Well, the Jewish High Holidays are upon us, and I sit here NOT going to synagogue. I was raised a proud Zionist Jew, but an apostate one, but for the last 14 years or so flirted with the organized part of the religion.
Wifey and I met a delightful young Chabad couple, who brought us back, so to speak, with their warmth and charm, and generous helpings of vodka. We'd attend services, sometimes, and sent Ds 1 and 2 to Hebrew School for Bat Mitzvot.
Alas, I have come full circle, and returned to be my father's son. The reasons are manifold, but a major one involved a TV Movie of the Week-like incident where Dr. Barry resuscitated a near drowning child, who happened to be an Orthodox Jew. The ensuing circus, where the family made Barry out to be like Dr. Kevorkian, for advocating letting the child go, hit home too closely.
As I write, the child remains in a permanent vegetative state, and even my friend Rabbi Yossi continues the believe that this was the right outcome. It struck home to me that, when it comes to the Orthodox, well, it ain't me babe.
Wifey and I had previously rejected the Reform shul, as well, where the ultra liberal rabbis said it was ok to play golf on the sabbath, as long as "in your heart" you were remembering this commandment, and what a wealthy woman wore for services was far more important than the meaning of the holidays.
So, here I sit on this rainy day, an agnostic, and not even a "terrified " one, as Wifey is.
Last night we had the family over for dinner, and it was delightful. My sister Sue's here from California, and we ate, and drank, and looked at old photos, some dating from the 30s. Most importantly, we laughed together, and rejoiced that my mother and in laws, in their 80s, are still with us.
D1 was here until Sunday, but had to go back to college Sunday night. We missed her, but called so she could feel the spirit of the afternoon.
So, to honor my peeps, I won't work today, and will probably head out to the ocean, to contemplate stuff, talk to my late father, and toss my sins into the water (I do dig some of the symbolism). I hope my many sins don't stir up another tropical storm!
Next week, I'll probably fast, and think deeply about my life. Part of me wants to be, as Adam Duritz sang "someone who believes." For this year, though, I'm staying on the sidelines of religion.
That said, Feliz ano judeo, and to all a good night.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Walking Reverie
I had another great walk this morning, despite the too high heat and humidity. I reflected on last night's final game in Yankee Stadium.
Everyone made such a big deal about how old the place is. It opened in April, 1923. My mother happened to call, and we spoke about it. She was born in April of 1920. I told her she had outlived another icon. She said that these days she feels like a creaky old building.
I ran into a neighbor, Scott, with his lovely little girl, who's in first grade. We chatted about schools. He asked about Ds 1 and 2, and I told him how they each were more than 1/2 done with high school and college. "Wow!", he said, "you're in a totally different stage of life!"
Then I found myself looking ahead, to my girls' graduations, and weddings.
It's funny, I never fantasize about my own career future. I guess that comes from doing something for so long. I have no desire to win any more important cases. I just sort of plod along as a lawyer.
Last Saturday, I watched the Canes game with 4 doctor friends. I've know them all, except one, since college --one since junior high school. One is out of the profession due to a disability. One is still in the thick of his profession --working long hours, and teaching young doctors. One treats his job like a high paying 9 to 5 gig. One only cares for rich patients and is looking only for an easy time of things.
So --the mornings will always come, as long as they do.
Everyone made such a big deal about how old the place is. It opened in April, 1923. My mother happened to call, and we spoke about it. She was born in April of 1920. I told her she had outlived another icon. She said that these days she feels like a creaky old building.
I ran into a neighbor, Scott, with his lovely little girl, who's in first grade. We chatted about schools. He asked about Ds 1 and 2, and I told him how they each were more than 1/2 done with high school and college. "Wow!", he said, "you're in a totally different stage of life!"
Then I found myself looking ahead, to my girls' graduations, and weddings.
It's funny, I never fantasize about my own career future. I guess that comes from doing something for so long. I have no desire to win any more important cases. I just sort of plod along as a lawyer.
