looking back on it I know that this is a normal growing process. I started to actually feel annoyed when he would call and put out when forced to go see him. I was becoming a typical teenager and didn’t have time for him. I feel sad today knowing that he never really understood that.
When I was thirteen, like most Jewish boys, I was Bar-Mitzva. During the ceremony, as I was on the stage holding the torah, he stood up while the rabbi was leading the congregation in prayer and walked onto the stage, kissed me on the forehead and walked back down to his seat. I felt so embarrassed. Looking back now I feel ashamed to have felt that way. This occasion was his dream come true and I was too young and stupid to recognize it. Those that knew him never thought anything about the incident. They knew what it meant to him. My grandmother later told me that he always said he wanted to live long enough to see this day. Again, in my youth, I couldn’t appreciate the moment. It’s true when they say that youth is wasted on the young.
Grampa died when I was fifteen. I didn’t grieve for him at the time as I was too wrapped up in my own life as a teen that only cared about himself. I miss him dearly and often long for the days of my youth when we would always know that I was his and he was mine. Looking back I see how easy it would have been to let him know how important he was to me. I know how proud he would have been of Shelly and the kids and how he would have just lost himself in Maegan. I know he thought I could do anything and would someday rule the world and I often wonder what he would think of where I’ve ended up in life. Knowing the way he felt about me he’d probably think that this was the world I was meant to rule.
At the top of this post are lyrics from a Carly Simon song called “The Carter Family”. Whenever I hear this part of the song I always change the words in my head to Grampa and get all teary eyed. I don’t know why I do this to myself but I have it on my ipod and listen to it almost daily. Yes it brings tears but it also reminds me of a day when I felt totally secure in the love of another and even if I did wrong I would get a little tap on my head and know that all was well. I also know that he’d still tap me on the head today.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
It's The Dying Part That Hurts
I’ve come to Chicago to surprise Dad for his birthday tomorrow. Lucky and I got here last night and I’m not sure whether I’ll see Dad or not until tomorrow. His girlfriend is throwing him a B-day party and he doesn’t know about the party or me. I’ll call her in a bit to see how she wants to work the surprise part.
Dad, David and Laverne, Dad’s girlfriend, went to see the Dr. yesterday to run through whatever kind of treatment program they’re going to use on him. I was driving here when Dad called and told me about the things that would be happening to him. It seems they’ve got a decent enough plan and Dad seems pretty comfortable with it.
I guess they’re going to put a stint in his arm that somehow dries up his testosterone. From what I can gather, the cancer feeds off testosterone and the less there is in his system the easier it is to fight the cancer. After they get that under control they’ll start radiation and whatever else they feel needs to be done. The Dr’s. have told him that the odds are great that he will outlive the cancer.
Dad and I were talking about the whole thing and he seems pretty ok with the whole thing. He keeps saying he’s 76 years old so what can he expect? He figures he’s only got five or 10 years left anyway so this isn’t really any big thing.
On my way to Chicago he called me and while we talked he said that he wasn’t worried because he wasn’t afraid of dying. We talked about that for a minute and I told him I felt a little like that myself with only one difference. I told him that I thought what he really meant was that he wasn’t afraid of being dead. It’s the dying part that can be so difficult on so many levels. I mean there’s the obvious physical pain that you feel but there is also, I would think, an incredible amount of emotional pain that goes along with it. We talked a bit about that and he seemed to understand what I was trying to say.
I think he’ll be alright with this whole thing. David will do what he can to keep those of us that don’t live here informed of any developments and I talk to Dad on quite a regular basis. I know he doesn’t want to go through the treatment, not because of any associated pain that goes with it, I think it’s mainly because it’ll make him do things. He’s never really been one to want to have to do anything and with this he sort of has to.
Laverne will make sure he takes whatever medication he needs to take and that, I can attest to, is not an easy task. He gets handed his little packet of pills and he’ll start to open the package and start talking to someone and he’ll just plain forget what he’s doing and set them down. It happened last night at dinner. He had the packet in his hand and he started telling me some stories of when he was in the army. He totally forgot about the pills. It truly does just slip his mind. I noticed it and told him to stop and take his pills. Laverne made a comment about how this is what happens all the time. He agreed. I totally get it.
I’ll be going over there for his Birthday BBQ and I’m sure he’ll be incredibly uncomfortable and want nothing more than for everyone to leave so I’ll just sit there by him and let him tell his stories. I kind of turn off the brain when listening but I realize that these times won’t last so I can make the effort. He’ll never know the difference.
