Oh man, I have a serious Walmart hangover. It's all T's fault, really: after camping, I realized I needed a mess kit for the upcoming portable Suddeth Thanksgiving. Everywhere I checked they weren't thin enough, or foldy enough, or cute enough. Unfortunately, T's evil Walmart kit was....just right. I felt (and probably sounded) just like a drug addict, slouching down the aisle and muttering, "This is the LAST time, I swear!" and pulsing in the back of my mind was the thought, "Greg is seriously unimpressed with you right now."
You see, Greg not only didn't shop at Walmart, but he could also provide you a list of precisely how Walmart was ruining the world. He loved his soapbox tirades, but he also prided himself on being well-informed in his rage. As I got older, it became a joke that he would literally take a little hop and a bow at the end of a rant, stepping down from his soapbox.
Other issues that got him going:
Education: When my dad was a student teacher of history, he got in trouble for showing videos of Vietnam War protests and holding "current events" discussions. Many other teachers at that time didn't address the "social studies" aspect of history, but he made his students be aware and participate in the unfolding of their own lives. When I became a teacher, he ordered innovative math curriculums and taped PBS specials about early childhood literacy and poverty as a learning disability.
GLBT Rights: Greg and I went to a SAG screening for Milk, which led to a discussion of Proposition 6, which I had never heard of and which was on the ballot the year after Greg & Sharon moved to CA. Prop 6 would have made the firing of all gay teachers mandatory. Of course, Greg was livid then and he was livid in 2008 about Prop 8. According to him, "Gay marriage isn't a sex issue, and that's where people get confused. It's an issue of civil rights. Marriage is a basic civil right for everybody or for nobody."
He watched Rachel Maddow and Jon Stewart, but he also told me that he read conservative newspapers in college, because it's "important to know your enemy."
He believed in unions, but he wasn't naive.
He gave away hundreds of dollar bills, dozens of hot Thanksgiving plates, and several blankets.....but the recipient had to have worse shoes than his.
He believed in animal rights, but not at the expense of human rights. PETA billboards made him shout. Hurricane Katrina news coverage made him give.
He put his money where his mouth was and pushed hard to see Barack Obama elected as the first Black president of the US. I'm so grateful it happened during his lifetime.
Oh, and he also campaigned for George McGovern. Ha.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Many Happy Returns, Pop-Pop.
One of Greg’s famous lines: “I don’t like children…..except my own.” It was a grand line, but I’d like to offer some evidence to the contrary.
His dramatic skills were put to good use in Dillon’s classroom, where he came in to read Halloween stories several years in elementary school. Greg would put on his black fedora and an all black outfit and go to town on picture books for the whole class, complete with scary noises and punched-up dialogue.
His height came in handy during helicopter rides for our friend Aaron F, although when Greg’s big fat older daughter saw how much fun Aaron was having, she needed some helicopter rides of her own.
His Irish heritage was a boon to any child that visited his office, where leprechauns were known to deposit their loose change and pot‘o’gold spillover. As a rational adult I know where that money must have come from, but I swear to God I never saw it land. And I was watching carefully. When we moved to the big house, the leprechauns came with him. Those quarters came in handy for college laundry.
More adults were afraid of Greg than babies. You’d think his size alone (not to mention those eyebrows) would have set off screaming fits, but babies loved to be held by Greg. They had a cool way of staring into his eyes, and he would give them a mile-long stare back.
The ability to engage didn’t slip away with older kids either. Whether it was taking my visiting niece out to lunch or sitting in the hospital room of my high school friend who’d attempted suicide, Greg knew how to play it cool. He never pushed too hard, pandered, or ignored. As a teenager when you don’t know if you want everyone to look away forever or to get just an ounce of fucking attention for once, he knew how to keep a balance.
So Greg did like other children….or at least children liked him. However, the second part of his statement was indeed true. Greg was an amazing father who loved his own kids beyond faith and reason. I think there are a couple of lessons in there that might as well be shared.
