Mirror Mirror on the wall...

When I look in the mirror I don't see what you see when you look at me.  The blemishes are different, the faults are different, the beauty is different.  But what is even more evident is that the mirror itself is not without its flaws. While inanimate, it also has a perspective that differs from our own.

What initiated this train of thought for me was a recent text conversation with one of my grown children.  He was seeing me from a light that I did not know existed.  Harboring resentment towards me for his upbringing and the turmoil that he witnessed from the father and mother dynamic.  While, I believe, we tried to provide the most for our children, we were often embattled in our own relationship with bitterness, and anger  (which both parents will have a different perception of).

He said he felt discarded by me, and while I cannot characterize it as he did, there were circumstances that led him back and forth between his mother and I after the marriage crumbled.  Backing up, I watched him as he grew up and he was an angry child, battling demons that may or may not have been a result of the home environment. but abandonment was not one of them.  It is complicated, no doubt.  I can think of many things that I could have done better, many ways I could have improved upon my own life and by osmosis improved upon his.  But over the years, he always had a home should he have chosen to be with me.  But my desire to fight with his stubborn nature waned and as he grew older, any advice I had for him was heard, I suppose, but not heeded.  So as a parent of an adult child, I felt it was time for him to make his way.  Still willing to add advice, but never unsolicited.

So during our conversation, he said he needed me as a mentor.  A role I honestly was not aware of him needing.  Mostly due to the fact that he oft times did it the way he wanted, against better judgment.

When he said that i was not there for him, I started the list in my head.  The list of times that may or may not have added up to sufficient.

He quit school in his freshmen year - Helped him get his GED.

Wanted to go to school for mechanics - arrainged funding through my sister to pay for it.

Got a call....needed money (several calls over the years) - was there most if not for all of those calls.

I know that money is not a substitute for personal interaction, but i helped him where he said he needed help.  Do I wish that things had been different?  Sure, what parent can't look back and see areas where improvement could have been made.

Was I a bad or neglectful parent?  I didn't think so until this conversation.  

But when I look at the circumstances I see how perspective can rule how we see life.  My perspective is obviously skewed, as I believe his is.

But what it all comes down to is that he and I both miss each other.  We have different ways of expressing it.  And now at almost 33 he feels it, as do I.  It was never my intention to let so many years and miles go between us, but it has.

We have something that I did not have growing up.  You see, I lost my dad when I was 23.  I never got the chance to ask him advice as a young father, worker, husband.  And that is not what I wanted for my kids. yet at the same time, I never pictured my dad coming to me and offer advice unsolicited.  I am who I am because of the decisions I made on my own, and to be perfectly honest, I am in a great place.  But it took me a few years to recognize it.

We HAVE to be thankful for what we have, where we are, and the road it took to bring us to the place we are in.  To harbor ill will, regret, and anger will only serve to bring us poor health, poor wealth, and unhappiness.

To my children:  I love you. Maybe not how you want to be loved, but it is how I know how to do it from my experiences.  Room to Grow?  Most Definitely.

Living in a Dream.

 As some people may know, I consider myself an Arizonan.  Most of my formative years were spent in the desert.  Catholic school for most of my education until college and growing up in the family business of restaurants. But my mother and father were born and raised on the east coast in New Jersey.  It was actually the place of my birth, and for some weird reason I shyed away from that part of my heritage.  As I am growing older, the place has taken on more meaning for me, so much so that what little memory I do have is being replayed over and over in dreams.  Dreams that have a similar theme or place that change ever so slightly with each time they occur.

My birthplace was Bloomfield, New Jersey. For the first three and a half years we lived in two different homes in the same general neighborhood (within walking distance of each other).  The first was on the corner of Hickory and Sycamore street in a neighborhood where many of the homes were built by my great grandfather whom i never met.  Some of the homes were taken when the state constructed the New Jersey Turnpike, but many of the homes still exist.  I was going to add "oddly enough it was the same street (Hickory) that my mother grew up on", though history tells me that it was not odd at all, it was how many families lived.  I visited the area several  years ago, and as i have recounted at least once before in a similar post, the concrete outline of the above ground swimming pool that was erected in 1960 was still prominant in the back  yard.  My great-aunt's home, now inhabited by my cousins, still looking the same.  There are pictures of me and my family that jog memories of those early years, but I can still remember several of them as if they happened yesterday.  One vivid one was that of our pet pig, Willy, (yes we had a pet pig) running through the house and out the back door into the pool area, my mother swatting at it with a broom.  I can also remember my dad taking me in the pool and bouncing me up and down and pulling me around in a plastic inflatable doughnut.  My father, at this point in his life, I believed was a salesman, possibly working for Proctor and Gamble (i know that was one of his jobs), but had previously been a Bloomfield Police officer and a fireman.  My godfather was the mayor of Bloomfield, Ralph Conte, a close friend of my Fathers. My mother, if memory serves me, stayed at home and raised the children (4- I was the youngest).  She had worked for Bell Telephone for a while and had dreams of being a clothing designer in New York.  

