Framed

So today I got to enjoy one of the greatest pleasures of fatherhood: taking my daughter's diploma to be framed. Frame Art is a shop next to Tobacco Road -- a big warehouse-sized place that's been there forever. I took my law school diploma there, D1's college and grad school diplomas, and now D2's college job. The shop is owned by a Cuban guy a little older than I am, and his mother. They also own the land, and the son told me he's been offered over $10M to sell. I ask why he doesn't, and he tells me he has 4 ex wives, all of whom would simply file for alimony modifications and take their share. The mom was there today when D2 and I walked in. She told me she could never sell -- her son, a charming raconteur, would "get into too much trouble" without the business. D2 picked out a frame and some matting, and we handed over the heavy paper sheet. I reflected on all of the money, sacrifice, and tears that went into that accomplishment. D2 had something to do with it, too. The Frame mom told me the job would be done in a few hours, but I told her to take her time. It took 4 years to earn that degree -- a few days to decorate the symbol of it's completion was no big deal. It's funny - virtually all the people in our social circles have at least a Bachelor's degree. In fact, one of D2's friend's Moms did NOT -- and she's the outlier. So it's easy to take the earning of a college degree for granted, but I never do. I recall how much my father admired those who went to college -- and the fact that he never did was one of his great regrets. He did well profesionally, and was certainly a self taught intellectual, but he still would get wistful when I would share with him my experiences from the U. So now D2 has joined the club, and, if all goes well, will have another diploma next Summer. 2 Ds, and 2 MS degrees? I am one proud, rocking Daddy in the USA...

Summer, the Formerly Best Season

When I was a boy, Summer was my favorite time of the year. School was out, Little League was in, and my two favorite holidays came in July: Independence Day and my birthday. I remember sitting in school in early June, pining for the coming season. First, as I lived in a world of much older sisters, my young age was always something I wished to overcome, and each July there'd be another notch towards maturity. I specifically remember being 9, and the seeming decade long wait until I reached the double digits. And the wonderful Fourth...as a kid, it meant my parents taking me and some friends to Eisenhower Park, a picnic blanket and a cooler of watermelon and cookies, and watching the great fireworks display. As I got to be a 'tween, the Fourth meant going to my friend Mark's house, and setting off the illegal fireworks we began buying in March...firecrackers, Roman candles, M-80s, and one year a "blockbuster" which was supposedly equal to 1/8 of a stick of dynamite. Mark's father, a JFK airport meteorogist, let us enjoy our pyrotechnics, and it's really a wonder none of us was killed or maimed. Years ago I did learn that my friend Eric still had hearing loss in one ear that resulted from my other friend Fitz forgetting to toss a firecracker, instead allowing it to go off inches from Eric's ear... When we were truly grownups, 17, we took our crudely made fake IDs and headed to Beefsteak Charlies, where you could have all the beer, wine, and sangria you could take, along with your meal. The fake IDs came about when I realized that our old family manual typewriter had the same typeface as the information on the pictureless NY state driver's licenses. With careful placement, one could, with a strong keystroke, replace the '61 in our birthdates with '60, instantly rendering ourselves 18 and legal to drink. It worked! We got drunk at the Nassau Mall Charlies, and walked the 4 miles to the park, where the fireworks looked even brighter than they had before. Summer in South Florida isn't so great. It's hot as hell, and humid. Although July 4, 1981 was an awesome one for me, with a crazy party at my friend Vince's parents' house, by 1983 my Dad was dead, and I took my sad mother to FAU to watch their fireworks show -- going through the motions. This year the Ds are off to NYC and many friend who live there. D2's boyfriend Jonathan apparently found them a roof top party where they can see the main display over the East River. Wifey and I and Norman and Deb and Dave and Maureen are headed to the Palm Steakhouse, for some NY strips and martinis, followed by some fireworks from the side of the Broad Causeway. So summer is ok, I guess. It's just lost some of the magic it held when I was a boy. But as long as there are fireworks...

