Category: Life

1980's, Dear Diary, Life

Dear Diary: September 1987

Here’s another journal entry from twenty-five years ago. If you’ve been following along in my previous Diary entries, you already know about my dreams to make it big as a rock star.

For me, college was only a stepping stone towards reaching that goal. As far as I was concerned, as soon as the president of Atlantic Records showed up at my door with a contract for me to sign, I was gone.

Today’s entry deals with one of the best days of 1987 for me: the day I received my very first student loan check. I know what you’re thinking: “How can one of the best days of your life be about taking on a financial obligation?”

The truth is, words can not fully express how happy I was when I received the little white envelope at the Bursar’s office at Penn State. For you see, at the time it was money that I had very little concern or intention of ever having to pay back.

I found this entry particularly nostalgic when I re-read it again (and also a bit prophetic). First, it was written on the very first day of school in Easton; the first day I was no longer a student in the public school system. It reinforced the notion that I was indeed on my on again.

I also found it to be a sign of things to come. In the last paragraph, I mention the need of having someone “help” me when I become a rock star because I’ll waste all of the money I’ll be getting. In reality, I needed that “help” immediately. I wasted quite a bit of the money I received in student loans on such things as concert tickets and guitars. Loans that eventually took me nearly twenty years to pay off. A lesson well-learned.

***

Dear Diary: Well, here I am: Psychology 002 again. I’m really not in the mood for this today. I want my bed. Today, I’m going to once again find out if the refund check came back. (Notice that I didn’t say anything positive like, “I hope it’s here” because whenever I do, it isn’t). So I don’t get to get all worked up for nothing, I’m approaching it with an open mind. If it’s here it’s here, otherwise I just want a sure-fire date of when it will be.

I just thought of something: today is the first day of school in Easton, and the first year I don’t go there anymore. That’s weird to say. Weirder still, I can stay home on a Thursday and Mr. Jones (the principal) won’t call.  And I won’t get lost in Mr. Milisits’ music theory class anymore! I don’t even need a little yellow excuse. Radical Man!!

( a short while later)….

The check is HERE!! It’s out in the car and I think it’s only one of many: $1444! My knees were shaking. All that money at one time is really scary.

I swear, when I make it big as a rocker they’d better keep any cash in the thousands away from me. Sure, I want it, but I’d waste it. All I need is reliable equipment, food, a roof over my head, a car and maybe a couple of hundred to party or for clothes!

Childhood Memories, Life, Thought and Opinion

The Impact Of Jerry Nelson
Jerry Nelson (July 10, 1934 – August 23, 2012)

I remember when Jim Henson died back in 1990 it didn’t really affect me. I was, after all  twenty years old and having just recently left the confines of public school; eagerly looking forward to getting my “You can now purchase alcohol legally” card.

I was roughly nine years removed from the days of regularly watching Kermit the Frog and Ernie (who was always my favorite Muppet). So, although still tragic, I saw Henson’s untimely passing as something much too childish to think about.

Fast forward 22 years.

Jerry Nelson, another famous Muppeteer, passed away on August 23rd at the age of 78. Although having lived nearly three decades longer than Henson, his death has affected me more. I look at the list of characters he has portrayed over the course of his career; many of whom were a regular part of my life growing up in the 1970’s. Among them:

The Count and Jerry Nelson

The Count: my second favorite Sesame Street character, next to Ernie of course. I loved him.
Herry Monster: The one monster that ALWAYS scared me. Must have been that he always looked angry and had that big nose.
Sherlock Hemlock: The greatest detective.
The Amazing Mumford: Ala peanut butter sandwiches.
Mr Johnson: The  bald, blue-headed Muppet who always ate at the restaurant Grover worked at.
Floyd Pepper: the bass player for the band Electric Mayhem on The Muppet Show.

But perhaps the most sentimental Jerry Nelson character for me was Emmet Otter from the Jug Band Christmas story that played every December on HBO. A story that I will always remember sitting next to my grandmother and watching every year.

Funny, I can still hear her yelling to me from downstairs, and it always sounded like the house was on fire by the tone in her voice:

Emmet Otter and Jerry Nelson

JIMMY!!! HURRY UP AND GET DOWN HERE – EMMET OTTER IS ON!!