One area of inflexibility involved baby talk. Greg never talked down to children or babies; he didn’t believe in it. We did have to have a little discussion when I was in 3rd grade about how even though there’s no such thing as a bad word, some words are less appropriate than others for school. I think there were some George Carlin quotations involved. Anyone who doubts his authority on the matter of baby talk should witness the verbal skills and vocabulary of each of his children (and their modesty, ha).
As much as he loved a well made film, I don’t think it was for love of Victor Fleming that Greg hauled a gigantic old-school wood-paneled television up to the 2nd floor of our duplex the afternoon that Wizard of Oz was supposed to air, when I was three years old. It was well worth the effort, because I watched the VHS tape he made every single day for the next year (literally). Child-rearing lesson #2: figure out what your kids will like…..and make plenty of copies. This came in handy with his son as well, as Greg taped about a hundred of Dillon’s Dodgers games over the years.
I was sung to sleep many nights, but Dillon was sung to sleep every night. Unless Greg was on vacation or on location, he sang one of a few Irish lullabies: Danny Boy, Christmas in Killarney, Athlone, etc. He knew how to make his kids feel safe, how to relax them into slumber and send them off to Nod in style. So the 3rd rule: if you want your kids to sleep through the night, make sure they know somebody’s looking out for them; in the real world, the dream world, and everywhere in between. Also- don’t show them The Exorcist right before bed when they are the same age as Regan and their name is Megan unless you want them to shit a brick every night for the next week. But that’s a story that belongs in a different post, Greg & the movies.
Nicknames from Greg: little max, maxie, champ, my darling-my blood, little popinjay.
Nicknames for Greg: Daddy, Daddio, Cool Papa G, BDG, GDS, Da.
One of the topics that came under discussion in the last year of Greg’s life was what my kids were supposed to call him, should I end up having any. He was deciding between Grandaddy and Pop-Pop. It makes my heart ache when I see tall gray-haired men and their grandchildren, especially at the movies. I am so grateful for the excellent rearing that I got…..Happy Birthday, Daddio. Enjoy your vanilla/vanilla cupcake and dream a little dream for me.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Scattered Thoughts on Greg's Literary Light
As someone who loves books on a deeply personal level, as well as working in bookstores for a decade and teaching as a reading specialist now, I can say with authority that my father was a major reader. He read novels, plays, history, and writing advice with almost equal fervor. He read every night before bed. He read on the can. He read on set. He read while waiting for other things to happen. He had the most awesome early editions of wonderful books, and the spines were so cracked you knew they weren’t just for show. And I had access to every one of them…..
I am a serious book nerd, as pretty much everyone who knows me knows. Written words are my most important art form, above performance, painting, and photography. While Sharon gets the credit for making me into a capable reader, Greg gets the credit for making books a part of my very soul. I was always welcome to read anything from his collection, as far back as I can remember. I assume he figured that if it was too mature for me, I would give up and put it back. The only author he ever tried to warn me away from was Saul Bellow (he told me to wait a decade, I didn’t, and Herzog bored me into never trying Bellow again). Thanks to Greg’s easygoing attitude, I had read James M. Cain, John Irving, and JD Salinger before I was 14. I read absolutely for pleasure and all of the time. (I just realized that sentence works in both the past and present tense of read)
When I moved to New York, Greg enrolled me in my own personal book-of-the-month club, and every thirty days or so I received a brown paper package in the mail with some new reading material. Sometimes he sent a book of his own that I hadn’t read yet, sometimes it was a brand new book, and sometimes it was a cool edition from a used bookstore. You’d think it would be pretty hard to introduce a bookslave like myself to new authors, but it was because of Greg that I developed a deep fondness for authors like Philip Roth, Maile Meloy, Annie Proulx , and Suzan Lori-Parks, among many others. He ended up sending me about 36 books before I moved back to CA- that’s dedicated parenting for ya!