Last Saturday, I watched the Canes game with 4 doctor friends. I've know them all, except one, since college --one since junior high school. One is out of the profession due to a disability. One is still in the thick of his profession --working long hours, and teaching young doctors. One treats his job like a high paying 9 to 5 gig. One only cares for rich patients and is looking only for an easy time of things.
So --the mornings will always come, as long as they do.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
When I Do Count the Clock That Shows the Tiime
Last week had it all. There was the satisfaction of delivering the settlement drafts to my favorite clients, signaling the end of their 3 year case, and insuring that they have the funds to hire the aids and assistants they need to make their lives easier, and there was the sadness of learning of the death of one of D1's classmates at 20, of cancer.
The latter put me in a rather blue mood for most of the week. I hear about and work with death and tragedy in my line of work, but when it hits close to home, like this young man, it really hits hard. His name was Paul, and he was from Coral Springs. Although D1 didn't know him beyond seeing his face at fraternity parties, she called after the memorial to say she loved me.
His family and friends had gathered at the football stadium to spread his ashes on the field. He was a rabid Gator fan. Wrong team, but he was clearly a young man after my own heart.
To further explore my ennui, I called Barry, the doctor with the world's worst and sometimes best job. He had just finished sending a dying boy off in a helicopter to Delray Hospital, where he would be transferred home to die on his favorite couch. The boy was 9, and had received a liver transplant some years before. Barry's team figured out the boy had a rare metabolic genetic condition which doomed him. The lover transplant had given him 2 more years. His dying wish was to ride in a helicopter. Barry got the company to donate a ride. The boy died hours after he arrived home.
In other words, Barry is truly the expert on human misery.
He told me that much of what we do is whistling past the graveyard --contemplatig and analyzing the dreaded, so keep it at bay from our own lives. He's right, of course.
Awful stuff happens all the time.
And, I'm going to deal with that fact the best way I know how, at least today. Wifey's out to lunch with some loquatious friends. D2 is going out to lunch with a friend. D1 is happily at UF, working on a French project and adoring some new boyfriend.
Some of MY boys are coming here in 2.5 hours to watch our Canes play Texas A and M. We will drink beer. We will eat pizza. We will celebrate this moment in our lives, to borrow the phrase from the old coffee commercial.
To borrow and mangle another line, this one from the classic movie "The Grand Hotel:" tragedies come and tragedies go. Nothing ever really happens.
The latter put me in a rather blue mood for most of the week. I hear about and work with death and tragedy in my line of work, but when it hits close to home, like this young man, it really hits hard. His name was Paul, and he was from Coral Springs. Although D1 didn't know him beyond seeing his face at fraternity parties, she called after the memorial to say she loved me.
His family and friends had gathered at the football stadium to spread his ashes on the field. He was a rabid Gator fan. Wrong team, but he was clearly a young man after my own heart.
To further explore my ennui, I called Barry, the doctor with the world's worst and sometimes best job. He had just finished sending a dying boy off in a helicopter to Delray Hospital, where he would be transferred home to die on his favorite couch. The boy was 9, and had received a liver transplant some years before. Barry's team figured out the boy had a rare metabolic genetic condition which doomed him. The lover transplant had given him 2 more years. His dying wish was to ride in a helicopter. Barry got the company to donate a ride. The boy died hours after he arrived home.
In other words, Barry is truly the expert on human misery.
He told me that much of what we do is whistling past the graveyard --contemplatig and analyzing the dreaded, so keep it at bay from our own lives. He's right, of course.
Awful stuff happens all the time.
And, I'm going to deal with that fact the best way I know how, at least today. Wifey's out to lunch with some loquatious friends. D2 is going out to lunch with a friend. D1 is happily at UF, working on a French project and adoring some new boyfriend.