Perhaps it’s because I’m now a middle-aged man that I’m starting to become acutely aware of the fact that every day more and more parts of my childhood die. And even though I’ve never met Jerry, it’s hard not to look back at his passing without a sense of sadness. For in many ways, much like The Count and The Amazing Mumford, he was a part of my family.

My grandmother has been gone for 16 years now. Whenever I think about her, the first thing I think about are those cold days in December when Emmet Otter’s Jug Band Christmas came on. And now, I’ll think about Jerry Nelson too.

Godspeed Mr. Nelson. Your work will not soon be forgotten; at least not by this 42-year-old kid.

1980's, Life

Back To School

I have to admit, back in “the day” I kind of looked forward to the first day of school. Sure, it was the end of summer, but it was also the time for a fresh start and new beginnings. A chance to see many of the people I hadn’t seen in a long, long time (hey, two months is a lifetime to a kid).

But this coming school year is extra special. For this year marks the first year that I was officially out of K-12 program and began “college life”. Looking back on it now and thinking about the feelings I had at that point in my life is surreal to say the least.

I’m sure some of my fellow classmates will probably tell you that at this point they already had their post high school lives planned out to the finest detail. Everything from which college they were going to attend to what fraternity or sorority they would pledge.

But me? Well, I hadn’t even had given a thought about it. I was more concerned about when my grandmother was going to make her famous sausage casserole for dinner again.

Yes sir, frequent readers of this blog are already well aware of my procrastination and laziness post high-school. In fact, I didn’t take my SAT tests until the very last-minute, and even then just waddled my way through them. I sure as hell wasn’t going to stress myself about studying. I think that the only thing that I was even the slightest bit concerned about was making sure that I registered with Selective Service before I turned eighteen (does anyone else remember that)? Somehow though, I wound up getting accepted into Penn State.

Looking back now, I really lament not taking it more seriously. I spent the first two months at Penn State Allentown and quickly decided to drop out to become a working musician. The extra money I received from Pell Grants and student loans I used for personal things and not for tuition or books. Heck, I figured I had six months from the time I left school to start paying it back, and by then I’d be RICH; or so I thought.

Over the next several years, I was in an out of bands (and becoming a transient college student) before finally coming to the realization that I had made a mistake and needed to enter the work force. Having now started to find “my place” (and with a steady paycheck), I was eventually able to obtain a post high school degree thirteen years after I had graduated and, in 2005 FINALLY paid off the last of my student loans. Better late than never.

Which leads me to this: next week my little girl will start seventh grade and once again I am left to ask the question, “Where does the time go?”. I know it won’t be long before she’ll be faced with the same uncertainty and stress about what lies ahead for the next phase of her life that most high school graduates face. The feeling of needing to find her place.

I think one day I’ll have to sit her down and tell her my story and why its important for her to forge her own path and take her education seriously. Maybe we’ll discuss it at dinner one night over Nan’s sausage casserole. I think I have the recipe for it somewhere…

1980's, Life

Three Things I Think : Why I Love Friday Edition

Have you ever stopped to consider the importance of Friday? I’m not talking about “the day that comes after Thursday and before Saturday” Friday… No, I mean FRIDAY!!

When you think about it, there’s absolutely no day of the week that’s greater than Friday. Not only does it mean the start of the weekend but just think of all the really important events that always happen on Fridays: Getting your paycheck, checking out new movies that premiere, high school football games. It doesn’t even matter if it happens to be raining out – it’s STILL Friday, and that’s cause for celebration!

For me, tonight (coincidentally, also a Friday) begins a nine-day break from the rigors of work that will also coincide with an excursion to Ocean City, Maryland. See? I told you Fridays were awesome!

But, while Fridays as an adult are pretty cool, they don’t even compare to the Fridays I experienced while growing up. So, in celebration of the final day of the work week, here are the three things I loved the most about Fridays growing up:

3. School’s Out: Ah yes, absolutely nothing compared to being a teenager and Friday rolling around. For, in addition to a two-day reprieve from all of the pressures and drama that go along with being a teen, Fridays typically meant no homework and even more importantly, a chance to stay up late and sleep in on Saturday!