Some of Greg’s favorite authors that are also mine: Richard Yates, Raymond Carver, Elmore Leonard, James Baldwin, Raymond Chandler, James Ellroy, Albert Camus, Nathaniel West, John Kennedy Toole, Andre Dubus, and the list goes on and on and on. It would be faster for me to mention the authors I love that weren’t influenced by Greg’s taste.
I’ve mentioned this story before, but after one of Greg’s chemo treatments in June 2008, he and Sharon went to Borders and brought home the new hardcover by David Sedaris. I’d mentioned that I had been in the library queue for months and was still #534 or so- for a broke student teacher, Greg tossing the book in my lap with a smile was nothing short of a miracle.
Naturally, all this reading is inextricably tied in to a love of writing, but this has been a long enough entry and I’ll save all that for another time. I’ll close with an inscription from the edition of Writing Down the Bones that Greg gave me and that I came across recently:
MY DEAR MAX,
ONE OF MY TEACHERS ONCE SAID, TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOUR GIFT. YOU ARE GOING TO BE A WONDERFUL TEACHER, BUT DON’T NEGLECT YOUR WRITING GIFT. HAPPY 25TH BIRTHDAY!
MUCH LOVE AND MANY IRISH KISSES,
DADDIO
I am a serious book nerd, as pretty much everyone who knows me knows. Written words are my most important art form, above performance, painting, and photography. While Sharon gets the credit for making me into a capable reader, Greg gets the credit for making books a part of my very soul. I was always welcome to read anything from his collection, as far back as I can remember. I assume he figured that if it was too mature for me, I would give up and put it back. The only author he ever tried to warn me away from was Saul Bellow (he told me to wait a decade, I didn’t, and Herzog bored me into never trying Bellow again). Thanks to Greg’s easygoing attitude, I had read James M. Cain, John Irving, and JD Salinger before I was 14. I read absolutely for pleasure and all of the time. (I just realized that sentence works in both the past and present tense of read)
When I moved to New York, Greg enrolled me in my own personal book-of-the-month club, and every thirty days or so I received a brown paper package in the mail with some new reading material. Sometimes he sent a book of his own that I hadn’t read yet, sometimes it was a brand new book, and sometimes it was a cool edition from a used bookstore. You’d think it would be pretty hard to introduce a bookslave like myself to new authors, but it was because of Greg that I developed a deep fondness for authors like Philip Roth, Maile Meloy, Annie Proulx , and Suzan Lori-Parks, among many others. He ended up sending me about 36 books before I moved back to CA- that’s dedicated parenting for ya!
Some of Greg’s favorite authors that are also mine: Richard Yates, Raymond Carver, Elmore Leonard, James Baldwin, Raymond Chandler, James Ellroy, Albert Camus, Nathaniel West, John Kennedy Toole, Andre Dubus, and the list goes on and on and on. It would be faster for me to mention the authors I love that weren’t influenced by Greg’s taste.
I’ve mentioned this story before, but after one of Greg’s chemo treatments in June 2008, he and Sharon went to Borders and brought home the new hardcover by David Sedaris. I’d mentioned that I had been in the library queue for months and was still #534 or so- for a broke student teacher, Greg tossing the book in my lap with a smile was nothing short of a miracle.
Naturally, all this reading is inextricably tied in to a love of writing, but this has been a long enough entry and I’ll save all that for another time. I’ll close with an inscription from the edition of Writing Down the Bones that Greg gave me and that I came across recently:
MY DEAR MAX,
ONE OF MY TEACHERS ONCE SAID, TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOUR GIFT. YOU ARE GOING TO BE A WONDERFUL TEACHER, BUT DON’T NEGLECT YOUR WRITING GIFT. HAPPY 25TH BIRTHDAY!