Some of MY boys are coming here in 2.5 hours to watch our Canes play Texas A and M. We will drink beer. We will eat pizza. We will celebrate this moment in our lives, to borrow the phrase from the old coffee commercial.
To borrow and mangle another line, this one from the classic movie "The Grand Hotel:" tragedies come and tragedies go. Nothing ever really happens.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Funny Mother in Law
My mother in law is one of many people who are extremely funny without having any idea they're funny. She's funny like Mr. Magoo --going through life and leaving disarray in her wake, without realizing it.
Now, she gave up driving years ago, so her pecadilloes aren't traffic related (though she had a few of those in her day, too). No -- she says things, thinking no one hears, when they in fact hear her Eastern European accented voice like she were an opera singer.
Years ago, some friends from Central America we had met on a cruise were visiting. My mother in law "whispered" something about the mother, but her whisper would carry across the Grand Canyon: "You know --she must have been pretty ven she vas a young voman!" There's no doubt our guest heard the comment, and Wifey tried to shush up her mother. That only makes it worse, as she then carries on about how Wifey "Can't tell her mother to be quiet!"
Last year, Wifey was driving us all to lunch, and decided to take a short cut through a neighborhood to our South. We got lost, and Wifey pulled over to a nice young lady to ask how to get back to US 1. The teenager was a tad, um, husky. Before Wifey was able to pull away, we again heard the not sotto voce "Oy --such a pretty girl --it's a shame she's so fat!"
Thereafter, Wifey was in a psychiatrists office with her, to get medical backup for the Holocaust Reparations claims. An incredibly obese woman came in, and my mother in law decided this was the perfect time to discuss weight loss, and Jenny Craig with Wifey. Poor Wifey. For all her efforts to change the conversation, it wasn't going to happen. We can only hope that poor patient wasn't pushed over the edge that day.
Now --much of this comes from my mother in law's lost youth. At 16, she was taken prisoner by the Nazis, and much of her famly died in the concentration camps. The years she might have learned social graces were spent, literally, as a slave. So, she gets a very large pass in the behavior department, in my opinion...
Still, yesterday she struck again. She was at the table with D2,who, like many teens, is rather taciturn. Wifey gave her mother something D2 had written, which was masterful. My mother in law went into the kitchen, and said to Wifey, in the famous non whisper "You know --she doesn't say nothing. You think she's a dummy, but she's very intelligent!"
D2 and I began to laugh hysterically. D2, who happens to be brilliant, gets her grandmother. My mother in law just doesn't get herself.
Years ago, my father in law asked a waiter at a Chinese restaurant "Your parents --they're Chinese like you are?" I didn't have my wonton soup that night, convinced the young man had spit into all of our food.
So --Mr. and Mrs. Magoo ride on!
Now, she gave up driving years ago, so her pecadilloes aren't traffic related (though she had a few of those in her day, too). No -- she says things, thinking no one hears, when they in fact hear her Eastern European accented voice like she were an opera singer.
Years ago, some friends from Central America we had met on a cruise were visiting. My mother in law "whispered" something about the mother, but her whisper would carry across the Grand Canyon: "You know --she must have been pretty ven she vas a young voman!" There's no doubt our guest heard the comment, and Wifey tried to shush up her mother. That only makes it worse, as she then carries on about how Wifey "Can't tell her mother to be quiet!"
Last year, Wifey was driving us all to lunch, and decided to take a short cut through a neighborhood to our South. We got lost, and Wifey pulled over to a nice young lady to ask how to get back to US 1. The teenager was a tad, um, husky. Before Wifey was able to pull away, we again heard the not sotto voce "Oy --such a pretty girl --it's a shame she's so fat!"
Thereafter, Wifey was in a psychiatrists office with her, to get medical backup for the Holocaust Reparations claims. An incredibly obese woman came in, and my mother in law decided this was the perfect time to discuss weight loss, and Jenny Craig with Wifey. Poor Wifey. For all her efforts to change the conversation, it wasn't going to happen. We can only hope that poor patient wasn't pushed over the edge that day.