Thomas B Manuel

It was the Spring of 1983, and it was a heady time for (now) Drs. Eric and Barry and me. Eric and I were about to graduate the U, and Barry would be a rising senior. We had plans to move in together -- a 3 bedroom place where a med student, law student, and senior undergrad pre med would live together without driving each other crazy... The plans would only become 2/3 reality. The day we were supposed to sign the lease, Barry dropped out, forcing Eric and I to scramble and find a 2 bedroom place right before grad school started...a much older woman (she was 26; I was 22) lived upstairs, and would become Wifey. But that was months away from this story... So we took a Spring Break trip to Epcot and Disney. We loved Epcot because you could drink beer in fake Germany, and wine in fake France. Eric, ever the planner, figured out with precidion which rides to visit at which times. This cracked Barry up so much, he still chuckles about it more than 3 decades later. We left for home late, in a caravan of several cars. In our car, Barry was driving, Eric was in the passenger seat, and I was in the back with some now forgotten resident of Building 22. Eric and the other guy were dozing, and I was keeping up a banter with Barry ti keep him awake, to avoid one of those many horrific crashes into a canal that would come to haunt me later, as the Ds made frequent drives from Miami to Gainesville. We were headed south, in Martin County. We crossed the "Thomas B Manuel Memorial Bridge." "Great guy, that Manuel," I said. Barry countered "He must have been --they named a Turnpike bridge after him." And then Eric, semi asleep, raised an imaginary glass to him and uttered a phrase so absurd and non sensical, that Barry worried Eric might be having a stroke. You see, Eric was ALWAYS in control, and never said stupid, non sensical things, let alone sexually perverse ones, which this was. Barry and I laughed so hard, the laughter sustained us all the way back to Coral Gables. Eric had little to no memory of the incident. It became part of the lore of our long friendship. The following Fall, we drove to UF to watch the Gators beat our Canes -- the last game the Canes would lose on their way to the promised land -- the first national championship. We stopped on the Turnpike roadside, before the bridge, and toasted Thomas B Manuel. To this day, we remember the event. Just hours ago, I got a FaceBook (tm) message from Dr. Barry's boy Josh. Their family is en route to Gville, to drop off Scott at a high school journalism program. Josh shouted out to his uncles Eric and me that they just crossed the Manuel Bridge... Years after the silly incident, I was researching a case against the Florida Transportation Department, and came across Mr. Manuel. Turns out he was a beloved Broward legislator, who is considered the "Father of Florida's Turnpike." The Northern bunch, called the "Pork Chop Gang," were vehemently opposed to the road -- wanting to keep tourists North, despite the fact that North Florida, well, SUCKS. The Pork Chop Gang knew if the Turnpike was built, tourists would cruise right past North and Central Florida on their way to SoFla... And so it came to pass, at least until Disney took over, keeping plenty of folks in the scrub pine lands near Orlando... So much for state history. As for my brothers' history, I thank Thomas B Manuel. Those who come after the three undergrads, now 2 docs and a lawyer, are fated to traverse the Thomas B Manuel Bridge. Viva Manuel. Viva the menory of Eric, Barry, and me --31 years ago.

First Day Of Summer

Tomorrow is the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, and beginning of the hottest season. For some reason, we got a nice respite early this morning -- I guess it was last night's rains ahead of a cold front. As I sat at my pond, watching the fish eat the food I tossed them, and wondering whether the strange rescue dog was going to topple into the water, requiring a comical rescue, I actually felt a hint of a cool breeze. The rescue dog navigated her way off the stone wall and away from the pond, thankfully. It's a nice time here, at Villa Wifey. D1 is off work today, hosting her friend Adam in town from NYC. D2 is sleeping in, after a 4 day work week at the cruise line, followed by an evening out with lifelong friend Amanda in the Grove. Amanda's boyfriend Nick is here from LA -- nice fellow. I met him in Chicago when we all gathered to watch the Canes play Notre Dame. He reminds me of the actor John Goodman. I hope they end up together. Wifey's ugly headed bad back may be improving. She reported that she was able to sit in the hairdresser's chair for a whole session the other day. Of course, then this am she reported she has a bad cold -- it's, as Roseann said, ALWAYS something. I'll head to the office later --to send some contracts to a new client we spoke with last night who claims a bad chiropractic adjustment lead to neurosurgery to fuse his cervical spine. It'll be a hell of a case if it pans out... But Miami's worst time of year looms...heat, humidity, bugs. There's Miami Spice, of course, with great restaurant values, and Marlins games in the cool, air conditioned stadium. I need to travel though. There's a deposition in Key West I may volunteer to attend -- at least I'll get one night of eating raw shellfish at the Bight, listening to music off Duval, and drinking at the Chart Room. I'm getting a little cabin fever here -- it always happens as the heat grows oppressive. But who knows -- maybe there'll be a few more of those unexpected cool breezes...