MUCH LOVE AND MANY IRISH KISSES,
DADDIO
Monday, March 8, 2010
Erin Go Bra-less
Letter from Sharon: March 2010
ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2010
Past……present……future
PAST: Oh, the memories!! From the first time I boiled a corned beef all those years ago, and it was so tough we had to laugh so I wouldn’t cry about it….the road ahead lead to St. Patrick’s Day becoming one of our favorite Suddeth family traditions…….St. Patrick’s Day was the one day of the year where the ol’ Dutch lady honored her Irish love in grand style, and in the process, our home became filled with not only the smell of the best corned beef this side of the Rockies (I‘m just sayin‘…) , but also overflowing with so much love and laughter and fun! That night always made me feel like our house was “home” to all our family & friends, almost like a family reunion where so many busy lives came together for a few hours to share and catch up and remind ourselves of how richly blessed we are to know each other. But for me, it was even more personal………it was a small way to let the world know how proud I was to be Greg’s wife, and to acknowledge the richness he brought into my life. And so, it was just perfectly fitting and so incredible that you all brought that energy and love back to our family in our backyard on St. Patrick’s Day last year………….I still often sit out there under the stars and feel it.
PRESENT: I’m taking a year off. There……….I said it. Talk about mixed emotions. But I guess the most honest thing to say is this: It just doesn’t feel right this year. I’m grateful that I don’t have to try and explain in words what I’m feeling in my heart.
If you’d like, I invite you to Megan’s blog for her dad: gregsuddeth.blogspot.com. Max, like her father, finds a way with words that will make you laugh & cry, sometimes in the same sentence……oh, so Irish of them, don’t you think??? It’d be great to read some of your favorite St. Patrick’s Day memories there if you’d like to share them.
FUTURE: Never say never!! I have a feeling there’s still more corned beef in your future one of these years ahead! But ‘til then, I’m looking forward to keeping in touch with all of you….looking forward to backyard bbq’s, taking in some dodger games, coffee dates, and just hanging out……………let’s not let time pass too quickly before we find some time to share.
I hope that each of you will take a few minutes on St. Patrick’s Day this year to feel the love coming back to you that you brought to our home for so many years………… remember the good times………..share some Irish Hugs & Kisses along the way……………
ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2010
Past……present……future
PAST: Oh, the memories!! From the first time I boiled a corned beef all those years ago, and it was so tough we had to laugh so I wouldn’t cry about it….the road ahead lead to St. Patrick’s Day becoming one of our favorite Suddeth family traditions…….St. Patrick’s Day was the one day of the year where the ol’ Dutch lady honored her Irish love in grand style, and in the process, our home became filled with not only the smell of the best corned beef this side of the Rockies (I‘m just sayin‘…) , but also overflowing with so much love and laughter and fun! That night always made me feel like our house was “home” to all our family & friends, almost like a family reunion where so many busy lives came together for a few hours to share and catch up and remind ourselves of how richly blessed we are to know each other. But for me, it was even more personal………it was a small way to let the world know how proud I was to be Greg’s wife, and to acknowledge the richness he brought into my life. And so, it was just perfectly fitting and so incredible that you all brought that energy and love back to our family in our backyard on St. Patrick’s Day last year………….I still often sit out there under the stars and feel it.
PRESENT: I’m taking a year off. There……….I said it. Talk about mixed emotions. But I guess the most honest thing to say is this: It just doesn’t feel right this year. I’m grateful that I don’t have to try and explain in words what I’m feeling in my heart.
If you’d like, I invite you to Megan’s blog for her dad: gregsuddeth.blogspot.com. Max, like her father, finds a way with words that will make you laugh & cry, sometimes in the same sentence……oh, so Irish of them, don’t you think??? It’d be great to read some of your favorite St. Patrick’s Day memories there if you’d like to share them.
FUTURE: Never say never!! I have a feeling there’s still more corned beef in your future one of these years ahead! But ‘til then, I’m looking forward to keeping in touch with all of you….looking forward to backyard bbq’s, taking in some dodger games, coffee dates, and just hanging out……………let’s not let time pass too quickly before we find some time to share.
