Skipping Through Years...

Skippy turned 46 yesterday. She really doesn't like it when I mention her age or that she's a full 11 months older than me.




"Don't you dare go there, Spartacus!!"







Okay. I won't.

But she's happy we remembered her special day.

We gave her flowers...












and some cards...












(I simply couldn't resist this one...)












Noodle baked her a lop-sided yellow cake with chocolate frosting...












Zeb and Rick just showed up...

We all came together to show our birthday girl how much we love her.












Happy birthday, Skip!

Lest We Forget....

Sometimes it's real easy to forget the important dates in history. The immediacy of life almost requires it. Please stop and take a moment to ponder this day, and leave a birthday wish for a great musician, lyricist, artist, and human being.





Happy Birthday, John. We all miss you, man!
















I know I've posted this video before. It's still my favorite.

He's 12 Today? That's Just Rickdiculus

Yep. It's true. It's true.

The sun has set on another September 17. Another halfway to St. Patrick's Day has come and gone. And our Rick has turned 12.

Rick, it's hard to believe you've turned 12. Where has the time gone? It seems like only yesterday me and Skippy were in our old Toyota Corolla driving through a deluge to bring you into the world. Your Mom reminded me today of our discussion on what to name you as we drove to the hospital.

Skippy: Terrence.

Me: Jackson

Skippy: Douglas

Me: Jackson

Skippy: Rick!

Me: Oh, alright already!

And on it went. Of course, you could have been Kathleen Maria. But we won't speculate on that alternate universe. We love you just the way you are.




And, there's so much to love. For one, you're a character. From the moment you could walk and talk, you had this innate ability to entertain anyone within five feet of you. A born showman, you are. You haven't changed a bit. Even now as you continue to hone your movie making skills with you pal, Timmy, your sense for the moment is impeccable. We love your stories, even if alot of them just aren't true.










But there's another side to you that I've written about quite a bit here in this space. You have the heart of a champion. When you set your mind to doing something, you go all out. Whether you're playing football, baseball, or getting twisted like a pretzel on some sweat-soaked wrestling mat. There's only one speed for you: full.









What's more is the special gift you have to lift up the spirits of those around you. I try not to wonder how I would have made it though this day had you not been there for me. I suspect in the coming years that you will probably be there again for me and for lots of other people you love. That's just the kind of guy you are.







I know, too, that sometimes you get down on yourself because of your height, or because Zeb or some of your friends pick on you for being so enthusiastic and good-natured. Don't let them get to you. It's hard to ignore, especially being the sensitive kid you are. The fruit never falls far from the tree. I know exactly how you feel. But if there's one bit of advice I can leave you with on this day, Rick, it's this: don't let your short stature limit your possibilities. There's so much you have to offer this world, that to put limits on yourself for whatever reason would be to rob us all of your Rickdiculusness.

Happy Birthday Rick. Hope you had a nice one!

My Boy Zeb is 14!

Boy Zeb. It's been a long time since your feet were this tiny. Remember these? Probably not. This is what your feel looked like moments after you were born on this day in 1994.

It was as really hot on your birthday. The sweltering sun beat down on you and Skippy and Aunt Kate as you were riding to get some pizza from Umbertos. On the way there, someone bumped Kate's car from behind giving three of you quite a jolt. No one was hurt in the accident, but Skippy swears that it was that fender bender that set the ball rolling. The accident happened at 1PM. You were born less than 3 hours later.


I don't know if she's right. Whenever you put your mind to something, you are always in a rush to get to it, even being born. The only caveat being waking up in the morning. Somehow your incredible sense of urgency getting up out of bed on most days.

Sorry to embarrass you with this Halloween picture. It was your mom's idea to dress you this way. She called your her darling pumpkin then, and you should know that even though you're a few inches taller than she is, you're still her little darling pumpkin.


You should know, too, that nights with you were not always as peaceful as they seem in this picture. You probably don't remember the time I spent the whole night in the hospital when you became severely dehydrated from a bad stomach flu. Your mom and I were so worried for you then. Let me fill you in on a little secret, Zeb -- that hasn't changed.



You are also very loyal. Here you on your 7th birthday with your first, and still, best friend, Greenie. Do you realize that you've been friends with Greenie for more than 12 of the 14 years you've been alive?

I do. Have I told you how envious I am that he's still your best friend? How could he not be? Like me, Greenie probably remembers the time you stood up to the fifth grader that made him cry on the bus home from school one day. I was home from work that day and met you at the bus stop. As we were walking away, the fifth grade bully yelled from the bus, "Hey, is that your kid?

Me: Yeah. He is.

5th Grader: Well, he spit at me.

I was really pissed at you for doing that, and after I lectured you on why it's not a good thing to spit on other kids, you started to cry, "But Dad. He made Greenie cry. I had to do something."

I never said a word about it to you again. I realized then just how special you are. You're always doing something to defend your friends and family.

