The Trombone Player and the Groupie

Picture it .... 1938 the big band era ... warm summer night at the lake and a band is playing at the band shell.  The trombone player catches the eye of a pretty young brunette and it is happy ever after .... well almost.  Yes that is how my parents met, or at least that was the story I was told, but happy ever after was not quite the way I remember it. 

As the child of older parents, they were in their 40s when I was born (yes I was an accident), my view of my parents was different than my sister and brother.  My early years had a lot of fights and crying and drinking (not by me).  No yelling, never any yelling ... the neighbors might hear.  The joke at my house now is I refuse to eat or cook hamburger helper or anything with that stupid hand on it, because thats what mom cooked when she was mad at dad ... we ate it A LOT.  Poor Michael loves Tuna Helper, so when I am not home, thats what he makes for himself!

But the view I now see of my parents is the one of the last 10 years of moms life.  They both had a shock that I am not sure mom ever recovered from.  The death of my sister.  We knew it was coming, but couldn't stop it, or prepare for it. Plus mom was ill, she was never very strong ... but this was different.  Dad helped her, waited on her, took over house duties (I no longer lived at home).  I got to see them hold hands, and fall back in love with each other.  Once when I came by the house unannounced I heard the music and saw them dancing ... the only time I remember them doing that.  This is my replacement memory ... not the anger of my youth, but that they could still be the trombone player and the groupie after almost 50 years of marriage.

Doesn't Everyone Stop at Nuclear Power Plants while on Vacation?

First need to say that this refers to vacations in a pre 9/11 world.

Dad was an engineer.  He went to Alfred University and RIT.  He had a certificate in engineering; they didn't give degrees in it back then.  Technically he was a mechanical engineer, but for a large part of his career he worked in the nuclear field.  See, when he started they didn't have nuclear engineers, shoot there was no such thing, he was a pioneer. He worked on the first nuclear submarine.  He was very proud of that.  He also worked on most of the nuclear power plants that are on the east coast, which we visited at least one every vacation.  If there was a nuke plant within a 50 mile range of where we were going we stopped at the plant.  There are more pictures of me or mom or both in front of nuke plants, I thought everyone stopped at them while on vacation. according to Dad they were the 8th wonder of the world.  I think Dad took it personally when the 3 Mile Island accident took the wind out of the nuke program.  He would argue/debate the pros - there were no cons - of nuclear power with anyone who disagreed with him. 

A couple of years ago Dad was having Sunday dinner with Michael and I and the discussion somehow started on nuclear power.  Thinking I had hear all of the stories ... many times, I zoned out, but Michael was right there asking all kinds of questions.  Must be a guy thing.  Anyway, Dad starts talking about some project he was working, and how he and the group he was working with had to invent the clean room ( you know those all white rooms with filtered air, ect that you see on TV).  Maybe its one of those things you had to be there, but I just thought it was really cool ... my Dad help to invent the cleanroom .... build the first nuclear submarine and was involved very early in the building of nuclear power plants.

Dad was also involved very early on ... in the 1950s ... in the wind energy ... but that is another story .... maybe tomorrow.

 

Bathtubs ... Jackie Gleason  ... The Zen Master

When I was 5 years old, I came down with rheumatic fever.  I don't really remember much about being sick or my hospital stay, but what I do remember is being put in an ice bath.  Apparently my temperature was quite high and that is what they did in the 60's.  Anyway, all I did was scream for my dad ... and this is what I remember, him in the doorway and then sitting next to me in that horrible ice bath holding my hand.  I felt safe and strong with that connection and it got me thru.  When I got home, needless to say I did NOT like to take a bath, and Saturday night was bath night - always was always will be ... thanks Mom.  So Dad would roll the portable black and white TV from their bedroom to the bath and Dad ... always Dad, would sit on the toilet (lid down) and I would take my bath while we watched the Jackie Gleason show with the June Taylor Dancers.  See Dad loved Jackie Gleason and I wanted to be a June Taylor dancer, so it was our thing ... for a little while. 