I hope that each of you will take a few minutes on St. Patrick’s Day this year to feel the love coming back to you that you brought to our home for so many years………… remember the good times………..share some Irish Hugs & Kisses along the way……………
Monday, January 25, 2010
Baby, you can drive my car...
A couple weeks ago, Dillon made a very astute observation from Dillon-land. We were having a riled up argument about Greg’s office, in which I yelled, “It’s Greg’s office, not yours, and anybody can go in there who wants to,” to which Dillon promptly replied, ‘Greg can’t.”
He made a similar observation when we were driving to Trader Joe’s in Greg’s car (very agreeably on that occasion) and as we drove along with nothing but the radio between us, I thought about all the great memories I have of being with my dad in his car, both as passenger and driver.
I learned how to drive in the Ford when I was in high school, and I distinctly remember night drives when he would pick me up from my acting classes at SMC. I would come out of class around 10pm to find Greg leaning against the driver’s side door, sometimes smoking, often just checking out the night sky. He would move around to the passenger side so I could drive home. Once we were at a red light and the green arrow came on, so the left turn lane started to move. I was zoning out and let my foot off the gas too, even though I wasn’t in the turning lane but in the lane to the right (luckily at the head of the line). Once I slammed my foot back on the brake, I sheepishly looked over at Greg and all he said was “Happens to the best of us, Maxie.”
So clearly it was through no fault of my driving buddy that I didn’t get my license until I was in my mid-twenties. Circumstances and reluctance went hand in hand and I made very good friends with public transportation, but when I moved back from New York it was time to get drivin’. Greg took me to the DMV for my test (yes, THREE times before I passed) and had the same chill attitude and supportive neck squeeze ready each time. In retrospect, I admire so much that when I did pass on the third try, his reaction was so understated (as if I wasn’t almost a decade late, as if it wasn't my third try) that I felt even more proud of myself than if he had jumped up and down and sang.
When Greg got sick, he still did most of the driving most of the time. The last time he drove me somewhere, he was backing out of the driveway and said, "Can you check for cars? I can't turn my neck lately." After that we traded seats. December 5th, 2008 was the last time that I drove Greg somewhere in his car. We went to two different Ralph's grocery stores looking for a specific Sinter Klaas present for Sharon that he had in mind. We had to lean against the car for a minute in the parking lot while his head cleared. I was so glad to do that small thing for my father.
From the passenger end, I have a million great memories of Greg driving. This wasn't the Ford, but Dillon went to preschool in Atwater Park, which was a bit of a jaunt. I used to love when Greg and I would listen to the radio and drive over there together. I remember when we heard "Yesterday" on KLOS and Greg told me that Paul had written it for his dead mom.
When he used to take us to Union Station or Dodger Stadium, he would jazz the gas on that big hill up to Temple from Beverly, and Dillon and I would squeal ‘Wheeeeee!” The other way around, I always felt a happy rush when I saw him turn a corner at Union Station or LAX or Bob Hope Airport; that was when I really felt home from San Diego or New York or wherever. Also, I don’t need any parenting expert to tell me that the best conversations with teenagers happen in the car, where it’s impossible and dangerous to talk face-to-face. Side-to-side led to honesty, patience, and empathy – on both ends.
A year ago it made my stomach clench to see Greg’s car in the parking lot at my school, because it reminded me just exactly why it was there and who can’t drive it anymore. Now I’m grateful to be driving Greg’s car because it makes me feel close to my dad. Driving at night, radio blaring, windows cracked, cold California jasmine-scented breezes pouring in….I learned from the best. Thanks, Daddio.
He made a similar observation when we were driving to Trader Joe’s in Greg’s car (very agreeably on that occasion) and as we drove along with nothing but the radio between us, I thought about all the great memories I have of being with my dad in his car, both as passenger and driver.
