Memories of my dad, part 4

This post is going to be more snippets than actual stories. I wish I had the pictures I'd taken of my father over the years. They said so much more than my words can say. But moving so often and then going to prison and leaving my things behind means that things get lost, so most of my pictures are in my head.

My dad had this way about him. He loved to laugh but he could get angry fast. He didn't have the normal ethics that most people have and that made some of his actions questionable at times. He worked several jobs to keep our family with a place to live and food to eat. I know that a lot of the jobs he mentioned were stories but it was part of his mystique and you had to pick out what was real and what wasn't.

He worked as a bus driver in Schenectady for a while. That I know is true because my mom told me about some of his adventures, like bringing a cab down the hill into Schenectady and having it go sideways, and him being able to bring it to a near perfect parallel park-type stop. She said he came home and was laughing, but he definitely needed to take a shower. I also know he worked at the local cab company in Schenectady and he loved it.

He finally got a full time job with NY as a lock operator. I can remember him coming home after working 3-11 and bringing home Mike's giant subs and a Neba for my mom. I can still taste both of those so clearly. I wish I could find someone who'd worked at one of the stores so maybe I could find out where they'd gotten their sub bread, cause it was so darn good.

The year I was supposed to start kindergarten, my family found a home in Mariaville. It was still under construction but they worked out the financing and bought it. I remember seeing it the first time, with no grass but tons of clay mud, and boards leading to the front door. The downstairs had sawhorses and we put a board across one of them and turned it into a teeter-totter. The house had a flat roof then and a creek that ran through the back yard near the back boundary. There were trees lining the creek and one of them just happened to have huge thorns on it.

When we moved out there, we had a siamese cat named Ookie. She wasn't really an outdoor cat but she managed to get out one day. My mom was worried but my dad wasn't. "It's a long drop and she's not dumb enough to jump off that porch, Edie," he told her. Ookie proved him wrong. She got out there, something spooked her, and off she jumped....only to climb right up that thorny tree! My mom kept at him to get her down but he said she'd come down when she was good and ready. Later that evening, dad got tired of listening to my mom so he got out the ladder to reach the cat. Only, like most cats, she just kept climbing higher. He ended up getting her but not until he had some really long scratches from that tree's thorns. Not to mention the ones he got from Ookie when he finally got her.

There was a night when my dad was cleaning out his VW bus, right outside our downstairs door. It was a double-paned, thermal sliding door and he had it open so all he had to do was jump down and into the house as he cleaned. Well, my mom went down to get some milk for the morning, saw the door open, didn't know that dad was in the bus, and closed it. As she started up the stairs, she heard a crash. My dad, not knowing the door was closed, had jumped off and gone right through the door! He turned around, went back through it, and then yelled about who the hell had closed it. She started yelling back until she saw the blood. I think he needed 8 stitches to close the gash on his head.

I wasn't there when my nephew was born. I was sitting in Schenectady County Jail. My mom wrote a note and had my dad drop it off at the jail. It told me all the details. My dad was overjoyed to be a granddad. My favorite picture that I'd taken was one of him asleep, stretched out on the couch. Sleeping right on top of him, with my dad's arm wrapped around him, was my nephew. The cutest part was Jim's fingers one one hand had been twirling my dad's hair as he fell asleep and when I snapped the picture, they were still in my dad's hair, with the other hand in his favorite sleeping position, two middle fingers in his mouth, like he was holding a bowling ball.

When I got home from prison, we took a trip to the Catskill Game farm with my nephew and his mom. They had one of those sets of stocks and you could pick a sign to put underneath that described why you were in them. I used one that said 'musical snorer' for him and snapped the picture. I didn't notice until I got them developed that his hands were one up and one down, both with the middle finger extended! Only my dad.

He lived life to the fullest and had few regrets. I miss him every day and this time of the year, I always seem to miss him more intensely.

Memories of my dad, part 3

Here's a picture of my dad. It was taken just a few years before he died, at a cousin's wedding. I think it catches his humorous side.


