A Father's Day post, post-Father's Day . . .
This was our first, special, get-away trip, since she'd become a big sister.
A brother had arrived the previous April, and our formerly one-and-only child had been sharing the spotlight with a new brother.
She'd done surprisingly well. Better than I'd expected. Jealously and weirdness was fairly minimal.
And we'd reached a point where we felt comfortable enough to leave him with my parents for an overnight, so that Mom, Dad and daughter could have a little adventure.
The hotel had a pool. My daughter had never taken a swimming lesson, but did like to splash around in a kiddie pool.
My wife had the idea to buy a pair of "Floaties" for her arms. They had Nemo on them, and my daughter thought they looked kind of cool.
But nothing prepared her for how cool things were about to get.
My wife carried her into the pool, as she had in other pools on other occasions. But then she put her down, holding just her hands. Then she let go of her hands.
My daughter was shocked to find that she was floating by herself, without any help from us.
"I'M SWIMMING! EVERYBODY! I'M SWIMMING!" She waved to the nonplussed pool-goers, who were unaware of the monumental occasion happening before their eyes.
"LOOK EVERYBODY! I'M SWIMMING!!!"
She simply couldn't contain herself, or her pride.
And I thought to myself, "That's my daughter in the water." I could barely contain myself either.
Hear the song on Youtube.
Showing posts with label father's day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label father's day. Show all posts
Monday, June 18, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Francis Dunnery "Father And Son"
Here's a Father's Day Weekend Post:
"You will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not."
I'm soaking in the goodness of today's Father's Day, knowing in the back of my head, that I won't always be a rock star/genius in the eyes of my kids, and that being a Dad will someday mean dispensing advice that is unwelcome, unappreciated, and at times, unheard.
But today, I get pancakes, and a rock with "Dad" painted on it!
A thought about this version . . . I love how Dunnery, even better than Cat Stevens, alters his voice from Father to Son.
Hear the song on Youtube.
Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.
Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show. They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are wonderful to revisit.
Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.
"You will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not."
I'm soaking in the goodness of today's Father's Day, knowing in the back of my head, that I won't always be a rock star/genius in the eyes of my kids, and that being a Dad will someday mean dispensing advice that is unwelcome, unappreciated, and at times, unheard.
But today, I get pancakes, and a rock with "Dad" painted on it!
A thought about this version . . . I love how Dunnery, even better than Cat Stevens, alters his voice from Father to Son.
Hear the song on Youtube.
Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.
Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show. They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are wonderful to revisit.
Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Adrian Belew "Oh Daddy"
Here's a Father's Day Weekend
Post:
My four-year-old has picked up my wife's habit of displaying mock-disgust every time I make a lame joke:
"Oh Daddy . . ." she shakes her head.
And I always think of this song.
Hear the song on Youtube.
Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.
Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show. They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are wonderful to revisit.
Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.
My four-year-old has picked up my wife's habit of displaying mock-disgust every time I make a lame joke:
"Oh Daddy . . ." she shakes her head.
And I always think of this song.
Hear the song on Youtube.
Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.
Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show. They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are wonderful to revisit.
Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.
Friday, June 15, 2012
George Thorogood "Move It On Over"
You inherit things from your Dad. Some of them stare right back at you in the mirror.
Like the way my temples are graying, as Dad’s did when he hit his 40s. Or the kind of slouchy, no-ass posture figure that we both cut.
Some traits you can hear. I can hear my Dad when I laugh. Or when I exclaim, “Holy Mackerel!” which no normal person under 60 would say.
Other things are more ephemeral. Like the quiet superstitions we both keep.
Growing up, Dad was neither the every-day disciplinarian, nor the more-likely yeller. No, it was Mom who would drop the hammer if you were, say, eating cake in the off-limits living room, or if you left your winter coat on the kitchen floor instead of hanging it up.
What might Dad get upset about?
If you used his pencil.
Now, this was not any old pencil.
This was the pencil from the Scorebook. And he’d been on a winning streak.
Dad coached high school baseball and basketball, and, like so many coaches and players, he had his superstitions. And if his team was winning, that meant nothing was to be changed.
That pencil that was being used to record hits and strikeouts, or baskets and fouls? It stayed with the Scorebook, and it was NOT to be used by my 8 year old sister to draw a picture. Absolutely not. Not without him freaking out.
And the pencil stayed with the Scorebook, until his team lost. After that, of course, he changed pencils.
What was he wearing when the winning streak began? You’re damn right that he would be wearing that again on the next game day.
This proved to be a little weird on those years (and there were many) that he had a really great team, on a long winning streak.
The year that I was on the Varsity basketball team, and he was coaching the JV team, proved to be one of his best seasons. The winning streak was stretching into weeks.