I learned how to drive in the Ford when I was in high school, and I distinctly remember night drives when he would pick me up from my acting classes at SMC. I would come out of class around 10pm to find Greg leaning against the driver’s side door, sometimes smoking, often just checking out the night sky. He would move around to the passenger side so I could drive home. Once we were at a red light and the green arrow came on, so the left turn lane started to move. I was zoning out and let my foot off the gas too, even though I wasn’t in the turning lane but in the lane to the right (luckily at the head of the line). Once I slammed my foot back on the brake, I sheepishly looked over at Greg and all he said was “Happens to the best of us, Maxie.”
So clearly it was through no fault of my driving buddy that I didn’t get my license until I was in my mid-twenties. Circumstances and reluctance went hand in hand and I made very good friends with public transportation, but when I moved back from New York it was time to get drivin’. Greg took me to the DMV for my test (yes, THREE times before I passed) and had the same chill attitude and supportive neck squeeze ready each time. In retrospect, I admire so much that when I did pass on the third try, his reaction was so understated (as if I wasn’t almost a decade late, as if it wasn't my third try) that I felt even more proud of myself than if he had jumped up and down and sang.
When Greg got sick, he still did most of the driving most of the time. The last time he drove me somewhere, he was backing out of the driveway and said, "Can you check for cars? I can't turn my neck lately." After that we traded seats. December 5th, 2008 was the last time that I drove Greg somewhere in his car. We went to two different Ralph's grocery stores looking for a specific Sinter Klaas present for Sharon that he had in mind. We had to lean against the car for a minute in the parking lot while his head cleared. I was so glad to do that small thing for my father.
From the passenger end, I have a million great memories of Greg driving. This wasn't the Ford, but Dillon went to preschool in Atwater Park, which was a bit of a jaunt. I used to love when Greg and I would listen to the radio and drive over there together. I remember when we heard "Yesterday" on KLOS and Greg told me that Paul had written it for his dead mom.
When he used to take us to Union Station or Dodger Stadium, he would jazz the gas on that big hill up to Temple from Beverly, and Dillon and I would squeal ‘Wheeeeee!” The other way around, I always felt a happy rush when I saw him turn a corner at Union Station or LAX or Bob Hope Airport; that was when I really felt home from San Diego or New York or wherever. Also, I don’t need any parenting expert to tell me that the best conversations with teenagers happen in the car, where it’s impossible and dangerous to talk face-to-face. Side-to-side led to honesty, patience, and empathy – on both ends.
A year ago it made my stomach clench to see Greg’s car in the parking lot at my school, because it reminded me just exactly why it was there and who can’t drive it anymore. Now I’m grateful to be driving Greg’s car because it makes me feel close to my dad. Driving at night, radio blaring, windows cracked, cold California jasmine-scented breezes pouring in….I learned from the best. Thanks, Daddio.
Friday, December 18, 2009
I wish I had a river...I could skate away on.
Why do public places include the song River by Joni Mitchell on their Christmas rotations along with Frosty the Snowman and Jingle Bell Rock? Don't get me wrong, I love the song. I still remember the Robert Downey Jr cover on Ally McBeal that was gorgeous. But like cutters use razors, I use River when I want to have a great big bawl session and dump my feelings all over the floor. Now, that is a way more satisfying experience at home in bed than it is at the mall.
Greg moved on 52 Fridays ago. The official one year date is tomorrow, but the day of the week feels more real to me than the date; it aches more to have the last day of school before winter break and remember that a year ago I was hungover and cheerful and anxious to come see my parents. The week has been filled with tugs and reminders, but especially today.
It's too bad that a year's time seems to have brought more distance than perspective. During this time though, I've realized that I think my dad knew pretty well what I thought of him. He knew that I respected him as a man and admired him as a writer and actor. He knew I was angry for a long time about his alcoholism, and he knew how grateful I was for his sobriety. He knew that I knew he was loyal, and that he would do anything to protect me. I hope he knew how much I enjoyed the pleasure of his company.
I guess I'm grateful that there wasn't any great rift between my father and I, no big words left unsaid. What I said the afternoon he died and have thought about often since, is that it's the little mundane words that hurt so badly, the things you want to say over and over again that you've hopefully said a million times before and now you'll never say again: "I love you." "I appreciate you."