Now --much of this comes from my mother in law's lost youth. At 16, she was taken prisoner by the Nazis, and much of her famly died in the concentration camps. The years she might have learned social graces were spent, literally, as a slave. So, she gets a very large pass in the behavior department, in my opinion...
Still, yesterday she struck again. She was at the table with D2,who, like many teens, is rather taciturn. Wifey gave her mother something D2 had written, which was masterful. My mother in law went into the kitchen, and said to Wifey, in the famous non whisper "You know --she doesn't say nothing. You think she's a dummy, but she's very intelligent!"
D2 and I began to laugh hysterically. D2, who happens to be brilliant, gets her grandmother. My mother in law just doesn't get herself.
Years ago, my father in law asked a waiter at a Chinese restaurant "Your parents --they're Chinese like you are?" I didn't have my wonton soup that night, convinced the young man had spit into all of our food.
So --Mr. and Mrs. Magoo ride on!
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Religion and Politics
Recently a friend started an email campaign in which he passionately called for all of us to vote for McCain in the upcoming election --saying it was a "historic time" that required us to take a "moral stand." Now, this friend is a great guy, but he's out of central casting when the director calls for a Miami Cuban Republican.
He's rich and Catholic, but has many Jewish friends from growing up in Miami in the 60s and 70s, so he's also staunchly pro -Israel.
Well, after McCain picked the Katherine Harris chick from Alaska to pander to the evangelicals, Wifey blew a fuse, and started enlisting our liberal friends to join in the blogging war. In fact, there are now posts from Indiana Law School Deans, critical care doctors, lapsed Catholic CPAs, and plenty of secular JEwish Democrats, also out of central casting.
The whole affair brings home to me that there really ARE 2 Americas. They are the faith based, who believe we're all tools of God and/of Jesus Christ, and the seculars, who believe the faith based are a bunch of idiots who believe in, as George Carlin called him, the "invisible man in the sky."
Unfortunately or fortunately, I'm with the Carlins. But, unlike some of my comrades (my right wing Cuban friends, hateful of Communism, would say that's an apt term), I realize that the majority of Americans belong to the former.
My rabbi friend, a Chasid, thinks Sarah Palin is the most righteous woman to enter politics in years. This same fellow would refuse to walk into a church, or even gaze upon one, yet he has no problem with Palin's "Jesus this and Jesus that." The old cliche is so true: politcs make for strange bedfellows.
Anyway --the whole blog thing has been fun and entertaining. We've had septugenarian retured schoolteachers weigh in ( a delightful lady who had never eaten a bagel and lox but claims Golda Meir is a lifelong hero) as well as college poli sci students ("you can't vote Republican --what if one of your kids needs an abortion???!).
I think the cooler heads agree that the differences are insoluble. Such is our great country. We're indeed under the ancient Chinese cures of living in interesting times. Wake me after Election Day.
He's rich and Catholic, but has many Jewish friends from growing up in Miami in the 60s and 70s, so he's also staunchly pro -Israel.
Well, after McCain picked the Katherine Harris chick from Alaska to pander to the evangelicals, Wifey blew a fuse, and started enlisting our liberal friends to join in the blogging war. In fact, there are now posts from Indiana Law School Deans, critical care doctors, lapsed Catholic CPAs, and plenty of secular JEwish Democrats, also out of central casting.
The whole affair brings home to me that there really ARE 2 Americas. They are the faith based, who believe we're all tools of God and/of Jesus Christ, and the seculars, who believe the faith based are a bunch of idiots who believe in, as George Carlin called him, the "invisible man in the sky."
Unfortunately or fortunately, I'm with the Carlins. But, unlike some of my comrades (my right wing Cuban friends, hateful of Communism, would say that's an apt term), I realize that the majority of Americans belong to the former.