Did he win while wearing a pair of ratty old red plaid pants? Yes he did. Would he be wearing it the next game day, and the next? You bet. Would he allow Mom to sew up the ever-widening hole on the inseam? Absolutely not. That sort of thing could cause the winning streak to end!
Of course, pants aside, winning streaks do end, as did this one. And Dad loves to tell the story of how, after the game, he overheard one of his players say, none too quietly, “Great. Now maybe coach will change those f***ing pants!”
The next year, it was my basketball team that had the winning streak. We lost the season opener, but proceed to rack up win after win after win.
And I could attribute it to a white t-shirt, some lucky underwear and George Thorogood.
I may have adopted some of my Father's fashion superstitions, but I was also a self-conscious teenager. I couldn't get away with wearing the same outfit to school every couple of days. Not without drawing unwanted attention to myself.
But no one would notice that I was wearing the same pair of underwear each time (washed between game days, I assure you). And the repeat-t-shirt went unnoticed when I put different sweatshirts over it from game to game.
Before every home game, I'd have some time between when school let out and when I had to report to the locker room. I'd go home, have something to eat and head up to my bedroom. And me and the cat would listen to George Thorogood's "Move It On Over" album while I tried to nap.
I'm not exactly sure why it was that album. It's certainly not good napping music. But once the team got on a winning streak, I wasn't going to cause us to go off the rails by changing cassettes during naptime.
Let me point out, that my superstition-controlled destiny really wasn't much of a factor in my contribution on the court, since I wasn't exactly a star player. I logged a few minutes in every game, but I wasn't a make or break presence.
Or was I?
We won 18 straight games and became the first Boys Varsity Basketball Team from Newburyport in nearly two decades, to win a game in the State Tournament. Something must have been behind that streak of good fortune.
And if it wasn't me, then no doubt it was due to my Dad, who sat on the bench as an Assistant, who, I'm sure, had his own superstitions that he adhered to that season, that kept the winning streak alive.
So thanks, Dad, for the way I laugh and the distinguished gray and "Glory Days" basketball season and all the things that can and can't be seen, that you gave to me.
Happy Father's Day.
Hear the song on Youtube.
Like the way my temples are graying, as Dad’s did when he hit his 40s. Or the kind of slouchy, no-ass posture figure that we both cut.
Some traits you can hear. I can hear my Dad when I laugh. Or when I exclaim, “Holy Mackerel!” which no normal person under 60 would say.
Other things are more ephemeral. Like the quiet superstitions we both keep.
Growing up, Dad was neither the every-day disciplinarian, nor the more-likely yeller. No, it was Mom who would drop the hammer if you were, say, eating cake in the off-limits living room, or if you left your winter coat on the kitchen floor instead of hanging it up.
What might Dad get upset about?
If you used his pencil.
Now, this was not any old pencil.
This was the pencil from the Scorebook. And he’d been on a winning streak.
Dad coached high school baseball and basketball, and, like so many coaches and players, he had his superstitions. And if his team was winning, that meant nothing was to be changed.
That pencil that was being used to record hits and strikeouts, or baskets and fouls? It stayed with the Scorebook, and it was NOT to be used by my 8 year old sister to draw a picture. Absolutely not. Not without him freaking out.
And the pencil stayed with the Scorebook, until his team lost. After that, of course, he changed pencils.
What was he wearing when the winning streak began? You’re damn right that he would be wearing that again on the next game day.
This proved to be a little weird on those years (and there were many) that he had a really great team, on a long winning streak.
The year that I was on the Varsity basketball team, and he was coaching the JV team, proved to be one of his best seasons. The winning streak was stretching into weeks.
Did he win while wearing a pair of ratty old red plaid pants? Yes he did. Would he be wearing it the next game day, and the next? You bet. Would he allow Mom to sew up the ever-widening hole on the inseam? Absolutely not. That sort of thing could cause the winning streak to end!
Of course, pants aside, winning streaks do end, as did this one. And Dad loves to tell the story of how, after the game, he overheard one of his players say, none too quietly, “Great. Now maybe coach will change those f***ing pants!”
The next year, it was my basketball team that had the winning streak. We lost the season opener, but proceed to rack up win after win after win.
And I could attribute it to a white t-shirt, some lucky underwear and George Thorogood.
I may have adopted some of my Father's fashion superstitions, but I was also a self-conscious teenager. I couldn't get away with wearing the same outfit to school every couple of days. Not without drawing unwanted attention to myself.
But no one would notice that I was wearing the same pair of underwear each time (washed between game days, I assure you). And the repeat-t-shirt went unnoticed when I put different sweatshirts over it from game to game.
Before every home game, I'd have some time between when school let out and when I had to report to the locker room. I'd go home, have something to eat and head up to my bedroom. And me and the cat would listen to George Thorogood's "Move It On Over" album while I tried to nap.
