Let Us Now Praise Famous Women.

Happy Father's Day to the dearest of daddios! So I love writing the blog, and I hope that you enjoy reading it, but we all know that it’s not really reaching the intended audience (unless there’s bandwidth in Heaven). Greg already knew most of the stuff I write about, but I miss telling it to him in a way that I know he’s getting. With that in mind, let’s have a special shout-out to the lady of the house, while she’s around to enjoy it!

Obviously Sharon picked an awesome fellow to make babies with- look at the stunning, (modest, humble) results of that double endeavor. Therefore, today’s blog entry is all about the Mama.

Lovin’ all up on Mama Sharon (in no particular order):

#1 Smart Cookie- she keeps her head when all about her are losing theirs. Sharon manages to be very very intelligent without being a smug little bitch about it, and I’m so glad she encouraged me to always be proud of my smarts. She packed me off to college without telling me what to study or then devaluing my creative writing degree. Instead of pointing out that I wasn’t exactly going to graduate with a plethora of job offers, she was proud of me for following my passion.

#2 Long before the Obamas were playing Roses & Thorns around the dinner table, Sharon asked every day, “What was the best part of your day and the worst part of your day?” As a kid I adored it; even a teenager rolling her eyes at the cheesy set-up loved being asked about her life in a general, non-threatening, non-specific way. This lady is a very good communicator: with adults, with kids, with everyone. She has sass, but she still lets you know she cares.

#3 Haaaaaawt mama! Do I need to say this again? Sharon is a beautiful, beautiful lady. Loooooooooong legs and a sense of style. I’m reassured just watching her age- I’ve got some GOOD genes on my side.

#4 She champions her loved ones in everything they do. Greg was the best playwright in LA. When I was a writer, I was the best (female) writer in the house. When I became a teacher, then I was the best teacher those kids are ever gonna have. Dillon is the best singer to tackle ‘God Bless America” and Lucy & Mickey are the best-looking dogs on the block. The force of her confidence makes it feel true, and the feeling of truth makes everyone work harder to fulfill her expectations.

#5 Earth mama deluxe- I don’t know how else to say it, but the lady just emits a glow. Sharon makes everyone around her feel good. I know the serenity was hard-won and the mellow wasn’t innate, but nothing feels more natural as she matures. She welcomes everyone into her home, and her heart. Everyone loves being in her life. There’s no higher compliment.

Love youse, mama Sharon and daddio Greg!

A Daddy That's All Ours

I had the pleasure of spending last Sunday with some lovely friends and their lovely kiddos. En route from one spot to the next, my friend L and her four year old daughter E and I passed the time by playing storyteller in the car. Seeing as L and I got a little distracted talking about grownup stuff, E became petulant and interjected, “I have a daddy and he’s all mine.” I turned around and playfully answered, “Well I’ve got a daddy too and he’s almost all mine.” She retorted, “My daddy’s still alive.”

Zing! No comeback there.

She got me to thinking though. I’ve got a daddy and between me and Dillon, he’s all ours. We have a daddy in the sense that everyone’s got a daddy (and a mama too) because we’re humans and not insects, and so it takes two to tango. However, I have a daddy and I also knew him and he raised me, which is already more lucky than a lot of kids. What’s more, he’s dead but he’s still there. And not in some haunting metaphysical checking-up-on-me-from-Heaven way, but because he helped make me who I am.

He’s there with me when I hunch over the keyboard, trying to crank out some words that sound good and mean something all at the same time. He’s there when I drive the back roads fast, late at night, cool breezes pouring in through the window. He’s also there when I work with my students and they write me letters at the end of the year that say, My heart doesn’t want you to go. He’s there when I take pleasure in fine storytelling, theatrically or cinematically or in a novel. He’s in the roaring fan that lulls me and Dillon to sleep. He’s there for the inside jokes and the shorthand and the lyrical turns of phrases. And he's there when I say please and thank you. Especially, he’s there when I’m kind and when I’m generous.

Of course, it’s not all rosy. He’s also there when I lose my temper and slam shit against the wall, and when I drink too much because I’m sad. He’s in the insomnia that grips me in the night, and the Irish melancholy that grips me at odd hours.

He’s there in my victories and in my flaws. He’s there because he made me, he taught me, and he released me to be my own person.

Oh Daddy, my heart doesn't want you to go.