2. The Mall: If it was Friday night, you know a non-essential trip to the Palmer Park Mall was in order. The mall was THE place to be seen; especially on Friday.

My neighbor’s mother would always chauffeur the kids around in this big blue station wagon with the sounds of Survivor’s “Vital Signs”;  Night Ranger’s “Midnight Madness” or The Hooters “Nervous Night” albums blaring through the Kenwood stereo. Ah, life was good.

You can read more of one of my favorite Friday memories here.

And the number one thing I loved most about Friday growing up:

1. The Incredible Hulk: The television show that starred Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno. I would literally be sitting in class ignoring the teacher while daydreaming of that night’s episode. “Will David Banner cure himself of the Hulk tonight?” I’d ask myself; already knowing that the answer was “No”.

In fact, I was so naive that for the longest time I even believed that Bill Bixby and The Hulk were one and the same. I actually believed Bixby really changed into the Hulk; “hiding” his true muscular physique until necessary. I even remember seeing Lou Ferrigno’s name appear in the opening credits and think: “Who the hell is this guy? I’ve never seen him in any episode.”

Although my siblings seemed to be more interested in watching the Dukes of Hazard on Friday nights (and who could blame them, Daisy Duke was pretty hot) when 8pm rolled around at the Wood household, I laid claim to the 19″ television. At least for the next sixty minutes.

There you have it, the three things I loved most about Friday! Here’s hoping your Friday is just as great! And feel free to comment with your own favorite Friday childhood memories!

Life

My Sunday To Do List

Another Sunday morning and here I sit writing a blog when I should be making an itemized order for all the things I really should accomplish today. Sadly, my laziness has always taken precedence over laborious things. And I say “sadly” only because that’s the way my situation may appear to you, the reader. Quite honestly, it’s not really sad to me.

I put in at least 54 hours of work at my regular job each week. On occasion, the hours may go higher with being on-call but, for the sake of this discussion, I’ll just use the average amount of hours.

With putting in so many hours at my nine-to-five (well actually my six-to-four) job, I tend to procrastinate on a lot of my duties at home when the weekend finally arrives. The thing is, work never ends whether it’s at the office or on the home front. But, like most things, I take it in stride.

For instance: yesterday I did the minimal amount of work to get by. I watched four episodes of the show Supernatural I received from NetFlix, made myself dinner and fed the animals. Oh, and I did manage to get dressed, go to the gym for ninety minutes and take a shower. So there were some good things that were accomplished. But as far as household chores go, well let’s just say it started to get dark before I could do any of them.

So, as I sit here typing this entry, here are the following things I’d like to get accomplished today:

  1. Mowing the lawn: It’s becoming a jungle out there. The prerequisite to mowing the lawn includes weed whacking and the clean up of the “things” my dogs leave behind when they go outside.  Total Est Time: 2 hours.
  2. Sweeping and mopping of entire downstairs: We’ve got new wood floors and the dust bunnies have been partying hard lately and not using protection. Total Est Time: 90 minutes.
  3. Cleaning the upstairs bathroom:I tend to put this one-off as long as possible too as the smell of Tilex mildew remover is horrendous. Total Est. Time: 1 hour
  4. Cleaning the fish tank: I love my saltwater fish tank but can not stand the algae that accumulates in it. It looks more like a bog in there then a relaxing escape for anyone checking it out. Total Est Time: 1 hour.
  5. Giving the dogs a bath: Maybe this one I can give to my daughter. She loves to torture the dogs with water. Not so much in a menacing way, she just loves being the one to give them a bath. Total Est Time: 30 minutes.

All totaled, there are six hours out of the day that are already gone. Even more importantly, I also need to go to continue working on my book, go to the gym, ride my motorcycle and practice my guitar. Oooh, and let’s not forget lunch. I’ve GOT to have lunch. I’m a firm believer that you simply can’t do anything on an empty stomach.

So it’s going to be a very busy Sunday for me that’s for sure. But this is the price I pay for owning a home and wanting to take pride in it. I’ve been doing it for years with great success. I’m more than up for the challenge.

Uh-oh, someone just challenged me to a game of Words With Friends…. First things first.

Have a Happy Sunday!

