25 Things

There's this interesting fad floating about within the world of Facebook that has people writing 25 random thoughts about one's self. Although I've always stayed away from those questions that ask what your favorite color is and when are you happiest, I think this exercise intriguing. And thus, I shall attempt it...

1. I once tried to memorize John Milton's Paradise Lost. I made it to 'So spake the apostate angel, though in pain'.
2. I sang Your Song by Elton John to Joseph from my grandparent's basement before I had ever met him in person.
3. I actively partook in numismatics before I ventured to Seattle. And my prized possessions were a good condition 1909 VDB Lincoln cent, and a fair condition 1832 British haypenny found at the Redwood Flea Market in Yalesville, CT.
4. If you ask me my favorite author and book, I would hesitate because there are so many good authors and so many more good books. Because many of the good authors have written multiple books, of course. But then if I were cornered, I'd answer Hermann Hesse and his book, Narcissus and Goldmund.
5. My idea of cooking: Pour cereal into bowl. Pour milk over cereal. Use spoon to deliver cereal and milk to mouth. Repeat final step until all milk and cereal are gone.
6. I once wrote a 17-page paper describing a 7-Up can. And got a C-.
7. I fit 7 large football players into a silver 1984 Toyota Celica GT Hatchback - called at times the Silver Bullet and Jethro - coming home from football practice one day. I later found out my brother managed nine large football players.
8. In my lifetime, there have been 2 Democrats elected to the presidency. For each of their initial wins (Clinton in '92 and Obama '08), I was just outside Orlando, FL. Those were the only 2 times in my lifetime I've ever been just outside Orlando, FL.
9. When in Rome, I and the other seminarians of the archdiocese of Hartford decided to compose a letter to Pope John Paul II asking for a private audience with him. Because of my handwriting, I was elected to write the letter. We passed it to a Swiss guard and waited for a response. None came. But we later discovered that the Pope reviewed every piece of correspondence that was addressed to him, meaning that he read words I wrote.
10. I miss my paternal grandfather calling me Yardbird and I miss talking to my paternal grandmother across her kitchen table.
11. I miss playing cribbage marathons of 10 or more consecutive games with my maternal grandfather and I miss hearing my maternal grandmother hum Lara's theme while I rested on the front couch.
12. I will always remember the day I walked out of my brother's garage and watched the old man's jaw drop as we initiated our last trek to Yankee Stadium. The old man and his two boys.
13. I will also remember the day Uncle Mark and his girlfriend Ruth brought us to Fairly Ridiculous University (Farleigh Dickinson) to watch the Giants training camp. And getting Mark Bavaro's autograph.
14. I vowed I would never pray for another game after Super Bowl XXV. I didn't. Until Super Bowl XLIII.
15. Fudge Swirl. Whipped Cream. Hershey's Syrup. Splash of milk. 'Nuff said.
16. I would be happy if I could have my mother's Christmas cookies every day of the year. Especially those peanut butter cookies with the Hershey's kiss in the middle of them.
17. Give me an English word - any English word - and ask me its origin. Then don't talk to me for the next 15 minutes because I'm off trying to find out its etymology following it back through French, Latin, Greek, and finally to its Indo-European root.
18. When I was about 2 I used to sit outside in the dog house with my Boxer, Clancy.
19. My favorite class in college had to be the History of Calculus in which I learned that the coordinate system should be Fermatian and not Cartesian, that Leibniz and Newton quarreled over who invented the calculus, and that it is impossible to square a circle since pi is a transcendental and not an algebraic irrational number.
20. And my second favorite class in college was the Intellectual History of the U.S. from 1865-present in which I wrote a 40 page paper on the importance of Playboy for the masculinization of men between 1955-1970. The university had every volume except for the initial. So, no I didn't see Marilyn in the nude.
21. The vice principal at my high school was named David; he wasn't particularly well liked. Most everyone mocked him with the name, Davey Dawg. When he caught on, they reduced calling him Davey Dawg to the times when I was in the general vicinity. And the name stuck. Through high school only, thank God.
22. When I pull out my wallet, there is a circled imprint on its back that people think is caused by a condom. It's in fact a rosary ring blessed by Pope John Paul II.
23. I was once able to repeat to a customer, 'You'd like the Kookaburra Wings, Grilled Shrimp on the Barbie, Walkabout Soup, Rockhampton Ribeye, and the Drover's Platter. With a Wallaby Darned and a Foster's. G'day Mate!'
24. The old man is hands down the best coach I've ever had.
25. I've been called a cold fish, at times, because I'm not altogether emotional. But never doubt that I care for and love my friends and family more than they can know.
    