Dad, David and Laverne, Dad’s girlfriend, went to see the Dr. yesterday to run through whatever kind of treatment program they’re going to use on him. I was driving here when Dad called and told me about the things that would be happening to him. It seems they’ve got a decent enough plan and Dad seems pretty comfortable with it.
I guess they’re going to put a stint in his arm that somehow dries up his testosterone. From what I can gather, the cancer feeds off testosterone and the less there is in his system the easier it is to fight the cancer. After they get that under control they’ll start radiation and whatever else they feel needs to be done. The Dr’s. have told him that the odds are great that he will outlive the cancer.
Dad and I were talking about the whole thing and he seems pretty ok with the whole thing. He keeps saying he’s 76 years old so what can he expect? He figures he’s only got five or 10 years left anyway so this isn’t really any big thing.
On my way to Chicago he called me and while we talked he said that he wasn’t worried because he wasn’t afraid of dying. We talked about that for a minute and I told him I felt a little like that myself with only one difference. I told him that I thought what he really meant was that he wasn’t afraid of being dead. It’s the dying part that can be so difficult on so many levels. I mean there’s the obvious physical pain that you feel but there is also, I would think, an incredible amount of emotional pain that goes along with it. We talked a bit about that and he seemed to understand what I was trying to say.
I think he’ll be alright with this whole thing. David will do what he can to keep those of us that don’t live here informed of any developments and I talk to Dad on quite a regular basis. I know he doesn’t want to go through the treatment, not because of any associated pain that goes with it, I think it’s mainly because it’ll make him do things. He’s never really been one to want to have to do anything and with this he sort of has to.
Laverne will make sure he takes whatever medication he needs to take and that, I can attest to, is not an easy task. He gets handed his little packet of pills and he’ll start to open the package and start talking to someone and he’ll just plain forget what he’s doing and set them down. It happened last night at dinner. He had the packet in his hand and he started telling me some stories of when he was in the army. He totally forgot about the pills. It truly does just slip his mind. I noticed it and told him to stop and take his pills. Laverne made a comment about how this is what happens all the time. He agreed. I totally get it.
I’ll be going over there for his Birthday BBQ and I’m sure he’ll be incredibly uncomfortable and want nothing more than for everyone to leave so I’ll just sit there by him and let him tell his stories. I kind of turn off the brain when listening but I realize that these times won’t last so I can make the effort. He’ll never know the difference.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Question After Question
David called tonight and told me that Dad was diagnosed with Prostate cancer. Dad called about twenty minutes later and we talked for a while about what was going on and I tried to get some answers to the obvious questions. The problem with Dad though is that it’s near impossible to get any of those questions answered.
Earlier today I had made arrangements with his girlfriend to go to Chicago over the weekend to surprise him for his birthday. Kind of adds a little to the concept now though doesn’t it.
My brother Steve was diagnosed with Hepatitis C a number of years ago and he was just recently dropped from a clinical trial program because it wasn’t working for him.
I’ve got the same type of questions about Steve that I do with Dad and they don’t seem to be able to be answered either but that’s because nobody has the answers for him.
I’ve always had a real hard time wrapping my head around Steve’s issues and he and I have a good enough relationship that we can joke about his disease. Not too sure about my relationship with Dad though. That’s a whole different type of thing to grasp.
Boy, I’ve got some thinking to do. I’ve got a million things rolling around upstairs and my adrenalin is soaring. I hope I can shut it down some so I can think about it clearly tomorrow.
Earlier today I had made arrangements with his girlfriend to go to Chicago over the weekend to surprise him for his birthday. Kind of adds a little to the concept now though doesn’t it.
My brother Steve was diagnosed with Hepatitis C a number of years ago and he was just recently dropped from a clinical trial program because it wasn’t working for him.
I’ve got the same type of questions about Steve that I do with Dad and they don’t seem to be able to be answered either but that’s because nobody has the answers for him.
I’ve always had a real hard time wrapping my head around Steve’s issues and he and I have a good enough relationship that we can joke about his disease. Not too sure about my relationship with Dad though. That’s a whole different type of thing to grasp.
Boy, I’ve got some thinking to do. I’ve got a million things rolling around upstairs and my adrenalin is soaring. I hope I can shut it down some so I can think about it clearly tomorrow.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Surprise, Surprise
It’s not like I expected anything else. My dad called me on my way home from work and told me he didn’t think he could make it. Something about his health not allowing him to be in the car that long. Odds are there is some validity to his excuse, he’s 75 and not in the best of health, but, in all honesty, at this point it really doesn’t matter.