In August of 1988, I decided I needed a fun day. I called in to my job and let them know I wouldn't be in and then my dad and I took a trip up to Lake George. We went to the Great Escape and had a blast. I was 26, my dad was 66, and we acted like two teenagers. I can't remember when I'd had more fun.

We just decided to enjoy ourselves as much as we could, and boy, did we. I don't think there was a ride there that we didn't go on, and we went on the Steamin' Demon roller coaster several times. I think that was one of their newest rides at the time and my dad loved it. The park wasn't that full and what we did was get off and get right back in line. One time, there was this boy about 10 waiting in line in front of us. He looked at the two of us and then said, "Hey mister. You're standing in line to keep her happy, right? You're not going on the ride, are ya? You're too old. You'll have a heart attack or something." I thought my dad was going to piss his pants, he laughed so hard.

Now, there was one ride my dad really loved, even more than the roller coaster. I'm not sure it's still there because I don't know the name of it. I tried looking at their website but without pictures, it's hard to tell. It was this ride that started out horizontal. You fit one person to a pod, two if you were talking kids, and the pods kinda looked like silver slides or something. It started out going round and round, like a merry go round. Then, it started to lift up a bit and your pod would fly out a bit so you were even with the whole ride. It lifted up even more, until you were nearly vertical, so at the top you were upside down for a few seconds. No belts because the ride was going fast enough to keep you in place. Then it started to drop down again and then the ride was over. My dad absolutely loved it. He told me he could ride it forever, even fall asleep in it. I have to admit, after working up the courage to ride it, I loved it, too.

At the end of the day, we had some pictures taken as keepsakes. We'd eaten some of the usual fair-type food, bought cotton candy to take home to my nephew, and even had a huge ice-cream cone each. I think my dad ate his faster than I ate mine. But the bottom line was, it was a day that we acted like kids, blew off some steam, and just forgot that we were supposed to be adults. Everyone should have a day like that with their dad. It should be a requirement.

Memories of my dad, part 2

Black Friday was yesterday. Sales galore, stores opening up at midnight or earlier, crowds that want that special present at bargain basement prices... Then you read the news and hear about the use of pepper spray, both to calm a crowd and to blind a group so someone could get an xbox. Or you read about the people who get trampled when the crowd rushes to get inside exactly when the doors open. Or you read about the shootings, inside stores and out in parking lots. Or, or, or, or... So many stories that show the negatives of being so focused on getting something for less than the normal price. Instead of that, I'm going to focus on a Black Friday story that brings back some laughter for me.

In 1987, I'd gotten out of prison and hadn't replaced my license yet so my dad had to drive me to and from work. He said he didn't mind because it got him out of the house for an hour or so twice a day. Being retired wasn't all that it's cracked up to be for some. While he loved being able to read or sleep, he didn't appreciate being there for mom to be able to ask him for help. In any case, we used the time to talk about everything under the sun and I'm forever grateful for that time because it helped me get both to know my dad better and to get closer to him.

So, in 1987, I was working at GE through Manpower temps. One of the programs that Manpower offered was training on various software, to help you build or improve your skills. But since I worked 5 days a week during their open hours, I couldn't take advantage of that training. However, I found out that they were going to be open on Black Friday and I set up the time to do some training. Dad didn't mind so away we went, early that morning.

I flew through 3 different packages. It was all computerized for you to work at your own pace and I guess I kinda went faster than they thought I should. By 11, I was done for the day. Called my dad and he came to pick me up. "Hey, kiddo. How about we head to the mall and see what's on sale?" I thought he was kidding and pointed out that it was Black Friday but he wasn't kidding and off to Mohawk Mall we went.

The mall parking lot was packed. I hadn't seen so many cars since we went to Disney World in FL during their first 6 months of being open. Being Dad, he drove up one lane, down the next and slid right into a first slot parking spot. I mean, he literally did just one lane, turned, and got to that first slot spot just as the other car was driving out. Into the mall we went, wandering together through some of the stores, going into Walden Books, watching the puppies at Ark Pets. Watching the spot where Santa would appear the next day was fun because they were still putting it together. We ate at Friendly's, grabbed an egg nog shake at McDonald's and left around 3. It was a magical day.