You know, Zeb, as you get older, you and I will have our disagreements on lots of things. Please understand that I'm not trying to make your life miserable, but sometimes I see alot of me in you and I can't help but say "Please, don't be that way."

Like when you and Rick go at it because he looked at you the wrong way or won't let you on the computer in the basement. If there's anything I've learned about being one of six brothers is that, in the end, your family is all you have. So, why engage it in the first place? I guess you have to. A brother's right of passage I suppose.

But then I say no. Be like me. I'm a good guy who, with Skippy, managed to raise three great kids who are all special in their own way. I hope to the heavens that you, too, will find that special someone with whom to share your life. I did.

And did I ever tell you how proud I am of your guitar skills? Man, you've learned more in one month than I learned in two years. I've told you that before, but I can't tell you enough. You rock.

Hope you've had a wonderful birthday, Zeb. May you enjoy many, many more.

Dad.

Happy Birthday Sweet 16

My little girl, Erin, turned 16 today.

Someone needs to explain to me why this birthday is so special for girls. In my culture, the big birthday is 15 (la Quinceañera). You guys can answer that question in comments. I know it's a big one.



Neil's right. She's not a baby anymore. She is quite the young woman with hopes and dreams and pie-in-the-sky ideas that just may come true. I hope she realizes all of them. When she was just learning how to speak, I taught her a little mantra that seems to have stuck. I would ask her to repeat after me.

"I'm smart. I'm intelligent. I can be whatever I want."

Every now and then, she also reminds me of the song we wrote together called "Glue and Tape." It's about literally using glue and tape to fix anything from a broken lamp to broken limbs. She's the lyricist on this one...Go ahead and try it...

If you have a broken (insert object)
Whaddaya do?
Ya get some tape
And ya get some glue
Ya get yer (insert mom or dad)
To help you out
And that's what it's all about

These days, we don't get to hang together much. She's a full-fledged, all-about-me teenager. I could not be happier. She is a member of the National Tri-M (Music) Honor Society. She's made the academic honor roll at her high school this year. She's already getting letters from college because she kicked ass on her PSATs. And soon she'll be taking the written exam to get her learner's driving permit. I'm so proud of her.

But I would be remiss if I did not switch gears and mention her uncle George in this post. Today is also George's birthday. He would have been 52. He is no longer with us, having passed away in 1997 after losing his battle with AIDS. But he lives on in Erin. I swear it.

You see it was George who gave us the idea for Erin's name, forever linking uncle and niece together. As I recall, E. and I were at my brother Ralph's wedding in August 1991, when we told George she was pregnant. No one was more excited than George; so excited, in fact, that he told us flat out, "It's going to be a girl." Then he told us what we should name her.

E: Well, we like the name Emily as a first name and Margaret as the second.

George: Oh that's pretty. But it's not Irish enough. E. you're Irish. Don't you want her to have an Irish first name? How about Erin?

The name stuck.

In fact, it's uncanny how Erin and George are so much alike. She is a gregarious and kind-hearted soul who can be a bit flighty at times. She loves to play with kids and has an impeccable sense of style. I'll bet she'd like The Stylistics, too if I played them for her. She also thinks she's a princess.

I really don't like to dredge up old posts, but here's a poem I put out here a while back for George. I'd thought I'd resurrect it today to honor his memory.

Fairy Princess

I’m flying back to when
We cowered ‘neath our blankets
In advent of your morning arrival;
To our housing-green room,
When your linen bedsheet gown
And knee-high tubes socks announced,
“I’m the Fairy Princess. LA!!!!”

How naive we were to think
That our concealments
Would not reveal our secret location.
But you, dear fairy princess
Knew too well the happy sounds
Of muffled shrieks and giggles
And raised your wood-spoon wand anyway!

“LA!!! You are a mangy cat!
And, LA!, you are an ugly toad!
And if you tell mom or pop
I’ll turn you both to unmovable stones,
When you least expect it”,
You deliver in a sinister shrill
As only our Fairy Princess can.

But your threats were idle
And all your magic useless
To the power of Margie’s mind.
“A toad?” we say,
“We’ll give you warts!”
“A mangy cat, huh?”
Xing! Xing! “Fear my claws!”

Sadly, the day came when
The spoon lost its magic;
When the childhood disease of
Compounding days and years
Dragged us to another realm
Away from your magnificent spells,
Into a cubicle of boring responsibility.

In that grown-up confinement
Of living, dying, and taxes
There is nary a shock nor temblor
Nor the sparkle of pixied illusion
To provide us with happy diversions
From all that is
In our mundane, work-a-day world.

Will you join me stranger?
Come and see my housing-green hideaway,
Where my dear Fairy Princess
Still waves his wood spoon
In flowing linen robes
And knee-high tube socks.
You just may become something else.


Happy birthday Erin and George. I love you both so much!