They divorced when I was 11 and there’s been a different excuse ever since. Whenever stuff like this comes up I wonder if he knows that I’m pretty much the only one who has any kind of faith left in him. When he says he going to do something I still buy into it. I can’t think of anyone else who does.
I’ve got two siblings that have pretty much written him off and the third, who if he didn’t live near him, would have done the same years ago. I‘m always the one making excuses for him and yeah, though I’m pretty pissed right now, will probably continue to do so until he’s gone.
It’s not out of any loyalty or nobility on my part. I think what it really boils down to is that I’ve been making excuses for myself my whole life too. It sort of puts him into perspective for me. He doesn’t mean to be a jerk, he just doesn’t know better. Me? I still can be quite an ass sometimes but the difference is I think I know better. That doesn’t mean I’m any better by any stretch. I think it just means that I don’t show it as much.
It might be why I’m not nearly as social as him. Maybe I’m just trying to hide my faults in front of others so much that I choose to not see people as much as most. See, that’s what I mean, making another excuse for me. I’m full of them. I can look at any part of my life and find what I consider a valid excuse for whatever behavior I exhibited that has made me this person I am that consistently wishes he were someone else.
I think I may be on to something here. Maybe I keep trying to see the good in him because I see a lot of me in him. I’ve harbored that fear inside for years and, as is par, excused myself away from the concept for the same amount of time. It would be so easy for me to say I hate him and I don’t want to talk to him again and it wouldn’t be just because of this weekend. He’s been the same forever and the final straw has come and gone for 47 years. But wouldn’t that, in a way, be saying that I hate me and I don’t want to talk to me again? Does that make sense? I can’t think of another way to explain it so it is what it is.
Anyway, I’ll get over it and believe what he says the next time I talk to him. I’ll feel that little glimmer of hope when he says he’ll do something and know deep inside that he’s just blowing smoke. I’ll call my sister or brother and they’ll give the standard, “yeah, right” and I’ll talk about how, this time, I think he’ll show up. What am I, 12?
They divorced when I was 11 and there’s been a different excuse ever since. Whenever stuff like this comes up I wonder if he knows that I’m pretty much the only one who has any kind of faith left in him. When he says he going to do something I still buy into it. I can’t think of anyone else who does.
I’ve got two siblings that have pretty much written him off and the third, who if he didn’t live near him, would have done the same years ago. I‘m always the one making excuses for him and yeah, though I’m pretty pissed right now, will probably continue to do so until he’s gone.
It’s not out of any loyalty or nobility on my part. I think what it really boils down to is that I’ve been making excuses for myself my whole life too. It sort of puts him into perspective for me. He doesn’t mean to be a jerk, he just doesn’t know better. Me? I still can be quite an ass sometimes but the difference is I think I know better. That doesn’t mean I’m any better by any stretch. I think it just means that I don’t show it as much.
It might be why I’m not nearly as social as him. Maybe I’m just trying to hide my faults in front of others so much that I choose to not see people as much as most. See, that’s what I mean, making another excuse for me. I’m full of them. I can look at any part of my life and find what I consider a valid excuse for whatever behavior I exhibited that has made me this person I am that consistently wishes he were someone else.
I think I may be on to something here. Maybe I keep trying to see the good in him because I see a lot of me in him. I’ve harbored that fear inside for years and, as is par, excused myself away from the concept for the same amount of time. It would be so easy for me to say I hate him and I don’t want to talk to him again and it wouldn’t be just because of this weekend. He’s been the same forever and the final straw has come and gone for 47 years. But wouldn’t that, in a way, be saying that I hate me and I don’t want to talk to me again? Does that make sense? I can’t think of another way to explain it so it is what it is.
Anyway, I’ll get over it and believe what he says the next time I talk to him. I’ll feel that little glimmer of hope when he says he’ll do something and know deep inside that he’s just blowing smoke. I’ll call my sister or brother and they’ll give the standard, “yeah, right” and I’ll talk about how, this time, I think he’ll show up. What am I, 12?
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
It Could Happen!
I think I’m setting myself up for another disappointment with my Father this week. We’ve been talking over the last couple weeks and he brought up the idea that he may drive in this coming weekend and actually stay at my house. See, he sent his quasi family to Orlando for the week and he’s home alone. We both thought it would be cool if he took the four hour drive and saw a couple of his real kids and two of his grandchildren.