Now, we could have driven through the parking lot a dozen times and never found a spot, like I did the next year. Or we could have let the crowds push us out of the mall a lot earlier than when we left. But we didn't. We enjoyed our walk, we talked while we walked about what to get other members of the family, and we indulged in some old-fashioned people watching. When we got home, there was things to deal with but for that 3+ hours, it was just nothing but enjoyment.

Memories of my dad, part 1

21 years ago next week, my father died. It was early in the morning and I, after driving through 5 red lights, managed to get to the hospital just minutes after he died. After 21 years, I still feel lost at time without him and I thought maybe, if I talked about some of my memories of him, I might finally stop feeling quite so lost. So, for the next 6 days, I'm going to post every day. And each post will bring out another bunch of memories.

Since Thanksgiving was yesterday, that's where I'll start. It wasn't his favorite holiday. He just didn't like turkey. He'd eat it and he loved so many of the other goodies on the table but he really didn't like turkey. I remember him telling me once, why can't we just have a good steak or a really nice roast? But he did love the turkey soup my mom would make from the remains. So I think, for all his grousing, he put up with it just so he could get the soup a day or two later.

My dad was someone who loved life. He didn't do a lot of extra things with his family; there was always something else to use the money for. But as a child, we used to go camping in Vermont every summer. We'd head out with the coolers packed and sleeping bags until we got to Coolidge Park. We tried to always get the same lean-to, the last one on the road, called Poplar. A bit farther up the road, near the top of the hill, there was a small playground. I remember that right near the lean-to, there was one tree that curved downward before growing tall. I used to go to that tree and read because you could sit there easily in that curve.

So, imagine it, 4 girls, mom, dad, Dick, all in this one lean-to. Big old fireplace about 3 feet in front of it where we cooked everything. No garbage left over because they did have wildlife there, including the occasional bear. The coolers went to the back of the lean-to and were always locked before we went to bed. The rest rooms were down this one trail, probably not that far away but I remember it feeling like it was miles and miles.

Now, my dad was always a heavy sleeper. It took everything to wake him up. And my mom, well, she was a worrier. She'd hear a noise or smell something and then she'd try to wake up my dad to go 'check it out.' Not that it worked that well because first you had to wake him up and then you had to deal with the fact that he just didn't have the same keen sense of smell my mom had. But this one camping trip, that ability to sleep deep really played into the fears of sleeping basically in the wild.

We heard my mom first, trying to wake up dad. "Jimmy, I hear a noise in the back. Go check it out." Nothing. And from behind the lean-to, we could hear something trying to get into the stuff, rustling the bags, hitting the sides of the coolers. "C'mon Jimmy, get up." My dad grunted, the thing behind the lean-to grunted and we all tried to go deeper into the sleeping bags. I remember thinking I could feel this animal's breathing, even though the lean-to was built pretty sturdily of logs and whatever between the logs they'd used to keep out the rain. After listening to this go on for a while, Dick finally got up and went around back. By then, the animal was gone. Our stuff in the bags was somewhat strewn across the grass, and you could see a few claw marks in the cooler but nothing that really let us know what it was. My dad got up in the morning, had no recollection of my mom trying to wake him up, and was surprised to see the claw marks. It was one of the greatest camping trips we ever took. It was also one of the last ones we took, if I remember right. But it's something I'll never forget.

I wanted to add a picture but I have none. Pictures from Coolidge state park in Vermont can be found here: http://www.vtstateparks.com/htm/photo_coolidge.htm There's a picture of a lean-to in that album. Enjoy!

Events at Penn State

As a survivor of child molestation, I had to wait a few days before I could post on this. My emotions are high but more than that, I wanted to make sure my emotions were true. Now that I feel they are, I can post.