Soccer in the USA

When I was in grade school, they taught us soccer and told us it would be the dominant sport in the US by the time we were grownups. Not so fast... I find it to be exceedingly boring and silly to watch, with so little scoring and hours of nothing. I know I'm in the tiny majority worldwide, but so be it. One of our roommates, Frank, is a huge fan. Although he was raised in Queens and looks for all the world like a Queens Italian guy, in fact he was born in Colombia and is pumped these days over the Colombia and US teams. He's flying to Rio next week to see a game ($2000 for one crappy seat) with some of his primos from Bogota. Frank has been sending us some cases, and wants to send more, so Stu asked me to go with him last night to meet at some bar on South Miami Avenue where Frank was watching the US-Ghana match with Frank's wife, his partner San, and San's lady. San is from Iran, and he likes soccer, too. I was reluctant at first, but Stu persuaded me, and we walked over to 10th street to a place called Gazettas. What a scene Brickell had. All of the bars and restaurants were packed -- TVs set up everywhere, and fans going nuts over the boring game. The US scored, and people cheered, well, like the Dolphins had won a Super Bowl, or something. We joined Frank and San, and soon along came Mendy -- an old friend of our other roommie Joel's. Mendy is an orthodox Jew who grew up on Miami Beach -- he loves soccer, too! They asked what I knew about the game, and I replied "Well, the US is Ghana win!" They thought that was funny. After a half, or quarter, or whatever, Stu and I left for a great Italian place in Mary Brickell -- Divino something or other. The food was awesome , and the mood ecstatic. There's a great Irish pub upstairs called Fado, and it was packed with screaming fans. When the game or match or whatever it's called ended, people streamed into the street wrapped in US flags. Who knew? Anyway, the people loved it, even though our mighty country beat a team from a place where, as Stu pointed out, there's probably no running water. I guess the US will lose when they come against teams from real places -- like Brazil, or Argentina, or Barcelona...Ha. I know Barcelone isn't a world cup team --it's a world rugby team...

Every Day Is Father's Day For Me

Si it's Father's Day weekend, and this cool rocking daddy in the USA is a happy one. D1 is off in Park City, Utah, with old friends from the 305 now living around the country. Her buddy Hannah's family owns a gorgeous house in the mountains, and D1 is out of the heat and hiking and laughing. D2 is stuck here, and all Father's Day responsibilities fall upon her...Ha. Wifey made reservations at the Red Fish Grill for an early dinner, so the three of us will go and eat some seafood and talk to my Mom and Dad in the sea... The Heat will not win their 3rd consecutive title. Wifey is the most disappointed in the family. Dr. Barry and I ate great Italian last night, and he dropped me home in time to watch the 3rd quarter of game 4. I predict the series will be over this weekend. It's a bummer, but not a tragedy like it is when the Canes lose. D2's finished the first week of her internship, and is getting a nice taste of corporate America. She works Monday through Thursday -- 3 day weekends are nice for someone home before finishing a MS degree. She really wants me to buy myself something for Father's Day, since I generally buy stuff for them, and I may relent. I haven't treated myself to any new koi or cichlids in awhile -- I go to the fish farms but end up leaving fish-less -- but D2 will come with me ONLY if I agree to buy. I may just do so... Other than that, the heat is back on -- the seasonal kind. The Ds are both headed to NYC for July 4 -- Wifey's bad back is keeping her within a 5 mile radius of home. I'm starting to get a bit of wanderlust, and may volunteer to handle some depos for the office -- just to change my scenery for awhile... In the mean time -- Dr. Kenny, himself back from a Europe trip, invited me to watch some World Cup game at his house -- US vs. Cameroon, I think he said. Kenny's from LI like I am. Soccer? Really? I may go to drink a few beers and make fun of the game. I guess I'd rather watch soccer than golf, but that's about it. Hours of back and forth, no scoring, and then they add time at the end capriciously and arbitrarily. The rest of the world can have it. Marlins are one game back, and I'll take my lazy butt to a few games, and thankfully, REAL football is only 2 1/2 months away. Ah, now THAT's a gift for this Father...

Casa De Mujeres

It is clearly my birthright to be surrounded by women. I have 2 older sisters. I've been married nearly 28 years to a woman, and I have 2 daughters. All the dogs in my world, until recently, have been bitches, and even the latest, Bo the Spaniel, is a girlie male dog. So this past weekend I had enough -- I needed a break from all this estrogen (or former vessels of estrogen). NAH! Just the opposite -- 2 ADDITIONAL women came to visit. Wifey's friends Edna and Elizabeth were here. Elizabeth was attending her sister's boyfriend's birthday dinner, and Edna was here dealing with her failing parents. Elizabeth took the room above the garage, filled with my Hurrican memorabilia, including some actual chewing gum stuck to the bottom Orange Bowl seats Wifey bought me on Ebay. Edna retired to the room my mother slept in when she stayed -- the so called "Maid's Quarters," even though we never had a maid. It was a nice weekend. Elizabeth was gone, mostly, attending sister related activities, Edna got here late Friday night, and yesterday D1 came by after an afternoon sunglass buying excursion with D2. The Ds, Wifey, Edna, and I went to Town in South Miami. They had salads. I had a burger, but since I was the only man -- I made it a turkey burger. Elizabeth left this am for home in Orlando. Edna is off to Atlanta tomorrow, and D1 is back to Brickell. So I'm back to just Wifey and D2, and D2 is starting her cruise line company internship tomorrow. Maybe there'll be a male grandchild someday. If not, the ladies are just fine with me.