The problem lies in knowing my Father as well as I, along with anyone else here, does. Mention the possibility to anyone and they all say the same thing. “Right”. “Don’t plan on it”. How sad is that?
Though I know in my heart of hearts that the odds are greatly against him showing up for whatever reason he can find I can’t help but have that little glimmer of hope and know that I’ll feel let down if he doesn’t show. I can’t help it, I actually believe he’s coming. All I can do is wait and see.
The problem lies in knowing my Father as well as I, along with anyone else here, does. Mention the possibility to anyone and they all say the same thing. “Right”. “Don’t plan on it”. How sad is that?
Though I know in my heart of hearts that the odds are greatly against him showing up for whatever reason he can find I can’t help but have that little glimmer of hope and know that I’ll feel let down if he doesn’t show. I can’t help it, I actually believe he’s coming. All I can do is wait and see.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
One More Day
Karen called me the other day to tell me that Mitch Albom was on Oprah, and knowing I liked reading his stuff, thought I would like to see the show. I switched the channel and caught him. He was on because his book “One More Day” was turned into a television movie and they had a show about the concept. Of course it got me thinking.
I think if I could have one more day with someone that is no longer living it would have to be my Grandfather. I’ve written of him before in the essay entitled, “The Carter Family”, and if you’ve read it you know how close the two of us were.
I think I would want to see him before he had his stroke, he was obviously much more vibrant at that time. I’d like to wake up at his house and let him make coffee and toast like he used to and after putting the unsalted whipped butter on the toast, he’d take the salt shaker and salt it anyway. Of course the coffee, for me, would be one part coffee and about 15 parts milk. We’d then put two saccharine tablets in it and breakfast would be served.
We’d then get into, at that time, his yellow Impala and drive the few miles to “the building”. It was pretty much a city block he owned that had stores on the ground floor and apartments on the top. We’d go to the basement to, as he would say, “check the pipes” and he’d have something to feed all the alley cats that hung around. We’d then go upstairs to one of the apartments to visit Mrs. Evans, an older woman who rented from him, and we’d sit and talk for a while.
When we were done there he’d take me down to “Vince’s”. It was a barbershop down the block from the building. I’d get in the chair and get a “regular boys haircut” while Vince and Grampa would talk about nothing in particular. He’d always let me get a soda out of the machine Vince had and I always liked that.
Grampa and I would then head down to Carters Hamburgers to get, as he would say, “a hamburger sandwich and fried potatoes. I’d get mine plain with ketchup and his always had a big slice of white onion on his. We’d eat and talk about nothing and we were both in hog heaven.
After lunch we would usually go shopping, maybe new shoes or a winter coat and I’d just take all this for granted because it was all I’d know. You never realize what you had until it’s gone. Well, my youth and Grampa are both gone now but if I could have just one more day I’d do just as I stated above.
The only difference would be that I would be the age I am now. The scenario above was a typical day for he and I before I had started going to school. I would want Grampa to see who and what I’ve become and I think I would understand him a lot better too. I’d want to tell him how much he meant to me as a child and still means to me to this very day. Of course I would tell him I love him and miss him.
It’s quite a concept, this one more day thing. I think everyone can come up with an answer to the question of whom you’d want to see again. It’s kind of bittersweet isn’t it?
I think if I could have one more day with someone that is no longer living it would have to be my Grandfather. I’ve written of him before in the essay entitled, “The Carter Family”, and if you’ve read it you know how close the two of us were.
I think I would want to see him before he had his stroke, he was obviously much more vibrant at that time. I’d like to wake up at his house and let him make coffee and toast like he used to and after putting the unsalted whipped butter on the toast, he’d take the salt shaker and salt it anyway. Of course the coffee, for me, would be one part coffee and about 15 parts milk. We’d then put two saccharine tablets in it and breakfast would be served.
We’d then get into, at that time, his yellow Impala and drive the few miles to “the building”. It was pretty much a city block he owned that had stores on the ground floor and apartments on the top. We’d go to the basement to, as he would say, “check the pipes” and he’d have something to feed all the alley cats that hung around. We’d then go upstairs to one of the apartments to visit Mrs. Evans, an older woman who rented from him, and we’d sit and talk for a while.
When we were done there he’d take me down to “Vince’s”. It was a barbershop down the block from the building. I’d get in the chair and get a “regular boys haircut” while Vince and Grampa would talk about nothing in particular. He’d always let me get a soda out of the machine Vince had and I always liked that.