1980's, Childhood Memories, Life

Yesterday
Easton Area High School Class of 1987 Yearbook

Sitting down at my computer early in the morning and drinking a cup of coffee is a ritual that I follow religiously. Browsing my habitual news and entertainment websites each morning not only gives me the chance to catch up on what’s currently going on in the world, but this “alone time” also allows me to reflect on what today’s agenda holds for me.

Today, that agenda includes mowing the lawn, pulling weeds, paying bills and maybe, just maybe if time permits, fixing a loose faucet. You know, grown-up stuff.

But this morning, I can’t seem to get myself focused. The news websites and celebrity gossip just doesn’t interest me at all. Rather, I find myself looking at the dozens of Facebook posts and pictures from yesterday’s 25th high school reunion picnic that I attended.

Yesterday. Wasn’t it just yesterday that we were all sitting in class together? Each of us spending as much time as possible in our own little clicks: the jocks, the cheerleaders, the geniuses, the geeks, the stoners, the in-betweens. (I’ll leave you to figure out which of these clicks fit me)

As I watched the attendees (my classmates) arriving one by one, it was as if time stopped. People I haven’t seen since the days of Pac Man and Members Only jackets seemed to appear out of no where. Although we are all now long since grown, I found myself feeling more youthful than ever just being around them.

Handshakes and hugs weren’t just a means of saying “Hello”. For me, the feeling behind each was much more than that. Imagine losing something that you valued for a quarter of a century and then suddenly finding it again. That’s what each reunion felt like.

“Do you remember the time….” seemed to be the five words that started many conversations.

I could write a novel on all of the wonderful reunions I made personally (and who knows, maybe some day I will), but for now, let’s just say that we talked a lot about yesterday, where our journeys in life have taken us and what our hopes and dreams are for the future. Each of us had something different and interesting to say and the hours quickly flew by.

At one point during the day, the heaven’s opened up and it began to rain steadily; forcing us all under a pavilion. In retrospect, it was probably the best thing that could have happened, because it drew us all closer together. It literally was the perfect day.

Truth be told though, I was a bit worried only about one thing: I figured at some point during a discussion with a classmate, sooner or later, someone was going to say something to me that would hit a nerve and the joyful emotions inside would make me have to walk away somewhere lest I become a quivering mess right in front of them. Not cool. I came pretty close a few times but was able to hold it together and was beginning to think I’d make it through unscathed.

But as daylight turned into dusk, I noticed a girl, well now a woman, sitting at a picnic bench making small talk with her friends. A person who graduated with me and someone I remember mostly not from high school, but rather from attending third grade elementary school together. A school that was subsequently torn down in 1979 and caused many of us to separate and transfer to other schools for a year.

Her name is Beth and we both took clarinet lessons after school thirty-five years ago. She and I had both spent many an afternoon in the school’s basement together with an ornery teacher who berated us every time we played a note incorrectly. It’s funny how all of these years later, that one particular memory still sticks out in my head.

Beth and I were never “friends” in high school. We were more like two people who might have just said “Hey” to each other in passing on our way to biology class; on a good day. I haven’t seen her at all since graduation and, quite honestly was a bit apprehensive about going up to her. (Someday, I swear I will outgrow this shyness). But, the thought of this being my only chance to ask her about clarinet class was all the incentive I needed. I went over, sat down next to her and we immediately reunited. She remembered me and we quickly caught up on what we’ve been up to.

And then it happened…

“Do you remember when we used to have clarinet class together in elementary school?”, I asked.

“Porter School!!”, she replied. “Yes, I do remember being in clarinet class with you! I loved Porter School.”

Now, I don’t know if it was the emotion of the high school reunion finally hitting me, Beth saying the words “Porter School” or the way she talked about the school we both attended and loved when we were 8 years old that triggered it, but something inside of me at that very moment said: “Prepare for waterworks!” and I soon found myself having to tell her that I’d be right back.

I spent the next few minutes alone in the bathroom composing myself.  Of all things, talking about a silly clarinet class at a high school reunion triggered it.

I shouldn’t say “silly” because I was actually glad that it happened. I think we all need to feel emotion like that in our lives to remind us that we’re human.

1980's, Childhood Memories, Life

What If?
EAHS Class of 1987

This week will be interesting. In just a few short days, I’ll be attending my 25th high school reunion.