At some point in my first three and 3/4 years we moved out of that house into a home on Belleville Avenue.  The home was marked by a bright red front door and sat upon a hill.  At one point the circus came to town and was sponsored by the Jersey Jaycees (junior chamber of commerce).  As a publicity stunt a trailer loaded with two elephants pulled up in front of our house and unloaded.  The elephants were brought up our driveway and posed for a picture of several men trying to fit them into our barn (it seems odd now that we had a traditional barn in our yard complete with a loft).  There are a couple of photos of my dad holding me while I feed one of them a peanut and a photo of the men pushing the elephant's behinds into the barn.

I could go on and on, but I know how attention spans work, so I will get to the inspiration of this post...

We moved to Arizona in the summer of 1964.  I was three and a half years old.  We only lived there for a short time before heading back to New Jersey.  I am not sure why we moved back, maybe home-sickness, maybe a failed attempt at the restaurant business, maybe my dad didn't like working for the mines as security, I don't know, but we left.  We returned to Bloomfield and stayed for a short period in an apartment while my parents looked for a home.  I am not exactly sure of the time frame, but i remember attending first grade at Sacred Heart School.  So, to the point...Last night I dreamed of a little deli/sandwich shop that my father would take me to get a pork roll sandwich on a toasted, buttered Kaiser roll.  It seems that is was on a main street, possibly Bloomfield Avenue, but time and memory have changed that truth.  My first dreams were that of my father interacting with the owner, someone he was obviously acquainted with, from his youthful years in the town. But through my years the dream has changed with the location being different, yet oddly familiar. The way you ordered, the seating setup etcetera. Thankfully the memory of the smell has remained even to this day and in last night's recollection.  But last night there was a new owner of the establishment, an older, grey haired woman that was working the grill with patrons standing at the raised counter where you could view the making of your sandwich.  There were rolls slathered in marinara and cheese awaiting a meat ball topping and pork roll sizzling on the grill.  There was an older gentleman sitting with another in a booth and I told the lady that he was the son of the original owner, late 70's in age.  She told me that he was also in a band that went around on tour that played for the likes of Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennet.  While the dream was a total fabrication of my mind, there were many familiarities.

So going back to my original sentence...I may have grown up in Arizona, called it home, and told many a folk that it was where I came from, the truth is that I cannot escape my geographical DNA.  I'm a Jersey boy.  It is in my blood and most definitely in my dreams.  Mom and Dad are gone, ties are no longer there, at least not for me.  You see we moved again back to Arizona within two years. This summer some cousins are organizing a family reunion which my oldest sister plans to attend, but that is because she did not return to Arizona with us in the late 60's, she went back to Bloomfield where she attended Trenton State College.  I thought about going, but I don't know any of them, not one.  I remember brief interactions with some, but not enough to buy a ticket and spend a day with them.  Most of the evidence of my Jersey roots are gone, leaving Arizona in the forefront where I went to school and made friends that are still around today.  but the one lasting, vivid memory will always be me, my dad and pork roll on a grilled, buttered Kaiser roll.

Hopefully I will feel inspired to continue the story, there is so much to tell...

Lucky Me

 I have said it many times before, but I consider myself the luckiest man alive (my apologies to Lou Gherig).

I grew up blessed and knew at an early age that I had an angel on my shoulder, albeit there was a devil on the other one, but nonetheless.  I had opportunities and experiences that I deem as wonderful and transformational.  some of the stories I have shared in this blog, so I will not go into all of those, but some of the highlights, which obviously molded my path stick out.  as those of you that know me know that I am somewhat enamored with celebrity.  Not because they are anything special to deserve praise or adulation, but rather that they found a path that led them to success.  Okay, that's a little bit of BS...yes of course it is because they are famous, but let me tell you how my reverence for the celebrity came about...

I was introduced to my share of celebrities in my formative years, individuals that came off of the television screen and wandered into my life.  as early as 8 years old I can remember meeting them from Bill Bradley to Forest Tucker to my all time favorite Ricardo Montalban.  then when my parents opened a restaurant just 2 1/2 miles from Old Tucson, the famous movie studio, they kept coming.  in my early 20's it was religious leaders, rock stars, pro wrestlers and a few politicians.  then in the 90's it was all rock and roll.  working for a AAA format radio station I was introduced to folks like Billy Preston, Jewel, Bernie Taupin, Keith Urban (the Ranch version, not the current one), Natalie Merchant and the list goes on and on.  in the 2000's it was politicians and more musicians/actors.  Football players turned Congressman, first ladies turned Senators (wink wink), Playwrights, famous songwriters, etc.  it took a little different turn in the 2010's it was all about authors.  Judy Collins, Lee Child et al.  Most recently I got to meet La Femme Nikita actress Peta Wilson.  She and her partner were at our house for dinner and for a brief moment she considered maybe settling down in Florence and working for our Radio Station.  and as I am reminiscing through the ages I realize that this was just the tip of the iceberg and many were left out.  Yes I know it is name dropping and I say so what.  I am sharing my experiences.  

All this to repeat that I have been blessed.  and I have gravitated towards the famous and sometime infamous for some reason.  the thing that I have learned through all this is that they are people.  Just like me, just like you, and at the same time, not like anyone else on earth.

If you ever hear me complain...mention this to me.  I have not reason to complain.

Thankful, blessed.  but wait, that's not all. over the years I have been married, divorced, married and divorced again, tried and was not as successful at the end as I thought I would be going in to it, but that too has come full circle:  A loving, beautiful, joyful creature to spend these days with, who also considers herself blessed.  Thanks!  Her name is Deb.