Grampa and I would then head down to Carters Hamburgers to get, as he would say, “a hamburger sandwich and fried potatoes. I’d get mine plain with ketchup and his always had a big slice of white onion on his. We’d eat and talk about nothing and we were both in hog heaven.
After lunch we would usually go shopping, maybe new shoes or a winter coat and I’d just take all this for granted because it was all I’d know. You never realize what you had until it’s gone. Well, my youth and Grampa are both gone now but if I could have just one more day I’d do just as I stated above.
The only difference would be that I would be the age I am now. The scenario above was a typical day for he and I before I had started going to school. I would want Grampa to see who and what I’ve become and I think I would understand him a lot better too. I’d want to tell him how much he meant to me as a child and still means to me to this very day. Of course I would tell him I love him and miss him.
It’s quite a concept, this one more day thing. I think everyone can come up with an answer to the question of whom you’d want to see again. It’s kind of bittersweet isn’t it?
Sunday, October 21, 2007
A Death In The Family
My uncle died the other day. I wasn’t very close with him, really didn’t know him at all. He was my Father’s brother in law, his sister’s husband. It wasn’t unexpected as he had been ill for quite a while.
The funeral is today. It’s very strange to wait so long because in the Jewish faith the funeral is always held the day after death, unless it’s the Sabbath, then it’s held the following day. The stated reason for the delay is to let the out of town family time to get there. It turns out that my Mother and I are the ones traveling the furthest and we’re only an hour and a half away.
I think what they’ve done here is try to make it more of a convenience for everyone instead of the opposite. I guess I can understand that but this is a family that, at one time, had at least one of their kids Bar Mitzvah at an orthodox synagogue. Seems strange to me.
Along with that is the idea that they have asked me to be a pallbearer. Of course I said yes but this too is very strange. See, in the Jewish faith there are a number of tribes. I don’t understand the whole thing but the tribe my male bloodline belongs to is called Cohanim (sp). Again, excuse my lack of thorough knowledge on the subject, but the Cohan’s are like major big guys in the faith. We are supposedly direct descendants of Aaron, the brother of Moses. I have no idea how they figured that out but some of the things that go along with this is the idea that we are never allowed to be in the same room as the dead, that we are not allowed to be pall bearers and are not allowed to set foot into a cemetery. I guess it’s the walking among the dead thing. I don’t get it but it’s something you learn as a kid. I’ve been in cemeteries before but always felt a bit weird about it.
Like I said earlier, I really didn’t know him that well. When we were young we would see their family on a regular basis, they lived in Detroit and we were in the suburbs. One year David and I spent the summer with them when Mom had surgery. Even during those times I can honestly say I probably never said more than three or four words to the guy the whole summer. There were no bad feelings or any kind of fear of him or anything like that; we just never got to know each other. I knew my aunt and their three kids real well but not him.
I feel sad for my aunt; they had to have been married for well over 50 years. And my cousins, of course, have lost their father and that can never be easy.
My Dad won’t be there, he thought it more important to fly to the Virgin Islands with his girlfriend I don’t know much about what’s left of that side of the family but I’m sure they’ll be there in good numbers. I just find it strange that they would want me to be a pallbearer.
That side of the family has always felt that we were much closer with them than we are and I think that’s what’s dictating what’s happening here. I feel no need to let them know how close our side feels we are to them. It’s not that important. I’ll be there to provide whatever it is they think I can and nod at the appropriate times when we discuss how close the family is and how much we all miss each other.
So I’ll spend today with my Mother and take a few hours out of my normal football Sunday to be with people, that without today’s event, I would probably never see again. It’s one of the things you do when you are part of a family and I think, more importantly, it’s the right thing to do.
The funeral is today. It’s very strange to wait so long because in the Jewish faith the funeral is always held the day after death, unless it’s the Sabbath, then it’s held the following day. The stated reason for the delay is to let the out of town family time to get there. It turns out that my Mother and I are the ones traveling the furthest and we’re only an hour and a half away.
I think what they’ve done here is try to make it more of a convenience for everyone instead of the opposite. I guess I can understand that but this is a family that, at one time, had at least one of their kids Bar Mitzvah at an orthodox synagogue. Seems strange to me.
Along with that is the idea that they have asked me to be a pallbearer. Of course I said yes but this too is very strange. See, in the Jewish faith there are a number of tribes. I don’t understand the whole thing but the tribe my male bloodline belongs to is called Cohanim (sp). Again, excuse my lack of thorough knowledge on the subject, but the Cohan’s are like major big guys in the faith. We are supposedly direct descendants of Aaron, the brother of Moses. I have no idea how they figured that out but some of the things that go along with this is the idea that we are never allowed to be in the same room as the dead, that we are not allowed to be pall bearers and are not allowed to set foot into a cemetery. I guess it’s the walking among the dead thing. I don’t get it but it’s something you learn as a kid. I’ve been in cemeteries before but always felt a bit weird about it.
