It is Monday night, and I am sitting here in New Jersey waiting for Hurricane Sandy to reach landfall.
All in Family
It is Monday night, and I am sitting here in New Jersey waiting for Hurricane Sandy to reach landfall.
I am amazed that siblings growing up in the same house could be so different from one another. My daughter, Amanda, my sons, Alexander and Danny, may share a common genetic code, but that’s about it. You can tell they are related but I knew watching them grow up, they weren’t the same.
Initially, Amanda's due date was July 7th (7/7), which ironically is her mom's favorite number (7). Every day after the due date was filled with anticipation of the big moment.
Growing up in Brooklyn, I remember two distinct, and very dangerous, memories of the Fourth of July.
It was Father’s Day a few years ago and the kids and I decided to do a tour of the Jersey shore. The plan was to start in Asbury Park, and then we would work our way along the coast to Belmar and then end up in Point Pleasant for a late lunch. In Asbury Park, as we walked the boardwalk, I got excited as we neared Convention Hall. I told the kids to follow me...
A new born, the holidays, and a gift for my wife. What could go wrong?
Well before I spent half my adulthood down the Jersey shore, I was introduced to the ocean at a very early age.
We’d do anything to get through life. We rationalize, we chalk up events to fate, we drink (or is that just me?).
These dates are not meant for a tombstone.
Although it did mark the end of something.
Until just before third grade, we lived in my grandmother’s brownstone. She lived in the third-floor apartment; my family lived on the other two floors.
There are moments in life with our parents that, as children, we see it one way, and our parents see it another way.
There is an old saying that states you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family.
Well, that is not necessarily true.
It is no secret that I absolutely hate my name.
The irony of that is, it should not have been my name at all. It should have been my brother’s name.
Why?
It’s an Italian thing.
They always say, ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’.
And I didn’t.
I did, however, look under the hood.