The last time I was in the company of many of these people, the world was a much different place. Back then, it was all about sneaking out of restricted study hall at lunch to head over to the nearby Burger King.

It was a time when the only thing that really mattered was getting through the week so we could all go hang out at the mall on Friday night, drink Orange Julius and play Dragon’s Lair.

For me, it also included choir trips, endless hours of practice on my black Gibson Explorer guitar, the longing for unattainable love and of course, a heavy dose of hair metal. I’m actually tearing up right now just thinking about it; the hair metal part that is.

But, I’m looking back now, a quarter century later and am feeling pretty good about how I turned out. Especially when you consider what my original goal was.

Back then, my dream was almost laughable: In a “lather, rinse, repeat” cycle all I wanted to do was write music, record and tour. Pretty much in that order. If I had to sleep on the floor in some stinky tour bus on the way to Small Town, USA or pan handle on the streets for money to buy guitar strings I didn’t care. Music was going to be my life. I wanted to be the opening act for Bon Jovi; at least just long enough until he became the opening act for me.

It wasn’t until the day I woke up in my college dorm room; a twenty year old man with literally nothing but the black guitar and $1.37 to my name that I had an epiphany. And thus began my entry into the work force.

Don’t get me wrong, over the years I was still able to live the dream: I was part of several bands that achieved great things; even playing in front of crowds of 6,000 people. But, there are times that I still think about what might have happened if I had stuck to my original vision.

If things had worked out as planned well, you all would have seen me on the cover of Rolling Stone at least a few times by now. I probably would have also “guest starred” on Adele’s Grammy winning album and who knows; it might have been me in the judges panel on American Idol instead of that guy from Aerosmith…what’s his name again?

Anyway, as I’m typing this entry, over to my right; still hanging on the wall is that very guitar. The same one I put all those endless hours on. The one that contains all my feelings and the one constant that reminds me continually of those days and that dream. It’s still as great as ever 25 years later. I think we all are too!

 

I believe things happen for a reason. And I’m looking forward to hearing how everyone else’s dreams turned out at the reunion.

Life, Thought and Opinion

Live For Today
Robert Kennedy

I like to think that I’m a healthy guy. Oh sure, I’m someone who likes to partake in a slice of pizza (or 3) at times and make pit-stops at the drive thru on occasion.

The truth is, I’ve been lucky to have always been in somewhat reasonable shape. But shortly after I graduated high school it was a much different story. I weighed a measly 157 lbs soaking wet. I didn’t like how I looked and remember being obsessed with the guys I saw in the muscle magazines.

It wasn’t so much because they were these huge meat heads who did nothing all day but pick things up and put them down. My obsession with them was based on the notion that I wanted to look like them but on a much smaller scale.

I read “Robert Kennedy’s MuscleMag International” magazine religiously and learned that the only real way to get the body I wanted was to always eat “clean” (meaning absolutely no junk food) and exercising until I puked every day. The sound advice coming from guys who had ripped abs and tanned bodies sure was convincing.

Drinking weight gainer/protein shakes, eating only the freshest (and most expensive) organic foods and exercising ad nauseam worked well for me in the short run. But I always felt as if I was missing something. The strict regimen imposed by these chiseled abbed Adonis’ was something I just couldn’t stick with. I needed my carbs, particularly those of the bread and alcohol varieties. At least in moderation. As far as I was concerned, life was too short to deprive myself of such things.

I’ve since learned that using the advice in the magazine is important but the truth is, I’m never going to compete in bodybuilding. So although my weight had fluctuated over the years, by using modifications of what I had read, I was finally able to bring it under control. I am now in a regular exercise routine and eat good for the most part. (Bacon and Count Chocula aside of course).

So what’s my point?

Yesterday while standing in the Barnes and Noble bookstore I picked up the latest copy of “MuscleMag International”. With the alluring call of coffee and fatty pastries just a few feet from the magazine rack I read a letter written by Robert Kennedy. I had just discovered, by reading the letter, that Mr. Kennedy had passed away from an aggressive form of lung cancer back in April. Robert was the publisher of the magazine and is considered a titan in the world of bodybuilding and ironically, someone who before I picked up the periodical had absolutely no idea had died (bad news travels slow in these parts).