Like I said earlier, I really didn’t know him that well. When we were young we would see their family on a regular basis, they lived in Detroit and we were in the suburbs. One year David and I spent the summer with them when Mom had surgery. Even during those times I can honestly say I probably never said more than three or four words to the guy the whole summer. There were no bad feelings or any kind of fear of him or anything like that; we just never got to know each other. I knew my aunt and their three kids real well but not him.
I feel sad for my aunt; they had to have been married for well over 50 years. And my cousins, of course, have lost their father and that can never be easy.
My Dad won’t be there, he thought it more important to fly to the Virgin Islands with his girlfriend I don’t know much about what’s left of that side of the family but I’m sure they’ll be there in good numbers. I just find it strange that they would want me to be a pallbearer.
That side of the family has always felt that we were much closer with them than we are and I think that’s what’s dictating what’s happening here. I feel no need to let them know how close our side feels we are to them. It’s not that important. I’ll be there to provide whatever it is they think I can and nod at the appropriate times when we discuss how close the family is and how much we all miss each other.
So I’ll spend today with my Mother and take a few hours out of my normal football Sunday to be with people, that without today’s event, I would probably never see again. It’s one of the things you do when you are part of a family and I think, more importantly, it’s the right thing to do.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Daddy's Little Girl
I went to my oldest daughters wedding this past weekend. I thought I was doing pretty well, holding it together and all. It was a very emotional couple of days for me and I can only tell you that before coming out I would have given the world to have not gotten on the plane. I’m not sure anyone can understand this but I am just not comfortable seeing Shelly and I think we both feel that this was probably the last time we’ll try to do anything as a “family”.
Apart from that I probably had one of my proudest moments as a father. As you can see by the picture, Amanda looked great. She was so happy and really enjoyed herself. Before I came out I knew that I’d be walking her down the “aisle” as it were but it didn’t really hit me until the time came. She looked so beautiful as she came down the stairs to me and before she got all the way down we were joking about how she wasn’t going to cry and that she wasn’t that kind of bride. When she got to the bottom I told her how wonderful she looked and we hugged. At this point we both started tearing up and I promise you, I can’t think of any other place in the world I’d have rather been than holding my daughter on her wedding day.
Amanda and Blake both knew their biological father and neither has seen him in over 15 years. They both grew up with me as their father figure for better or worst and I’m not putting myself down here but I’ve often felt I could have done a much better job. That being said, neither of them had any choice in the matter.
Adam, Amanda’s new husband, also grew up in a broken home but both his biological and stepfather play an important role in his life. Before going on, I need to say, Adam is a great guy and Amanda couldn’t have done better. They have lived together for a couple years and have bought themselves a condo and done an awful lot of work making it their own. If any of you out there that don’t know them ever have the good fortune to, you’d be very proud.
The thing that really hit me at the wedding was the introductions. Being introduced around to Adam’s family I was presented as Amanda’s father. I didn’t think anything of it until introduced to Tony, Adam’s stepfather. He was introduced as his stepfather. It occurred to me that I have never in Amanda’s life been introduced that way.
Well after that hit me the chick in me came out and my eyes were leaking like a cheap faucet. I was so glad I had my sunglasses on. I don’t know if anyone else noticed. Adam’s mother approached me and told me at that time how things were going to go and where I was to meet Amanda to walk her. She said that Amanda was upstairs saying how she needed to make sure her “Dad” was at the bottom of the stairs to meet her.
Later in the evening when many had gone home we were standing around talking and I wanted to tell Amanda how much the introduction thing I mentioned before meant to me. She then said and did something that I will take to my grave as one of the most loving things anyone has ever said to me. She said that there’s that old thing about how girls always look for someone just like their father to marry and then she pointed at Adam and then me and just nodded her head. Needless to say I lost it again and so did she as we hugged.
At the end of the night as we were saying goodbye we told each other how much this evening meant to each other. As we hugged I told her that no matter how far away I happened to be in miles I would always be “right here” and to not ever forget it. Well Amanda, I’m at the airport right now and heading back to Michigan but take heed of those words. I’m the easiest guy in the world to find. After all, daddy’s right here.
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