My rabbi friend, a Chasid, thinks Sarah Palin is the most righteous woman to enter politics in years. This same fellow would refuse to walk into a church, or even gaze upon one, yet he has no problem with Palin's "Jesus this and Jesus that." The old cliche is so true: politcs make for strange bedfellows.
Anyway --the whole blog thing has been fun and entertaining. We've had septugenarian retured schoolteachers weigh in ( a delightful lady who had never eaten a bagel and lox but claims Golda Meir is a lifelong hero) as well as college poli sci students ("you can't vote Republican --what if one of your kids needs an abortion???!).
I think the cooler heads agree that the differences are insoluble. Such is our great country. We're indeed under the ancient Chinese cures of living in interesting times. Wake me after Election Day.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Swamped!
I got back from Gainesville, Canes lost big in the Swamp,and you know what? Who cares!
Mission of the trip was accomplished. Friday night I took Barry, my partner's nearly 30 year old son Alex, his uncle Jeff and cousin Grant to dinner at a fine restaurant in Downtown Gainesville. We drank martinis (and a tequila shot) and had a fine time.
Later, Barry, Geoff, and I met up with a doctor friend and had coffee, while Barry and the doc friend Chris traded tales of childrens hospitals in Gainesville versus Miami.
Sat am Barry and I went to another hotel and met Eric and his extended family, where we chatted and talked of days passed. I drove Barry to his old med school and apartment, and he marveled at how the town's grown in 20 years.
Then, we went to D1's apartment and hung some curtains, while Ds 1 and 2 laughed at our Laurel and Hardy ability with power tools. We got the curtains hung and they're fine, as long as D1 isn't a fanatic about opening and losing them too often!
Friends came and went from her apartment, and it reminded Barry and me of our 3 years together, where folks would come and go, and most had funny tales to tell, like an episode of Seinfeld. More nostalgia...
Later we met Eric and his family in front of a classroom building and ate pizza and drank beer. We tailgated for about 3 hours. There is no better college atmosphere than UF has on gameday. It's truly a sight to behold --over 100,000 people partying in he streets, many with generators powering high def tvs and stoves.
At 7, we headed to the stadium with our UF doc friend Chris. Chris is a Texan who went to SMU and U Texas, and doesn't care too much if the Gators win. We enjoyed his company.
D2 arrived via rick shaw from a fraternity party, and we enjoyed the game together, even though our team lost.
This am we left early, while D1 slept, and drove to Boca to watch MORE football at Eric's house. The Jets beat the Dolphins, so Barry was happy. Dana baked cupcakes and sent our for Mexican food.
So, indeed back to a simpler place in time. Barry loved it! He made one critical error: calling home Friday night to hear his wife complain about his leaving her and her sons, and not putting up storm shutters. Of course, Ike is passing far away from us. Despite that one wet blanket, he thoroughly enjoyed himself, as did all of our number.
So, tomorrow back to the office for all of us, and school for Ds 1 and 2.
May even sweeter times lie ahead.
Mission of the trip was accomplished. Friday night I took Barry, my partner's nearly 30 year old son Alex, his uncle Jeff and cousin Grant to dinner at a fine restaurant in Downtown Gainesville. We drank martinis (and a tequila shot) and had a fine time.
Later, Barry, Geoff, and I met up with a doctor friend and had coffee, while Barry and the doc friend Chris traded tales of childrens hospitals in Gainesville versus Miami.
Sat am Barry and I went to another hotel and met Eric and his extended family, where we chatted and talked of days passed. I drove Barry to his old med school and apartment, and he marveled at how the town's grown in 20 years.
Then, we went to D1's apartment and hung some curtains, while Ds 1 and 2 laughed at our Laurel and Hardy ability with power tools. We got the curtains hung and they're fine, as long as D1 isn't a fanatic about opening and losing them too often!
Friends came and went from her apartment, and it reminded Barry and me of our 3 years together, where folks would come and go, and most had funny tales to tell, like an episode of Seinfeld. More nostalgia...