The recent events at Penn State had an interesting effect on me. I wasn't angry with Joe Paterno's actions, like so many survivors have been saying they are angry. I didn't go back and relive my past because of this. I do that often enough without any provocation. No, I was angry with the grad assistant who witnessed the event. I want to grab him by the shoulders and scream at him, "Why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you save that boy when it was happening? Why did you just back away, call your father, and then RUN home? Why?" That young man had every chance to stop that rape and he didn't. He didn't call the police. He didn't run for help. He didn't yell out and make Sandusky stop what he was doing. He just left. And for that, he helped damage someone for the rest of his life.

I can almost excuse Joe Paterno's lack of action because of the era he grew up in. Stupid excuse but the truth is, he's a product of his generation in many ways. I don't believe it was because of his love for the football program, as so many are saying. Men his age don't talk about sexual activities, especially rape of a young boy. Boys can't be raped, in their minds. So it had to be something else, something less than it was.

I can't excuse the higher ups because they had the ability to call and ask for an investigation by social services or the police and they didn't. Maybe it was to keep their jobs, maybe it was because it didn't sound that bad when they heard it. Whatever it was, it was sexual in nature and should have been reported and they knew they were supposed to report it and they didn't. No excuses accepted.

But I can't excuse the lack of action by Mike McQueary. He's young enough to know what sexual molestation is and what he should have done. He knows right from wrong and he ran. Let him live with the shame of knowing he could have changed this child's life and he didn't. May it eat him up inside. May it cost him his job. He did nothing right and everything wrong. And for that, I can't excuse him and I can't forgive him.

Religion and me; a distant relationship

For the past few years, I've been quite unhappy with religion and I have to say, I usually have problems with those who call themselves religious people. Why? Because it's all about religion to them, everything in life is because of God and nothing happens to them because they wanted it and worked for it. Or if they did, it's because God gave them the strength to keep fighting and working for it. Sorry, but God just isn't that powerful. If God was, then why wouldn't God save kids with cancer? They're not put here on Earth just to be God's pawns in a game with the devil, are they?

So I've been trying to figure out where I really stand about the Bible and whether it's God's word, as most Christian religions say. And while my thoughts are still evolving, I've come up with what I feel is logical reasoning about it all.

Way back in time, before the Bible was put down in written form, man needed guidance. Rules to live by, some might say. And so man began with the basics. Don't kill, don't steal, don't be envious. But there are always those who need to question authority. You know the type, the ones who look at you and say "Who died and left you in charge?" So man used God. The concept of God isn't unusual, after all. Every age has had their own idea of God or Gods. Even the oldest religions out there have some form of a Deity. "Let's let God be that authority. How are you going to complain about God?" And so began the idea for the Bible.

If you look at virtually every age of man, they have the same basic set of stories. The flood, the rules, the talks with their Deity in one way or another. But if you look at it even more basically, it's like parents who tell their kids to behave or else the monster under the bed will get them. You know there's no real monster but it definitely serves to keep little kids from getting into trouble, at least for a time. Until they realize that no monster is going to sneak out and take them away. Do I really think that God spoke to anyone via a burning bush? Nope, but it sure sounds good. Do YOU really think that our time period is so in control that we don't need God to talk to us? Nope but when was the last time we heard about God speaking to someone who didn't turn out to either use God's supposed talks in a way to directly benefit from it or else the person turned out to be a bit on the mental side? I won't buy it that God feels no need to try and get us all back on the right path when God spoke so often way back in the time period of the Bible's creation.