Sometimes I try to replay what I said on St. Patricks Day, but it's all a big blur. I know I left a lot unsaid. Lucky for me, there's a communication that runs deeper than words. A year later, I still find myself hoping and praying the line hasn't been cut.
Greg moved on 52 Fridays ago. The official one year date is tomorrow, but the day of the week feels more real to me than the date; it aches more to have the last day of school before winter break and remember that a year ago I was hungover and cheerful and anxious to come see my parents. The week has been filled with tugs and reminders, but especially today.
It's too bad that a year's time seems to have brought more distance than perspective. During this time though, I've realized that I think my dad knew pretty well what I thought of him. He knew that I respected him as a man and admired him as a writer and actor. He knew I was angry for a long time about his alcoholism, and he knew how grateful I was for his sobriety. He knew that I knew he was loyal, and that he would do anything to protect me. I hope he knew how much I enjoyed the pleasure of his company.
I guess I'm grateful that there wasn't any great rift between my father and I, no big words left unsaid. What I said the afternoon he died and have thought about often since, is that it's the little mundane words that hurt so badly, the things you want to say over and over again that you've hopefully said a million times before and now you'll never say again: "I love you." "I appreciate you."
Sometimes I try to replay what I said on St. Patricks Day, but it's all a big blur. I know I left a lot unsaid. Lucky for me, there's a communication that runs deeper than words. A year later, I still find myself hoping and praying the line hasn't been cut.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
If you give a cat a cupcake...Watch out!
Greg made my birthday special for so many years; even tonight, the Dodgers miraculously won their 2nd post-season game from behind in the bottom of the 9th. Tonight, I was able to make my birthday a special day for so many of the children I work with. As part of Family Reading Night at our school, I made over 80 cupcakes: we read the book If You Give a Cat a Cupcake, and decorated cupcakes in two thirty minute sessions. Before I read, I asked the students what they thought would happen if you give a cat a cupcake. One little boy was definitely channeling Greg when he yelled out, "He'll get diarrhea and then he'll DIE!"
This is the first year my birthday wasn't all about me (just mostly about me). Maybe it's the passing of the torch, but it made me better to see those kids' faces filled with light. I still miss my dad so much, but tonight he didn't feel so far away...
A few birthday memories:
1. Going to the Queen Mary for an overnight sleepover and searching for ghosts.
2. Italian party (Godfather homage, girlie style) in the backyard.
3. Greg videotaping my birthday guests in a police-style lineup against the wall at the duplex.
4. Greg and Sharon driving down to San Diego to take me out to lunch, and bringing a helium balloon for my apartment.
5. Last year, in Ventura, when Greg and Sharon spent the night in a hotel and Dillon (and the dog) slept over in the living room...after we all had a wonderful birthday dinner homemade by Sharon.
This is the first year my birthday wasn't all about me (just mostly about me). Maybe it's the passing of the torch, but it made me better to see those kids' faces filled with light. I still miss my dad so much, but tonight he didn't feel so far away...
A few birthday memories:
1. Going to the Queen Mary for an overnight sleepover and searching for ghosts.
2. Italian party (Godfather homage, girlie style) in the backyard.
3. Greg videotaping my birthday guests in a police-style lineup against the wall at the duplex.
4. Greg and Sharon driving down to San Diego to take me out to lunch, and bringing a helium balloon for my apartment.
5. Last year, in Ventura, when Greg and Sharon spent the night in a hotel and Dillon (and the dog) slept over in the living room...after we all had a wonderful birthday dinner homemade by Sharon.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Shamrock by Bob Hummer
Here is a poem written by one of Greg's friends, Bob Hummer, that was read at the memorial service on March 17th. My apologies for sharing it so late...