I'm not exactly sure why it was that album. It's certainly not good napping music. But once the team got on a winning streak, I wasn't going to cause us to go off the rails by changing cassettes during naptime.
Let me point out, that my superstition-controlled destiny really wasn't much of a factor in my contribution on the court, since I wasn't exactly a star player. I logged a few minutes in every game, but I wasn't a make or break presence.
Or was I?
We won 18 straight games and became the first Boys Varsity Basketball Team from Newburyport in nearly two decades, to win a game in the State Tournament. Something must have been behind that streak of good fortune.
And if it wasn't me, then no doubt it was due to my Dad, who sat on the bench as an Assistant, who, I'm sure, had his own superstitions that he adhered to that season, that kept the winning streak alive.
So thanks, Dad, for the way I laugh and the distinguished gray and "Glory Days" basketball season and all the things that can and can't be seen, that you gave to me.
Happy Father's Day.
Hear the song on Youtube.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Joni Mitchell "Cherokee Louise"
I felt awful. Awful. Like the worst person in the world.
How could I have done it? Because, in his mind, it couldn't have been accidental . . .
It was the Monday after Father's Day, and I was perusing my email Inbox.
Mostly junk mail, of course, but usually over the weekend, we might get an email from a station listener wondering "What was that song?" or "Can you tell me more about the event the DJ was talking about?" That kind of stuff.
But then there was this email that made me feel awful.
It asked, How could you have played "Cherokee Louise" on Father's Day?
Huh?
He was a step-father, who had worked tirelessly to earn the trust and love, of his wife's children. He was a Dad to them, as much as any biological Dad could be. And to hear that song on Father's Day . . . it was like a slap in the face.
Huh?
I have to admit, I have never delved too deeply into Joni Mitchell. She's part of the sound of mvyradio, and, as the station programmer I made sure we had several of her tracks in rotation, but beyond the big hits I didn't know to much about her songs.
So I looked up the lyrics of "Cherokee Louise."
Ughhhhh.
It's a song about a young, teenage girl, who is being sexually abused by her Step-Father. Not really great Father's Day fare.
We have a couple thousand songs in regular rotation, and play thousands more on an occasional basis. So on the one hand, I could be forgiven for not knowing the lyrics and meaning of every single song we play.
But it really drove home a point that I think about all the time, when programming the station:
People's level of engagement is vastly different.
For most people, "Cherokee Louise" could play on Father's Day, and it wouldn't have any effect whatsoever on them. Maybe the never knew what it was about. Maybe they did know the meaning of the song, but didn't tie it together with the Holiday. Maybe mvy was just on in the background, and the song floated by, with them unwitting.
But for one guy, the song and the context hit him. And it hit him hard.
I wrote him an apologetic email, copping to the fact that I had no idea of the song's content, and promising him that we would never play it on Father's Day again.
Hear the song on Youtube.
How could I have done it? Because, in his mind, it couldn't have been accidental . . .
It was the Monday after Father's Day, and I was perusing my email Inbox.
Mostly junk mail, of course, but usually over the weekend, we might get an email from a station listener wondering "What was that song?" or "Can you tell me more about the event the DJ was talking about?" That kind of stuff.
But then there was this email that made me feel awful.
It asked, How could you have played "Cherokee Louise" on Father's Day?
Huh?
He was a step-father, who had worked tirelessly to earn the trust and love, of his wife's children. He was a Dad to them, as much as any biological Dad could be. And to hear that song on Father's Day . . . it was like a slap in the face.
Huh?
I have to admit, I have never delved too deeply into Joni Mitchell. She's part of the sound of mvyradio, and, as the station programmer I made sure we had several of her tracks in rotation, but beyond the big hits I didn't know to much about her songs.
So I looked up the lyrics of "Cherokee Louise."
Ughhhhh.
It's a song about a young, teenage girl, who is being sexually abused by her Step-Father. Not really great Father's Day fare.
We have a couple thousand songs in regular rotation, and play thousands more on an occasional basis. So on the one hand, I could be forgiven for not knowing the lyrics and meaning of every single song we play.
But it really drove home a point that I think about all the time, when programming the station:
People's level of engagement is vastly different.
For most people, "Cherokee Louise" could play on Father's Day, and it wouldn't have any effect whatsoever on them. Maybe the never knew what it was about. Maybe they did know the meaning of the song, but didn't tie it together with the Holiday. Maybe mvy was just on in the background, and the song floated by, with them unwitting.
But for one guy, the song and the context hit him. And it hit him hard.
I wrote him an apologetic email, copping to the fact that I had no idea of the song's content, and promising him that we would never play it on Father's Day again.
Hear the song on Youtube.
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