Ok, so we get all the punishment stories in the early (Old Testament) book. And then, they thought, we have to give them something to look forward to, something really wonderful. So along comes Jesus. Now, I'm strange. I believe that Jesus did live on Earth and that he was an incredible man. I even believe that he might be the son of God. The stories are wonderfully full of lessons for all of us to learn. The overwhelming lesson is love. Love for your neighbors, compassion and love for your enemies. His life as we know it was full of teaching people lessons that help them help others. It wasn't all "Don't do this and don't do that." It was full of how to be a better, bigger person by helping others, not hindering them. Don't hate someone else. Be the shining example of love. If you don't get that from those stories, then you're blind. The ones he admonished the most were the ones who cheated others, were hypocrites. He spent most of his time with the ones no one wanted to be with. Those were the ones he sought out. And yet, those lessons are the very lessons that most religious people bypass. And funnily enough, the ones who Jesus chose to walk and learn the most from him were the people who he felt were just average everyday people.

Did those followers learn? Some did. And the ones who learned the most, never wrote letters to others telling them how to live and what to expect. Because the ones who did that are the ones who kept alive what they'd listened to all their lives: the stories that make up the Old Testament. Even they didn't always get the lessons that Jesus taught. Because sometimes, what you've heard all your life outweighs what you learned for 3 short years. Take a look at the New Testament after the Gospels. All the letters and such. Weigh them against what Jesus taught and you'll see the greater influence is from the Old Testament, not Christ. Even Revelations, which sounds like one heck of a drug-induced dream, is filled with the punishments from the Old Testament. Not much love and compassion in Revelations.

So, my beliefs don't totally rely on what the Bible says. I try not to judge others, because I sure don't want them judging me. I pretty much live and let live, unless it's something that you can see is harmful to another human being. I turn the other cheek most of the time, until I feel that turning my cheek is just letting the other person continue to abuse me, and then I'm going to defend myself, usually with words. I've tried to help others as best I can, when I can. I work hard to try and better myself when I've really failed and I know I've failed even at that at times. I believe in the messages of the Bible stories but not that they are to be taken literally. I believe that the Bible was meant to be a guideline but not the end all, be all of our lives. I think God is greater than we think and much less vengeful as so many religions make God out to be. I don't think God hates anyone. I think it takes man to bring hate into it.

My bottom line: Religion is supposed to lift you up, to help you become a better human being. It's not meant to push you into fear or hate, like it has done now for ages. We can do better. We must.

Antibiotics and being sick

My sister went to the doctor's office today as an emergency visit. She's got one heck of a cold but because she has had problems with both bronchitis and pneumonia in the past, things like this seem to get worse fast. Her coughing is the major concern right now. She begins to cough and can't stop. To the listener, it's horrible. She sounds like she's ready to throw up or like she can't seem to catch her breath between coughs. On top of that, she can't sleep well. She's fine sitting up in the front room on the couch but when she reclines back in her room, she starts coughing within minutes.

So, like I said, she went to the doctor's office. They're having her get a chest x-ray tomorrow to see if it is pneumonia. In the meantime, they put her on an antibiotic and a cough medicine with codeine. She came home and relaxed a bit. I think she may have gotten to doze for about an hour. She took the cough medicine and it worked...for about 20 minutes, tops. It's now 4 in the morning and she's finally dozing again. We'll see how long that lasts.

The one thing I wish is that doctors would verify first if the cause of the illness is something that an antibiotic will help. In so many cases, they prescribe one when they know it won't do a thing and all that ends up happening is filling the body up with antibiotics to the point they won't work even when they should. Resistance, y'know?

In the meantime, I'll keep doing what I'm doing, using a bit more tissues for my nose and coughing from time to time. Because I just don't want to get to the point where the one thing that might really help me out can't do its job because I've built up a resistance to it from overuse. A little bit of common sense goes a long way when it comes to being ill.

Healthcare in the U.S.

Here we are, supposedly one of the richest nations in the world. We give to help out people in impoverished nations all the time, helping with AIDS programs, immunization programs, etc. But when you look around at our own country, we find people in nearly every community who can't afford to see a doctor once a year for a basic physical, can't afford to go to the dentist for basic dental care, can't afford to get the basic tests like mammograms. Why? Because basic health care costs too much without insurance and insurance costs too much, period. So we have people who are literally dropping dead from a tooth infection.