What was odd was that Mr. Kennedy had known since January that he was going to die and decided to write a final column to his beloved readers. I tried to imagine myself knowing that I had only a few months to live and writing a similar letter. What would I say?

Mr. Kennedy used his final column, with the knowledge of his impending demise wearing on him, to alert readers of the importance of regular checkups and avoiding excessive sun. You see, Robert Kennedy was an avid sunbather in his prime and had developed cancer. A cancer that, had it been caught earlier, been easily treated.

Rather than write out his entire letter, I took a picture of it. Even if you’re not a bodybuilding fan please take a moment to read his final words. (Click on the picture to expand).

Although regular medical checkups and limited exposure to tanning is sound advice, the real message I took from his last letter is this: no matter how much we exercise or how clean we eat eventually we all have to face our own mortality.

That’s not to say we shouldn’t take care of ourselves. On the contrary, we should always strive to be the best we can be both physically and mentally. The fact is, not one of us knows if we have five years left or fifty so lets live every one of them to the fullest.

But if I had to write a final letter like Mr. Kennedy someday, I hope I’m able to sum it all up in just four words: “I lived for today”.

RIP Robert Kennedy.

1980's, Life

The Graduate: 25 Years Later
Me, June 1987

Who would have thought how much could change in a quarter century? To think that at the time I received my high school diploma in June of 1987 the world was a much different place for me.

I’ll be honest, when this picture was taken I figured it would probably be about a year before I’d be on the cover of “Rolling Stone” magazine talking about my band’s debut album and world tour with Def Leppard. I had high hopes and wasn’t going to let anything stand in my way.

Twenty-five years ago the only thing I wanted to do was rock. I’m serious. I mean that’s ALL I wanted to do. I really didn’t want to go to college and I sure as hell had no interest in doing anything that resembled actual work.

On the contrary, my days were usually spent sleeping til around noon, practicing my guitar and mooching money off of my parents and grandmother for such things as gas for my car and coffee and cheese fries at Perkins. After all, a man’s gotta eat!

“Borrowing” money from them soon began to get old and my options were starting to run out. I was worried that I might be completely broke before fame came knocking at the door. What to do?

It wasn’t until I discovered that student loans were readily available that I began to have second thoughts about going to college. I mean, who wouldn’t want some free money? Money you wouldn’t have to pay back until after you graduated college!! Hell, that could take YEARS!! I quickly signed any promissory type note I could find and still recall running down to the bursar’s office every day at Penn State Allentown to see if there was a check for me.

And what did I do with this windfall of cash – the money I was supposed to use for tuition and school supplies? I bought a guitar and wound up dropping out.

This cycle was repeated over the next few years as I applied to community college and eventually West Chester University. I discovered that as long as I was enrolled in school I was “off the hook” for paying back the money. At least in the short-term.

It wasn’t until I woke up one morning, dug into my pockets and realized I had $1.37 to my name that I had an epiphany. I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing. I needed to contribute.

Here I was, twenty years old with $1.37 to my name and nothing more. The friends I had graduated with were now halfway done with college and were well on their way to bigger and better things. It was my wake up call. Rock and Roll would have to wait.

FullSizeRender(3)I started working full time on the 4-12:30 am shift as the head garbage man at Easton Hospital. That’s right, I literally started at the bottom. Any gum wrapper, cigarette butt or operating room bio hazardous waste was handled by me. I hated it with a passion but something inside of me kept me going. I knew better days were ahead.

A year later a position opened up in the pharmacy. It was a 2:30-11pm shift but was the perfect chance for me to get out of garbage. I worked that position for eight years.

Eventually, I made the decision to go back to school and get my degree in computers, married my high school sweetheart, bought a home and have a beautiful daughter. Although it might have taken me fifteen years, I even paid back all of my student loans.

Perhaps the best thing of all was that my own rock star dream didn’t die. I made it work. The point being, we can do anything we want to do. Be anything we want to be. We just need to realize our limitations and do what it takes to get there.

As I look back on this picture a quarter century after it was taken I see someone who had big dreams. And someone who twenty-five years later, in some round about way has achieved them.