Later we met Eric and his family in front of a classroom building and ate pizza and drank beer. We tailgated for about 3 hours. There is no better college atmosphere than UF has on gameday. It's truly a sight to behold --over 100,000 people partying in he streets, many with generators powering high def tvs and stoves.
At 7, we headed to the stadium with our UF doc friend Chris. Chris is a Texan who went to SMU and U Texas, and doesn't care too much if the Gators win. We enjoyed his company.
D2 arrived via rick shaw from a fraternity party, and we enjoyed the game together, even though our team lost.
This am we left early, while D1 slept, and drove to Boca to watch MORE football at Eric's house. The Jets beat the Dolphins, so Barry was happy. Dana baked cupcakes and sent our for Mexican food.
So, indeed back to a simpler place in time. Barry loved it! He made one critical error: calling home Friday night to hear his wife complain about his leaving her and her sons, and not putting up storm shutters. Of course, Ike is passing far away from us. Despite that one wet blanket, he thoroughly enjoyed himself, as did all of our number.
So, tomorrow back to the office for all of us, and school for Ds 1 and 2.
May even sweeter times lie ahead.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Road Trip
When I was a young teen, I had a strange fantasy: I wanted to be a PIP. As in, Gladys Knight and the PIPS. Those guys were so smooth, and great dancers, and seemed to have a great time performing. One of their best tunes was "Midnight Train to Georgia." It had the great line about going "back to a simpler place in time."
And that's what I'n doing in about 20 minutes! I'm taking a road trip with my dear friend and college roommate Barry, up to Gainesville to see our Canes play the Gators. It's the first road trip we took together since 1983. Well, we went to Chalet Suzanne in Lake Wales about 9 years ago, but that was with our wives. That trip doesn't count.
I'm more than a little excited about this. Some might dread the 5 hour car ride, but Barry and I have to solve issues about the medical negligence crisis, the upcoming presidential elections, our children, our careers, and why our wives don't appreciate us as much as they should.
D2 is coming along for the ride. I've already cautioned her to bring her I Pod, lest she rapidly grow bored of our conversations. She tells me she has a ton of homework. She'll stay with D1 --Barry and I are staying in a motel along with my law partner, his son, and some more friends.
Back in 1983, we travelled to Gainesvile, too, to watch our Canes. I returned to start law school, and Barry to start his senior year. Eric, who also went with his girlfriend Dana, returned to start medical school. Eric and Dana are going on this trip, too, but with their kids.
It seemed there was so much going on in 1983. Ha! The selfish studies of one 22 year old, and helping care for a widowed mother.
Now, I have a business, wife, 2 girls --much more to return to. Plus, Hurricane Ike is bearing down -- I may have to return to storm preparations.
All of that makes the road trip the more precious.
So --here we come Turnpike! There's plenty of cold beer in Gainesville. Life is grand!
And that's what I'n doing in about 20 minutes! I'm taking a road trip with my dear friend and college roommate Barry, up to Gainesville to see our Canes play the Gators. It's the first road trip we took together since 1983. Well, we went to Chalet Suzanne in Lake Wales about 9 years ago, but that was with our wives. That trip doesn't count.
I'm more than a little excited about this. Some might dread the 5 hour car ride, but Barry and I have to solve issues about the medical negligence crisis, the upcoming presidential elections, our children, our careers, and why our wives don't appreciate us as much as they should.
D2 is coming along for the ride. I've already cautioned her to bring her I Pod, lest she rapidly grow bored of our conversations. She tells me she has a ton of homework. She'll stay with D1 --Barry and I are staying in a motel along with my law partner, his son, and some more friends.
Back in 1983, we travelled to Gainesvile, too, to watch our Canes. I returned to start law school, and Barry to start his senior year. Eric, who also went with his girlfriend Dana, returned to start medical school. Eric and Dana are going on this trip, too, but with their kids.
