A fathers son...

              Fathers day is always a strange one for me. I have been blessed in this life with a pretty amazing dad. He certainly faced a lot of struggles on the parenting front, and Ward Cleaver he wasn't, but he always was steadfast, loyal and above all else, present for his kids in times of trouble. At least the times he knew about...

                         He and his brothers always called their father " Pop", so nowadays, I find myself calling him " Pop" too.

         "Pop" is a hard one on day's like this. Fathers day, Christmas and birthdays, whenever asked what he wants, simply says " thermal underwear". There must be six dozen unopened packages of thermal underwear packed into his drawers, somewhere.

                                                       I am not kidding.

                   All three of his sons have tried countless times to squeeze out SOMETHING he would want, other than thermal underwear. Notta. No go. Is not going to happen...

                       Sometimes I have tried the surprise route. Buy him something I think he would want, an extravagance like a pocket watch or a pinky ring..

                           Funny story. After my parents divorced and my dad started hitting the single groups, he actually said in a conversation that he might pick up a tiger eye pinky ring. I was perplexed, and those who know my dad fully understand my confusion. He has boxes of unopened shirts, pants, pajamas and a closet full of unworn, now undersized suits. He will not part with them. He wears his company supplied uniforms even on his days off and thinks paying $4.00 for a watch at Family Dollar is a big investment...

                    He is generous with others, but for himself, he spends next to nothing.

              So... I hear this statement about a pinky ring. Christmas was about a month away and I was in my twenties with some disposable income. I went to a jewelry store and found a really nice, masculine ( if that is even possible) pinky ring. It was gold, heavy, with a tiger eye stone that looked amazing.

            On Christmas day, I give it to him. He looks at it quietly, says it is nice and puts it back gently in its container. After all presents are opened,  he brings it to his room, in one of his packed drawers, I presume.

                   It really bothered me. I found the perfect gift, exactly what he said he wanted to buy for himself and he put it away in some drawer....

                     In the years since, I finally figured out the problem.

                         My dad is uncomfortable with big gifts. Worse was having it purchased by his son.

                          It does not fit into his defined roles.

                             Dads give. They do not receive expensive presents and they do not need anything from their kids. They are strong and self sufficient.

                              I realized then, if I ever was to become a father, I would give my kids the opportunity to give me gifts and show their love, on special days.

         It isn't about the gift. It is about letting someone give and being open to their expression of caring...

          I had it figured out...

                      So for a lot of years, I have honored my fathers roles and wishes.

                        This has been my eleventh fathers day, as an actual dad.

                          Every year, as my children brought home handmade cards and gifts from school, I have graciously and gratefully accepted them all. My Wonderful Wife would bring them out shopping on Fathers day, Christmas and birthdays and let them choose gifts and T-shirts she would purchase.

         This year, the day before Fathers day, my kids went shopping for themselves. They all had money of their own, and while my Wonderful Wife and I were picking up stuff for the next days trip to The Great Escape, they shopped at Dicks Sporting goods.

        Nick found a tennis racket and Jake found a toy crossbow. Stephen bought a can of tennis balls for wallball. He also picked up an electronic lure that cost more than the 36 pack of tennis balls. I didn't get a very good look...

         The next morning, I opened all the cards and presents. Stephen and Jake were proud of the cards they made in computer class and I loved the key chain Jacob made. Stapled to Stephens card was a home made spice rub, and Nick chose a farting card for me.

                             I was in Fathers day heaven. Next to the card with the spice rub was a small wrapped package. Stephen told me to open it.

             I unwrapped it and saw an expensive, electronic fishing lure...

                                 that he bought with his own money...

                        I choked up. I pretended it was just one of my coughs...

                           It was great. I would have bought it for myself, that's how cool it was...

                I looked at it quietly for a while, then mumbled a " thank you" to my son and kept it in its box.

                     It is too nice to fish with. I couldn't imagine losing it, snagged on a branch. Some things are just too precious.

                         Sometimes, i guess, it takes a little while to understand your own father. Maybe knowing that,  was the best gift I received this year. 

                               I don't know...

       What I do know, is that that lure is still unopened, in one of my tool box drawers

           Happy Fathers day, all....

The Office...

  

                Next door to my house, in the cellar below, was the hangout that we called " The Office".

        There were walls filled with stacked beer cans, and out front of the house was a sign stolen from Congress Park in Saratoga. It simply said, in green and red, " Warning Poison Ivy".

                 These guys were wild. They would walk into Price Chopper, buy seven or eight bags of chips and Slim Jim's, go outside, get another cart, then head back inside to fill it with cases of beer. They then flashed the receipt, pretending they already paid for the beer and exited in a bee line for the car.

        We had a bar across from both of our houses, and when the beer truck delivered and the driver was inside,  they raided the truck. Once, they even scored a 1/4 keg...

       It was funny. These guys who traded me booze at 12 years old for my prescription phenobarbital  kept me out of these thefts.

              I would have gladly helped. They were my heroes...

                     I post this stuff again, because as I perused Facebook just now, I came across an obituary of one of " The Offices" founding members.

                                      54 years old.

                            I haven't seen him in probably thirty years, but it looks like he made a decent life for himself. At least that is how I read it and how I hope it was...

                        I went out with his niece when I was young. Her name was Diane and she lived down the street. She was one of my partners in crime. We definitely had quite the history. When she was seven and I was eight, I locked her inside an old washing machine that was in the corner of my yard. I told her she had to go in it to be a part of our club. What I hadn't told her was that it was full of spiders. What she probably told me but I didn't really hear, was that she was extremely claustrophobic and anachraphobic...

            I was a boy and could not fathom anyone actually being afraid of spiders. Most of my early years were spent hiding in tiny spaces from a long list of someones, so I didn't understand the fear of small places either...

             Needless to say, she didn't speak to me at all for quite a few weeks. From what I did hear, later on, was she didn't actually speak to anyone for days after that. She never let me forget that one..

        We went out at times. One year she was twitterpated with my oldest brother. I taped her pining over him one day and played it over the blaring stereo at her uncles graduation party...

   She definitely never let me forget that one, either...

             She passed away about five years ago.

                 They were both good people. 

                I think about the people who pretty much raised me or were raised with me in the same dysfunctional zip code and realize they were all pretty decent folk.

              I look back at the insanity and realize my youth was more of an adventure than anything else.

       A lot of it was stupid adventure. Most of it, actually. But what wasn't fun was exciting.

               I was blessed to be surrounded by reasonably harmless lunatics.

                     At least the ones who watched over me...

                         I never told anyone, but when the neighbors who owned the house that held the cellar we called " The Office" moved, I took the " Poison Ivy" sign they left in front of their house. It has been with me thru every move I've ever made, excluding the one bedroom my Wonderful Wife and I shared in Albany. 

       So, before starting this post, I went into my garage and dug thru the rafters. I used an old broom to free the sign from the plywood strips it layed on. I took it down and looked at it, remembering old friends. I sat it on my generator and came inside.

                I would not trade my childhood for anything. It may have been more Stephen King or Kafka than Norman Rockwell, but it was an adventure.

                            Rest in peace, my friends...