SHAMROCK
BASEBALL
WORDS
THE SOUND OF THEM
SOMETHING IRISH
ST. PATTY'S WITH FRIENDS WHO RODE WITH
HIM THROUGH THE YEARS
ST. PATTY'S CATHEDRAL
TRANSCENDING
UP FROM A BODY OF PAIN
TO A PLATEAU OF GRACE
RELEASE FOR SOUL
GIFT FOR THE SPIRIT
SKY
TO THE ONES WHO HAVE COME BEFORE
TO LEARN HEAVEN EVEN FOR A SHORT WHILE
BEFORE THE NEW PLAY
CONFESSING WORDS WRITTEN AND SPOKEN
PRAYERS CROWNING THE HEADS OF
HIS CHILDREN
LIFE ETERNAL
A COMET TURNS INTO A WORLD
A LIVING SOUL
WORK SHOT THROUGH THE EARTH TO HEAVEN
POINTING TO REBIRTH'S FLAME
WARM IN THE LIGHT
OF AN IRISH NIGHT
HOLDING SHARON'S HAND
SHE AND HER FRIEND DAWN
HAVE A GAMBLING PROBLEM
BUT EVERYTHING'LL BE OKAY
IT'S ST. PATTY'S DAY
ONWARD GREG
FARTHER ALONG TO UNDERSTAND WHY
BUT FOR NOW
FLOATING
SOFTLY
WAY ABOVE A BED
RELAXED
EASY
PRESENT
-BOB HUMMER
SHAMROCK
BASEBALL
WORDS
THE SOUND OF THEM
SOMETHING IRISH
ST. PATTY'S WITH FRIENDS WHO RODE WITH
HIM THROUGH THE YEARS
ST. PATTY'S CATHEDRAL
TRANSCENDING
UP FROM A BODY OF PAIN
TO A PLATEAU OF GRACE
RELEASE FOR SOUL
GIFT FOR THE SPIRIT
SKY
TO THE ONES WHO HAVE COME BEFORE
TO LEARN HEAVEN EVEN FOR A SHORT WHILE
BEFORE THE NEW PLAY
CONFESSING WORDS WRITTEN AND SPOKEN
PRAYERS CROWNING THE HEADS OF
HIS CHILDREN
LIFE ETERNAL
A COMET TURNS INTO A WORLD
A LIVING SOUL
WORK SHOT THROUGH THE EARTH TO HEAVEN
POINTING TO REBIRTH'S FLAME
WARM IN THE LIGHT
OF AN IRISH NIGHT
HOLDING SHARON'S HAND
SHE AND HER FRIEND DAWN
HAVE A GAMBLING PROBLEM
BUT EVERYTHING'LL BE OKAY
IT'S ST. PATTY'S DAY
ONWARD GREG
FARTHER ALONG TO UNDERSTAND WHY
BUT FOR NOW
FLOATING
SOFTLY
WAY ABOVE A BED
RELAXED
EASY
PRESENT
-BOB HUMMER
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Let Them Eat Cake
So the Yankees hammered the Red Sox and the Dodgers nailed the Braves with a walk-off home run (we were at the stadium to see it), and at 11:30 pm we blew out the candle on a vanilla/vanilla cupcake. Standing in the backyard under the full moon, Sharon and I each made a wish and sent off a prayer, thinking of you. I'm going to follow the Chinese custom of leaving this food out for your ghost, to provide spiritual nourishment on your journey where I cannot yet follow.
Happy Birthday, Daddy. I love you.
Happy Birthday, Daddy. I love you.
Friday, June 19, 2009
It still hurts every day...
but i think we're all getting stronger. Don't worry Daddy, since Sharon is out of town we watched Jaws and the Shining and ordered pizza in your honor, just like you. 6 months to the day and I still feel raw, but if I didn't feel that way, it would mean I valued our relationship less. The most profound thing anyone has said about all this is that "it will change you deeply, unavoidably, permanently- but it's up to you to figure out how." I still want you to be proud of me, all the time, so I'm trying to keep changing for the better. I love you and I miss you.
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