It seemed there was so much going on in 1983. Ha! The selfish studies of one 22 year old, and helping care for a widowed mother.
Now, I have a business, wife, 2 girls --much more to return to. Plus, Hurricane Ike is bearing down -- I may have to return to storm preparations.
All of that makes the road trip the more precious.
So --here we come Turnpike! There's plenty of cold beer in Gainesville. Life is grand!
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Sandwich Generation
I'm a late Baby Boomer, but still have the privilege of having to care for an elderly parent at the same time I'm raising my own kids.
Grandma's been going through a rough time lately, but until now has been fortunate --nearly 89 years of pretty good health. The latest: clinical depression.
I know adults who still look to their parents for support, both financial and emotional. I wonder what that would have been like --I've been more the parent to my mother since my father died 26 years ago.
I'd never DREAM of telling my mother my problems, or asking her help. Rather, she depends and leans on me. She always did.
I learned from my father to take control, and not worry others. I'M the one to worry. It's as if my father were Vito Corleone, who said that women and children could afford to be emotional and weak minded, but men couldn't.
I love Sidney Poitier's definition of the measure of a man: how he takes care of his family. I've been privileged to be in that position since I was 20.
How must it feel to be a child late into life? I'll never know.
Yesterday I was at lunch with my partner, office roommate Brian, and another lawyer, Sherry, and paralegal Carol. All of our fathers died in their 60s.
Brian's experience was the worst: his father died at 60, while Brian was still a teenager. Also, he died of ALS, one of the worst deaths there is.
Sherry asked Brian how that experience affected his life. Brian answered that no family knows about an early death until it happens to them. How true!
Brian says he takes a moment each day and savors something --even something as simple as the smiles of his children.
Brian is very much a man, in my estimation. He also takes care of an older mother, as do my partner and Sherry.
When we were all in high school, this wasn't something in the user's manual of life. We knew we'd have to figure out our own lives and then be responsible for our children. Where was the chapter about caring for a parent?
Oh well --I guess it's a privilege to be the caregiver rather than the care recipient.
Maybe I'll call my mother tonight and tell her I find the practice of law unfulfilling, and am having a crisis of identity. I'll ask her advice about whether I should teach full time, or start a different business. Right! As if!
Grandma's been going through a rough time lately, but until now has been fortunate --nearly 89 years of pretty good health. The latest: clinical depression.
I know adults who still look to their parents for support, both financial and emotional. I wonder what that would have been like --I've been more the parent to my mother since my father died 26 years ago.
I'd never DREAM of telling my mother my problems, or asking her help. Rather, she depends and leans on me. She always did.
I learned from my father to take control, and not worry others. I'M the one to worry. It's as if my father were Vito Corleone, who said that women and children could afford to be emotional and weak minded, but men couldn't.
I love Sidney Poitier's definition of the measure of a man: how he takes care of his family. I've been privileged to be in that position since I was 20.
How must it feel to be a child late into life? I'll never know.
Yesterday I was at lunch with my partner, office roommate Brian, and another lawyer, Sherry, and paralegal Carol. All of our fathers died in their 60s.
Brian's experience was the worst: his father died at 60, while Brian was still a teenager. Also, he died of ALS, one of the worst deaths there is.
Sherry asked Brian how that experience affected his life. Brian answered that no family knows about an early death until it happens to them. How true!
Brian says he takes a moment each day and savors something --even something as simple as the smiles of his children.
Brian is very much a man, in my estimation. He also takes care of an older mother, as do my partner and Sherry.
When we were all in high school, this wasn't something in the user's manual of life. We knew we'd have to figure out our own lives and then be responsible for our children. Where was the chapter about caring for a parent?
Oh well --I guess it's a privilege to be the caregiver rather than the care recipient.
Maybe I'll call my mother tonight and tell her I find the practice of law unfulfilling, and am having a crisis of identity. I'll ask her advice about whether I should teach full time, or start a different business. Right! As if!
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