Fast forward to my 20's.  Dad and I barely spoke, to much anger ... mostly me.  Mom was frantic, she knew she was dying and going to leave Dad to me, there was no one else, my sister was dead and my brother had really nothing to do with the rest of us.  So mom was always trying to come up with ways to get Dad and me to be happy together .... Jackie Gleason was coming to town in a play.  Mom got tickets for Dad and me and after a lot of convincing I agreed to go ... then it happened, Jackie died .. no show.  I think both Dad and I were relieved.

Spin a head in time again, now in my 40's, that horrible summer.  Dad was on my back deck almost daily, and would have me sit, for a little while and just hold my hand.  I felt safe and strong again and it got me thru.  Somewhere I know Jackie Gleason and his band was playing .... and the June Taylor dancers were dancing.  Mom smiled.

April 15th 2013

I guess I should start out my explaining the name of my blog. 

When I was growing up, every March 20th (Dads Birthday) we would get a letter from his mother and it always started out ... It was the first day of spring, the robins were singing at 7:00am when John Boy (my dad) was born.  My mother and I would make a song of it and sing it to dad, before he even opened the letter.  Maybe my brother and sister did before me, but as they were grown and gone by the time I was 6, I don't really remember.  Anyway, it is one of my happier memories of a childhood, that quite frankly does not have to many happy memories. 

The Zen Master.  The nickname I gave to dad after he came to live by us and with us, at the ripe young age of 89 ... 6 years ago.  You see dad came to live here because he was ill, his 2nd wifes family made it very clear he was no longer welcome with her, as he could no longer take care of her, and was of no use to them, we took him in.  But the timing was ... horrible.  Dad was in Florida when he took ill, I went down to care for him, thinking I could get him back on his feet and then go home ... NO, after a long stay in the hospital, and then having to put him in a nursing home (the first of many times I cried).  I was flying back and forth every 2 weeks for 2 months from Florida to Illinois, working at my life partners and my business for a few days and then going back to Florida to dad.  The problem was every time I came home, Michael, my life partner was getting sicker and sicker.  We live in a small town and medical care is ... POOR.  Finally I stayed home long enough to figure out he had cancer and was very ill.  Not trusting the medical community here .. I took him to Barnes in St. Louis about 4 hours away.  Dad was scheduled to come to Illinois to an assisted living facility, the day after I was putting Michael in the hospital.  Thank God for my niece, she got dad and brought him to the assisted living facility.

Sorry for that ramble, but background was needed.  You see I was NUTS, trying to keep these 2 men alive, trying to keep a business a float all by myself (my niece went home - out of state), but dad was calm.  That horrible summer while Michael fought for his life, from 4th stage lymphoma (large B cell) Dad was my rock, so calm, he kept me grounded and able to get thru the next day .. or sometimes hour.  He was MY Zen master, the picture of age, wisdom and kindness.  Always his first words when I would go to pick him up and bring him to my house, was always ... What can I do for you.  He never complained that his life had fallen apart and he was stuck in an assisted living facility, he only wanted to help Michael and I. 

I learned alot that summer about my dad .. he was alot stronger than I ever gave him credit for.  Michael - he never gives up (yes present tense - he is still here) and me .. I am someone you want in your foxhole, didn't know that until then.  But I don't think I would have made it thru without my dad.

Dad died March 30th of this year.  Not pretty, he fought death every step along the way.  He did NOT go quietly into the night.  I don't think he wanted to leave me, there still may have been something he could do for me, even though I kept telling him I was ok and Michael was ok, not sure he ever believed it.  But the last thing he said to me was that he loved me ... that day was March 20th, his birthday ... and yes the Robins were singing.

My hopes for this blog is that they say you are never really gone until no one remembers you (or something like that), even if no one ever reads this - it is out there so dad gets his wish - never really leaving.  I hope that someday his great grand sons want to know more about where they came from and if so, here I will leave stories of dad.  Don't worry from here on in, most will be funny.  Cause I have my grandmother (Dads Mom) in my head when grandpa died, she stood up and said ... no one cry, he lived a long good life, and so did her son.

Sorry for all the misspelling, they are not typos, can't spell - got that from dad.