Regrets, I Have a Few...And a Few Not Regrets, Too

Over the weekend, I was tagged by my pal Kelso to provide a list of five regrets and "not regrets" (man, that phrase is so Wayne and Garth) in my life. Well, at the ripe, young age of 44, I can say that I've lived a long full life with quite a few entries on both sides of the ledger. So, let's begin, shall we?



REGRETS:

1. Not riding the bus home with Marlene Rosa. We met at USA Skates on Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights (Queens), NY in 1980 when roller skating around in circles to sounds of Cool and The Gang, REO Speedwagon, and The Sugar Hill Gang. The attraction was as powerful as it was visceral. We passed on a ride in Pete's Olds Delta 88, so we can be alone aboard the F train back to Kew Gardens, and again in the parking lot of the Queens County Courthouse on Queens Boulevard. But rather than ride the Q37 bus home with her, I chose to take the Q10 down Lefferts Boulevard which left me closer to home. Is it any wonder she dumped my skinny ass for "Junior"? Damn. I kicked myself quite a bit over that one.
   
   
2. Passing on becoming a Nassau County Police Officer in 1987. That's right, this pot-smoking, beer-guzzling wreck of a poet had seriously contemplated a career on (laid back) law enforcement. The regret is not that I passed a great career as a flat foot. What I passed up is the opportunity to retire after 20 years with a full pension. Just think of how many more poems and blog posts I could be blasting out in my boxers enjoying a reduced-fat blueberry muffin with a medium coffee with skim milk and one sugar.
   
   
3. Selling my Fender Strat to buy E. her engagement ring. Talk about sacrifices. From the moment brother Joe taught me the G, C and D chords on a beat up acoustic guitar, I had vowed that one day I would buy a Fender Strat and change the world with my sound. Yeah, right. Well I got the guitar with the first paycheck of my first real job. I sold it 18 months later. Seventeen years later I'm still married to E. wondering if the guitar would have endured as long as she has.
   
   
4. Moving to the suburbs. Don't get me wrong here. I am not at all ungrateful for any of the fortunate turns my life has taken, but in my zeal to obtain the "American Dream" of home ownership, I'd lost sight of the fact that neighborhoods like Lindenhurst aren't exactly hotbeds of culture or tolerance. I live in world of blow up lawn ornaments, backyard trampolines and 7-passenger minivans. While I'm not sure that a city life would be my intellectual salvation, what I do know is that I am living in a world where toeing the line on everything from politics to fashion to religion is de rigeur, and it is eating me from the inside out.
   
   
5. Losing touch with great friends. When I moved from Manhattan to Queens, I lost touch with my childhood running buddies. When I got married, I lost touch with my Queens friends who went on to rent a house in Maspeth, NY, calling it Bachelor School. Granted, the losing touch was precipitated by life-changing events, which to some extent under my control. But rather than pick up a phone or make the effort to go out with them, I moved on, to my eternal loss.

NOT REGRETS:

1. Becoming an atheist. This was one of the hardest decisions I've had to make because despite my doubts and skepticism about the Roman Catholic Church, I would still show up faithfully to 10:30AM mass with family in tow. But my reason for leaving had nothing to do with the pedophile scandal that rocked the church at the time I decided to part ways and more to do with the idea that I can be a decent, caring, and loving human being on my own terms. No mythical guidance required.
   
   
2. Quitting the band. It was hard because I loved playing music with my brothers. We wrote and performed quite a few of our own songs and even gigged a few times. But as we say in New York City, that and $2.00 will get you on the subway. My music career wasn't going to pay any bills anytime soon and I wasn't getting any younger. Since my skill set was always more cerebral than mechanical, I I went back to Queens College, got my B.A in English Lit.
   
   
3. Dating Debbie Glickman. Many people told me it would never work. I wasn't her type. I was a goyim. She was a Jew. This was just a fling. In the end, they were all right about our relationship. It just wasn't going to work, despite our mutual love for The Smiths. But knowing this made it no less painful when we broke up in September 1987.
   
   
4. Keeping a journal. I've been keeping one since 1985 when Betty Davis (yes that really was her name), my supervisor at Price Waterhouse gave me a surplus accountant's journal as a gift. It was without a doubt one of best gifts I've ever received. It's not only helped me become a better writer, but it also has a cathartic effect on me, both emotional and physical. Where else could I dump my verbal diarrhea?
   
   
5. Becoming a father. Yeah, this one's a gimme, I know. The low hanging fruit on the tree of "not regrets" that should bear no mention because I post about them quite a bit. It defines who I am today and to not mention it would be to deny the sheer joy I felt holding The Eldest in my arms moments after she was born, watching the sun rise from the window of her East facing birthing room at Long Island Jewish Medical Center. I'd like to think that I've been a good dad to The Eldest, 13, and Rickdiculus, in the end it's their opinion of me that matters. I can only hope I have.

Thanks all for indulging this little mind trip of mine. I'm sure this list will change as time passes. But for now I leave you with this....