Now, Congress passed the health care reform act and since then, all we've heard is how it can't possibly work, it's too expensive to be fully enacted, it's going to make businesses lay off people, it's illegal, etc. etc. etc. I agree, it's not perfect. But then again, the system we have right now isn't perfect, either. The biggest complaint I've heard from Republicans is that it's illegal, we can't force people to buy health care. I don't know, we're forcing people to take off shoes every time they fly, in order to supposedly keep them safe. So why can't we do the same thing with health care? Share the costs fully and prices go down. Set up a national system and it's even better because then you know your insurance will be accepted in every state, no matter what.

The biggest problem I see is that insurance providers won't see huge profits if this remains in effect. They won't be able to charge what they want anymore. How wrong is that if it means that more Americans can actually get treatment? So you don't become a millionaire this year. Money isn't the main thing in life, is it?

Politicians

I am a nobody, someone who goes through my life just trying to get by. I stretch my money as far as I can and I don't buy anything without considering the cost for at least a week. Even the food I buy is bought with the idea of how long it can last.

That said, I am so sick of our politicians doing all they can to forget about the people and doing all they can for the corporations. When I hear a Congressman saying he has a hard time living on his salary, which is more than 3 times the average salary of his constituents, the only thought in my head is, enough is enough.

Stop playing games with our economy just so you can one up the other side. The people you're hurting isn't you and your family, it's those of us who were idiotic enough to vote for you. You may not love this country but I do and I'm sick of your politics getting in the way of getting our country back on track. The President may be in charge and he may be the one who gets the most visibility with his plans but you're the ones who keep holding them up, just so you can stick it to the President. It's time to stop.

Everyone knows you can't fix a broken budget by merely cutting things out of it. You need to increase your income. So why do you fight it so much? I'm not going to be cut down anymore just so that you can win your game. I count, just as much as any politician does. When you vote, remember those of us who voted you in, not just those corporations who bought your campaign. It's we the people, not we the businesses.

My bottom line: I'm not going to sit back any longer and watch Congress play games with my life. I will do whatever I have to do, by legal means, to change this process. If you can't do it, WE THE PEOPLE will!!!

Religion

Tell me what it is about religion that makes it such an overwhelming Master. In every religion, there are fanatics, those who are so enraptured by the words in that religion's holy book that they will stop at nothing, including murder, to make everyone see that their religion is the best.

If we look at the holy books for most major religions, they are all rather alike. They all recount the adventures of their big holy man. But here's where they're really alike. Not a one of them was written by anyone who actually witnessed those adventures. They were written many many years after the fact, by people who wrote down what they'd heard for years. So let's think for a minute, please. You know what it's like to have a family story. It gets told by so many people, over and over and over again, until it's nothing like the original story. It's been reinterpreted by each and every storyteller. But you write down the version you've heard and you call it "the true story." Is it, really?

If we could be honest with ourselves, we might look at this objectively and realize a few things. These stories were told to do a specific task. They were told to keep kids in line, to organize a tribe of people, to set down parameters for that specific group. They weren't meant to be the rules for everyone but for that one particular group. The older stories were made to be more frightening, so that everyone understood why the rules were the way they were. Then we move into the newer stories, where love becomes the overwhelming message. But the followers, who were brought up on the older stories, can't help but add their own admonitions for the next bunch of followers. And because they were brought up on the old, vengeful-type stories, guess what their writing is going to have predominantly? Yep, all sorts of rules to follow, all based on the stories they grew up on.

See, here's what I don't understand. If God is a god of love, then why was he so vengeful in the old testament? And why does he let his son be so lenient? If God is a god of love, then why does he let anyone die from things like disease, murder, or hate? It just makes no sense, no matter how you look at it.

That's the main reason I consider myself to be spiritual, rather than religious. Believe in a higher power but don't use that higher power to rule your life. Because all the rules weren't given by it but by the people who wrote them. Regardless of if they were inspired by that higher power, they still were the ones who passed the rules down and eventually wrote them down.