Life

My Memorial Day

I usually can’t remember what I do specifically during Memorial Day each year although I believe it typically starts the week prior to the actual day itself.

I’m usually reading the stories from World War II veterans in the newspaper all week. Stories about the Greatest Generation and how they spent time “over there” fighting Nazi Germany. Most often the stories seem to reflect their accounts of the D-Day Invasion. True heroism and sacrifice that I will never be worthy enough to accept.

The Memorial Day weekend itself is usually quiet around my house. One day is typically set aside for the annual visit to some relative’s home for a cookout (or in my case a birthday party since many coincide with this time of year). Making merry, partaking of adult beverages and eating so much food someone has to wheelbarrow me to the car for the drive home since I can’t move. Good times indeed.

The actual Memorial “Day” is normally spent quietly for me. I’ll try to sleep late (something I don’t normally do) and lounge around on what feels like Sunday.

But this year was a bit different.

My daughter, who has an obsession with all things swimming, decided bright and early she wanted to visit the Palmer Pool today. I had thought she would have had her fill of aqua related activities yesterday in my cousin’s pool. A large in ground one she had all to herself for several hours. But she was bound and determined to drag her old man to the community pool.

I’ve only been to the Palmer Pool a few times. I grew up on the south side Easton which is quite a ways away. During my tenure there I was considered riff-raff by the township hoi polloi when ever I went. But now that I am a full-fledged card carrying member of the Palmer community, at least as far as taxes are concerned, I decided to partake of the opportunity once again.

When we arrived I noticed the flags were flying at half mast and I reminded my daughter as to why they are so. Mouthing the same old lines that countless other parents and teachers have spewn to young ears. Hoping that the meaning might somehow get across and that this day isn’t really “the start of summer”.

As we swam I noticed a few things that jarred my memory: The part of the patio that was reserved to the Dip and Dance crowd. The long lines to get funnel cake and french fries. And of course, the diving boards where children would line up to jump into rather chilly water.

What else did I notice you ask? Ladies that should be in bikinis and those that most definitely should not. Shirtless men’s bellies hanging over their shorts so far they probably could not see their toes. Then there were the ones who had their guts sucked in (most likely to impress the ladies who looked good in the bikinis).

I swore I even saw a guy there not wearing a shirt who looked like Magilla Gorilla. The guy’s back was covered with layers of hair. I’m talking werewolf here, not a good look. Although I ‘m not really sure what part of the lunar cycle we’re in this week.

I had an encounter with my old high school classmates too. Well, at least I thought I did. I believe I saw Jim Prendergast there with his children waiting in line. I haven’t seen Jim in well over twenty years and wasn’t 100% sure it was him. I believe his nickname in high school was “Stickman” or something like that. I was tempted to walk up to him and call him that but I was afraid that if it wasn’t him my nickname might have been met with a fist. So that meeting never happened.

Later on, while sitting pool side, I noticed a young girl throwing a hakee sack (do they still make those things?) with her Dad. I kept going over and over in my head that I had seen them before and finally I realized that it was Michelle Eck’s husband and daughter. I know this only because of Michelle’s Facebook updates. She and I had also graduated together but she was nowhere to be seen. Her husband and daughter I have never met and they would have absolutely no idea who I was so I let that encounter go by as well.

But the most important thing happened as I waited outside for my daughter to go in and change to go home. Out of the locker room came a woman who was rolling a wheel chair. I watched her wheel the boy who rode upon it to a grassy area where upon he slowly got up.

I’m not sure if he had cerebal palsy or some other condition that made him so frail but I watched him struggle to move independently down towards the pool. Time seemed to stop for me as I watched the woman (who I assume to be his Mother) catch up to him and meet him at the steps. They held hands together and walked towards the water.

I kept thinking about how difficult it must be for both of them in their day-to-day lives. Simple things like dressing, eating and getting around must be a chore. But come hell or high water they were going swimming today. And damnit, they did. It also looked like it was something they do quite often together. Meanwhile, I spend most of my time taking so much for granted.

So this Memorial Day was a good reminder for me. I enjoyed every minute I got to spend with my daughter but for the first time in quite a long time I’m also remembering why we are all able to enjoy the things we do.

I hope yours is special too.