This was the first Mother and Father’s Day in many a moon I could be happy for other people.
In 90, my Dad planned his own Father’s Day. We went to visit his aunt in an old people’s hotel on Long Beach in the Island.
“Where are the girls?”
“They’re right here.”
“Hi, Aunt Ann.”
“Where are the girls? Such nice girls.”
“Right here.”
“Aunt Ann, it’s us, hello.”
Finally we gave up. That was before I was a Licensed Social Worker and knew giving into the fantasy was a viable valuable technique.
Aunt Ann had always been beautiful and sweet, and so she was in deep dementia.
Then we went to an excellent Mexican restaurant in Island Park. Island Park’s known for its excellent restaurants, beautiful inlets and waterways, great bars if you like bar fights. They look real nice. The bars that is, not the bar fights though there is a certain artistry to them.
My sister and I actually spent part of an evening sitting in the car listening to some great vintage disco and watching bar fights. Hey, we know how to have fun.
Island Park’s also known for Al D’Amato, and uh Mafia connections. It will always be remembered by me as the school district that refused to open one year for fear of AIDS from the toilets or some such shit.
But this Mexican restaurant is beautiful. A man sketched my father, and gave us the sketch. The man was a professional artist and my father at 76 had the type of face people liked to look at. Especially my mother who could still basically see then.
It was a perfect family day. My father had one wish. He never wanted to grow old and decrepit and he never did. He was to die Passover/Easter weekend of the next year.
I hope there is a heaven and my parents are reunited. My mother didn’t believe at all, and that used to worry me. Just in case, only people who believe….well, I don’t know. I don’t exactly have a religious education and we are Jewish and Jews believe in the big sleep, with….
My father half believed, and the half of him that did believe asked me if he should shave half his moustache while still alive, so when he died the people who knew him before 69 would recognize him.
“Only if you want to look like an idiot in this life, daddy.”
When I told this story to relatives they laughed. They knew my Dad, and it was so typical.
The summer of the last Father’s Day, my sister had a Hampton’s share and was to meet the man she’s still married to. They have a wonderful daughter who will be Bat Mitzvahed in November. So Father’s Day’s continues in our family.
I have to give Jacquelin a bit more than a fountain pen. (Old Jewish Bar Mitzvah joke: today you are a man. Here’s a fountain pen.) It was never funny to me and still isn’t.
So clamor for my book which is coming along, and almost up to shopping. That is the last I will say about it, until I have good news, and that’s one promise I do intend to keep. Even if I can’t keep myself from talking I will.
But clamor for it as I believe I have the best platform in the world; bloggers, and I would love publishing people to understand that people who read my blog buy books.
I can promise you that nothing in the book has been in Courting. Isn’t it amazing? I have a whole life never contained in here.
This particular book is about one pivotal year in my life. It’s a Senior Year in High School/coming of age tale but told differently than most, and I think told very well.
I even learned that linear thing, and how to find a true beginning, middle and end, while retaining the essential Pia’isms.
It took a long time. But I have many more books that are just spilling out.
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Blogging’s been changing so much. When I’m on summer vacation, I buy every woman’s magazine I can find. Never read most during the year. Gawd, do they have blogs, and some invite their readers to begin blogs under their umbrella.
But we who have been blogging for awhile, we did it. We made blogging into what it is today and we should be damn proud of ourselves.
Yes I know this began as a Father’s Day post. It still is. My Dad, for all his faults, wanted to share center stage with me. Actually he wanted me to take the stage over.
In my heart, somewhere, I know that my parents are up there, somewhere, together, planning my ascension. Not up there, but down here. They believed in my talents. Had weird ways of showing it sometimes, but….
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If you’re not celebrating Father’s Day, summer officially begins this week, and please don’t tell me you hate summer. Summer’s magic.
All dreams can be wished in summer and many will come true.
I will always believe in the beauty and majesty of summer. I am a Cancer, on the cusp of Leo and my parents always made me feel that all summer belonged to me.
That was one of the most wonderful gifts that they gave me. A belief that in this one time of year, dreams come true.
Days are long, and no matter how much work you have, there has to be time in summer for enjoying life.
It’s different than the holiday season. No pressure to find the perfect gift. Or the religious wars or anything that can cause friction. Maybe from bathing suits, but my secret to a happy bathing suit season is a secret.
Summer’s about slowing down, going to the beach, having barbeque’s, laughing a bit too much, listening to songs you can sing along to
Summer’s about possibilities, dreams still to be dreamed, day dreams that can turn into reality, 57 Chevy’s, old fashioned convertibles, ice cream soda, lobster rolls, dunes, getting sand in shoes and all over. Especially when it’s me
So have a wonderful summer. And clamor for my book. I’m not sure how yet. You figure that out for now.
I can’t believe that after four years, endless revisions, throwing out entire chapters, great stories and more, I have a viable book.
And just in time for summer.
When the stars twinkle just for me, and the moon comes out just for me, and two million people in Central Park sing “happy birthday” to me.
Dare to dream the impossible. It’s summer and anything can be possible. Man first landed on the moon in summer. Just for me. It was my birthday, not that I’m celebrating it this year 
Really.
•••••••••••••
Please err on the side of caution. It seemed like almost every day since I have been in Myrtle Beach, some kid has been badly injured or died.
Two days in a row, kids fell off hotel balconies.
A woman, I have come to know and like, son’s best friend was celebrating his 24th birthday. At 6:30 AM he decided it was his birthday and he just wanted one more. He didn’t live past his 24th birthday. And my new friend’s son drove eleven hours from West Virginia in the pouring rain just to go to his funeral, and drove right back.
We all think we’re invincible, even at my age, but….
Hate to say this but if you drink or drug or both, please don’t drive. Otherwise I will take to the roads, and then….
On that note I’m off for the beach.
And back from the beach. Did I say clamor?
Honestly I haven’t been that great a blogger this past year. My mind’s been otherwise occupied.
I almost discourage comments by not having recent comments on the sidebar.
Sometime last week I had my 600,000 hit since November, 2004. I wasn’t really paying attention.
I take my blog off BE frequently but always end with the same or more credits. It’s one of the sweet mysteries of life I haven’t actually analyzed or obsessed over.
Stumble it!
