So I began this Thanksgiving by playing William DeVaughn's 70s soul hit, where he reminds "brothers and sisters" they can still stand tall even if they don't drive a great big Cadillac, with gangsta whitewalls, and the great neologism "TV-aters" in the back. Years later I read he meant antennae, but it sounded wrong.
And he's right, of course. We must be thankful for all we have. In my case, I DO drive a great big Cadillac, albeit an SUV, FAR less cool than the El Dorados and Fleetwoods Devaugn was referencing. But there is still much I don't have, and I could well dwell on those things.
As I listened to the song, it brought me back to my junior high years, when in fact I wished I was Black. I was a nerdy Jewish kid on working class Long Island, and there didn't seem much cool about my life, and my family, and my friends. But there were these guys like Walt Clyde Frazier, who played for the Knicks, who HAD El Dorados, or Lincoln Mark IVs, and wore fur coats with wide brimmed hats, and just talked and walked in a far cooler manner than I.
I watched Don Cornelius's "Soul Train" religiously, and tried to imitate the dance moves. Well, as Clint Eastwood famously said, A man's gotta know his limitations, and I knew at a young age I would never dance, or sing, like the Black kids.
That's ok. I came to terms with my lack of cool, and figured out other ways to get girls, using charm and humor, and only danced when I had several drinks, which seemed to loosen up my white-ness a bit, although years later, when Billy Crystal mocked us by saying white guys trying to look cool dancing all employed the "White man's underbite," I knew he was a kindred spirit.
So I'd never be as cool as Walt Frazier, or William DeVaughn, and that was ok.
This came to light only yesterday as I had a long talk with a dear young friend -- more of a nephew, really. He's nearing the end of 25 and not yet launched -- living at home, all expenses paid by Mom and Dad except for the small amounts he makes doing gig work, which he uses to travel and party with.
Come to think of it -- not really a bad way, at all --at 25 I was already responsible for Wifey and my aging Mom, and a few years after that D1 would become my charge, as well. Once I neared my mid 20s, I never knew the freedom of being responsible for only myself -- let alone if someone else paid all my way.
But I shared with him something I just read. I'm a sucker for the click bait that says "I worked with many people who were dying and these were their final thoughts and wishes" genre of writing. Most of them follow the same theme: "If I had to do it over again, I would have worried less about work and making money and spent more time with those I love."
The recent article was different. The writer, a LCSW in hospice somewhere up North, said the theme she most detected was this: The dying wished they had focused more on living our their own dreams instead of trying to live up to the dreams and aspirations others had for them.
Of course, this was said classically by Shakespeare in Hamlet: "To thine own self be true." And like much of Shakespeare's wisdom, it resonates today.
And I shared that with the young man, who admitted much of his life is being pleasing to his parents and aunt and grandmother. The irony with him is I think they'd much rather see him living a more independent and productive life instead of being, essentially, their butler, but we all know people fall into patterns that are hard to break.
Long marriages tend to institutionalize us. Sometimes when people hear what I "put up with" about Wifey and some of her less than, um, traditional wife ways, they're surprised. And it goes the other way, too -- I'm sure people tell her she gives me too much latitude on many issues.
But we've made it work together, and look forward to celebrating anniversary 37 pretty soon.
I reminded my young friend of that, too. When I was 25, I graduated law school and took and passed the bar, began my first full time lawyer job, bought a house, and got married -- lot of man-type stuff packed into a single year of life.
And I told him that if his life goes on the way it is, and it IS his true nature -- that's ok, too. Sooner than later, his parents will need care, and when they pass, he and his brother will inherit a by then 7 figure house. He can work, or not. Have girlfriends, or not, but basically keep the life he has -- all the while remaining the good hearted, sweet person he is.
I think that shocked him a bit -- seeing that could well be his future if his path doesn't change. It was funny -- yesterday was the day before T Day, and yet I sort of found myself playing the role of the Ghost of Christmas Future with my young friend.
He will find his path. Everyone does. I just hope it's the path that comes from his heart and head, and not one he follows to please anyone else before himself.
So back to today, and the reason for the season. The rental company delivered tables, dishes, tablecloths, and utensils, around noon. Wifey was out and about puttering in the yard, and I suggested maybe she wanted to begin setting up. Nah. She finally started close to 8 pm, to learn that much of what she had ordered was missing, or wrong.
She started venturing to that land of tensosity, and I quietly told her no -- she was breaking our deal. I had agreed to spare no expense having vendors do ALL the T Day work, so we would calmly enjoy our guests, and if SHE grew anxious and nervous, it would spill onto me, and thereby defeat the entire purpose of hiring others. She agreed, and went about realizing we owned plenty of silverware that might well do the trick.
She also told me this is our final year hosting. Even with full catering and party rental, it's too daunting to have more than 20 people over. D2 and Jonathan should be in their new house by next T Day, and it has a very large, beautiful dining room -- Wifey has made the matriarchal decision that it' time for D2 and Jonathan to assume hosting duties.
Hey -- being true to myself -- I just want to celebrate with our wonderful extended family -- I don't care where it is. If D2 and Jonathan say no -- it'll be back to a local restaurant for our crew. As long as there's turkey, and stuffing, and pies, and plenty of alcohol, surrounded by those dear to us -- I'm good.
So it's nearing 9 am, indeed Soul music is playing on my Sonos, and I'm off to get in a few miles of walking before the feasting begins. We settled on 330 pm to accommodate nap schedules, and I figure by 4 I'll be actively pouring some adult beverages.
I am one absurdly blessed rockin' Daddy and Granddaddy in the USA. At my core, that's who I am, and who I love to be, and for that I thank the Big Man endlessly.