The Tree

It's the earliest I've ever done it, I think.

I remember the old man waiting until at least the first weekend in December. When we'd venture to some nearby center of botany. A nursery or some such place. Where the pine trees leaned against wooden planks. The old man would stick his hand into the center of the tree and pull it back towards him. Checking for dead spots. Shaking it a little to ensure that there weren't too many needles falling. Feeling the amount of sap leaking from the tree's pores. We'd have it wrapped and then we'd stuff it into his minivan to be brought home and into the living room. He'd trim. And wrap the lights around. All by his lonesome. The area surrounding the tree became his area into which you had to be invited. To hang the ornaments. To find the pickle. To gaze at the village.

Joseph and I tried a real tree our first Christmas together. We brought it into the apartment and set it in front of the window. The same window out of which I leaned to save that darn cat. We'd water the tree religiously. We even gave the tree some nutrients or some such thing. And then it began to die. Yet, it was sucking the water dry every day. We couldn't explain it. Until we found that the cats' water bowl always seemed to be full. They were drinking the water. And the tree was dying. By Christmas, we had a Charlie Brown tree.

We therefore turned to the fake tree the second year. And we've had it ever since. It is, in fact, the same tree we set up this very evening. Connected the base to the center pole. Then attached all the branches. Wrapped the lights. Not so sticky. Nor so pointy.

But it's not just about the tree. It's about laying the plywood beneath the tree. That story's to come. It's about the ambience. A glass of egg nog - spiced up with a tad bit of rum - topped with nutmeg and cinnamon. Danny and Bing dancing and crooning. Charlie Brown exclaiming 'Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?' And then finally, some story about a kid wanting a an official Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model air rifle (BB Gun) with a compass in the stock, and this thing which tells time.

I'm finishing the nog. Listening to Ralphie's rather tasty description of Palmolive soap. And readying for peaceful slumber. I was initially resistant to setting up so early. But with everything happening in my life, I can use a bit of the Christmas spirit.

Inspiring Art: The Return of the Prodigal Son

I come to the computer utterly exhausted this evening. Work has increased in intensity as we bring on new clients. And so, this will be brief.

I would like to share with you one of two pictures I have hanging in my office. It is The Return of the Prodigal Son by Bartolome Esteban Murillo. I purchased this replica of the painting in Boston while I was in the seminary. I chose this painting because I recalled - and still recall - the first time I internalized the story.

My stepbrother and I were at odds. Not any kind of fisticuffs, mind you, but we didn't see eye to eye on anything. And yet, my father and stepmother treated him as well as they did me and my brother. I never understood.

After seeing my frustration, the old man sat me down with his Bible in hand and read to me the passage. He described himself as the father, me as the brother who stayed, and my stepbrother as the one who left and subsequently returned. 'We love you both,' he said. 'But there's a special place in our hearts for you who have been loyal all these years.'

As obnoxious and arrogant as I was, I took not only comfort but pleasure in the fact that I was the 'better' son. That I was the loyal one who loved his family more. That I was the favorite. Even through my time in the seminary, I looked at the world through those glasses.

Boy, did I miss the point. The fact is that each son in that story had something to learn. It was the more obvious with the son who left and then returned, humbled at the feet of his father. As for the son who remained, his bitter heart had squelched the possibility of love and forgiveness until his father confronted him.

I learned that about the story. But only after I became the son who ran away. Who went West to 'find myself' and 'figure things out'. In truth, I left to escape. To do what I wanted. To have freedom.

And then one day while in Seattle, I pulled the picture from the dusty closet and realized that I was the younger son. The son who ran. Though it took me time to atone, I did approach my old man. Perhaps not to return for good, but the story never said that the younger son returned for good either. But to return and ask forgiveness.

My father, good to his word, served the fatted calf - well I had veal parm at Pagliacci's - and accepted me lovingly into his arms.

When I returned to Seattle, I searched the painting again and found new meaning. The story is truly remarkable in its depth. I suggest you read it, even if you're not a Christian. And meditate on it. You will learn more about yourself than you previously knew. Luke 15:11-32