Gratitude Among Chosen Siblings

I have long called Mirta my sister of another mother. We grew close over the years she worked for our firm, and in the final year of my mother's life, she showered Sunny with love, the likes of which left me awed. Although she was in the midst of her mid life career change -- nursing school -- and caring for her 3 grandkids and living in far west Kendall -- she would travel each week to Miami Jewish Home to visit my mother. In doing so, the two grew very close, and Mirta thinks it's an amazing blessing in her life. Her beloved mother died years ago, and Sunny became one to her -- hence --we're siblings. I used to pay Mirta out of Sunny's trust, although she'd have made the visits for free. It turned out the payments were the best use of Sunny's money -- when she died, the funds she had left all went to pay the Medicaid lien. At least she got the benefit of visits with some of those monies... When the end came for Sunny, Mirta slept in her room, by her side -- making sure the hospice people did their jobs. I arrived after Mirta finally went home -- and Sunny died that morning. So last night Mirta came by the office to see D2, and they made plans to meet for a meal at Tropical Chinese, to catch up. After her hair appointment, Mirta and I repaired to Trulucks, for a couple of drinks and appetizers. We caught up. We laughed. Mirta looks amazing -- she lost a lot of weight, and is biking to stay fit. She works as a bookkeeper for my OTHER former secretary, Norma, who has opened an aviation parts company with her husband Raul. And Mirta appreciates life -- each day. She volunteers for a family whose son has cerebral palsy -- they have to change diapers throughout the night. She's thankful for the health of her sons and grandkids. And though Mirta raised her boys alone, after her mentally ill husband checked himself out of this mortal coil, and she struggled -- she says she really didn't. She never went without food, she said, or a roof over their heads. She has come to learn what REAL struggles are, and thinks she is blessed to be free of them. We toasted our kids, and we toasted the exquisiteness of friendships. We laughed at the cast of characters who came into and out of our lives since 1998, when Mirta joined the firm. There were some REAL ones...strange, creepy guys, as well as wonderful examples of humanity. We saw them all. And if there's a better way to spend a cloudy Tuesday evening than laughing with an old friend, well, I don't know what it is.

Graduation All I Ever Wanted

So after a rather busy and eventful week at the office, Friday was time to go to a graduation party. My old LI friend Kenny's boy was graduating from the expensive private school, Ransom, and he and his wife Joelle hosted a fest at Black Point Marina along with 4 other grad families. Wifey's back was rearing its ugly head BIG TIME -- so she bowed out. I went along with Jeff and Lili and 2/3 of their daughters. That family plans to fly up to New England to attend the graduation of the other 1/3 of their daughter corps, and then drive home, all 5 of them, in a mid sized car. They're extending the trip over a week. We got about 5 minutes from our house, and the youngest girl and Lili started arguing. I laughingly observed that maybe this didn't bode too well for their upcoming adventure. They're much braver than I am. The longest family car trip we ever took was to Charleston, SC for a college friend's wedding -- and it was before D2 was born! So we arrived at Black Point, and I said hi to Kenny. He pointed out that the only people who call him Kenny are folks like me who knew him on LI in Junior High School. I guess after becoming a Navy Captain and Pediatric Subspecialist, Ken is more appropriate. He'll always be Kenny to me. We joked about the party being held by the "Five Families," and decided Ken could be the Gambinos... We drank and socialized. I had some smug fun by knowing that my Ds went to public school, while everyone there paid close to $30k per year in private school tuition. Kenny's wife Joelle has a cool, diverse group of friends, and I enjoy chatting with them. The Heat game was on, and luckily was a blow out for the home guys, so nobody was too distracted watching them make it to the NBA Finals for the 4th straight time. I ran into Sonia, a Korean American opthamologist, who has operated on my friends Paul and Norman. She told me she was recently divorced. The running joke is that I would leave Wifey for this lady --she's pretty, fun, charming, and makes probably $750K per year. Nah! It would just bring on a new set of issues. But it was lovely talking to her. She's moved to a condo from her big house, and says she's enjoying it. Her boy was a fellow grad and is heading to Cornell in the Fall. Funny. Not too many Ransom grads go to public schools for college. Jeff drove us home, and I found D2 there, along with her friend Tara and her Boca boyfriend Corey. The last of the Heat game was on. I have one more graduation on the horizon -- D2's scheduled Master's degree next May. We might throw a party. Nah -- she has her eye on a new car. My deal with the girls is that I would buy them 2 new cars -- they each got one in high school, and, if they attended state schools, another upon college graduation. Well, D1 wrecked her high school car -- so got her #2 early. And there's so little mileage on D2's we're keeping it for at least half of her final Gville year. Still, graduation parties are a nice thing to attend. Especially on warm breeze kissed nights, on the water, with old and new friends.