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After literally years and years of working on my novel (based upon my mother’s life) I can finally say that the last of the chapters should be completed in about two months’ time. Then it could go into final editing before getting ready for release.

This book has been a true labor of love and the writing of it has, at many times, been quite cathartic for me. I must admit that a lot of the procrastination I experienced during the writing has been based more upon psychological reasons, rather than “writer’s block.” Something inside me was not ready to give up the total story for fear of having to once again “let go” of my mom. This book will be the last thing I will ever get to do “for her.” It is however very important for me to finish this manuscript on her behalf.

I realize that I will in fact never let go of my wonderful (and much missed) mother, as she will live on forever in my heart and in all the hearts of those whom she touched throughout her lifetime. I know that she would be very proud of my work and I truly believe that from above; she has guided me through the project.

I don’t know exactly how long the editing part of the book will take, but I do know that I am closer than ever before and that each passing day brings me closer to a release date.

I thank you all for your patience and for your words of encouragement. Having you in my corner has touched my heart and I cannot thank you enough. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention a few names here. These special three women, only one of whom actually new my mother, were privy to reading Unforgettable as a work in progress. Their enthusiasm for the story to continue and for more chapters to arrive into their in box was an incredible inspiration to me. So I thank you Jeanne Steinberg, Chire Harvey, Cookie Vetere . Your encouragement, input, and most of all your interest to follow the story, kept the fire burning inside me. I would also like to give a special thank you to my cousin Susan Tunnell, who each day read a chapter or two of the book to her mother, Eunice, my mom’s only sister, while visiting her in the nursing home where she lived out her final days. My only regret is that I could not have completed the story while my dear Aunt Eunice was still alive. However I do know that she is up there with my mom rooting me on.

So once again, I ask you to be patient with me for just a little bit longer. In the meantime I have posted a small photo slide show to my YouTube channel so those who plan to read the book can get a glimpse of the “real” Trudy.

Thank you all.

Until next time

Don

By the time I was six and a half years old, there had been enough tragedy and change in my life than most people experience into adulthood. I can vividly recall holding tightly to my sister’s hand as we stood in horror and disbelief watching our father die in our mother’s arms, just days before Christmas. Then on that very Christmas day, while waiting for our grandfather to come and visit us, we received a phone call informing us that he too had died. Grandpa had suffered a fatal heart attack in route to our home!

As time went by, my mother became very close with a man who had made it his mission to take care of our needs after my father’s death, and eventually, that man became our new dad. Before we even had time to adjust to life with a new father, I was told that there was a baby to come. We then moved away from the only home I had ever known and within months, my big brother also passed away. What’s more, all this took place in only two short years. At six years old, that was one third of my life!

I remember being somewhat excited about the prospect of a new baby, but to tell you the truth, at that young age, it didn’t quite seem real until the day arrived when my mother was coming home from the hospital with baby Janice. We rode in the car to pick up mom and the baby. Maureen and I sat in the back seat, while mom held her new baby ever so close to her from the front passenger seat and dad of course, did the driving.

Finally we were in our home and I was permitted to touch baby Janice on her rosy cheek. Her skin was soft and she had a beautiful fragrance that I had never smelled before. I was told that it was what new babies smelled like. Then I was seated in a chair and Janice was gently placed onto my lap for me to hold. That moment right there, holding this precious and fragile new member of our family, changed my life forever.

Although saddened with grief, something inside of me, as I held onto baby Janice, made me feel hope. I felt unexplained joy and caring fill my heart because of her. For the first time since my father died, I felt like I belonged. I knew that somehow, everything was going to be alright.

I remember wondering, is this the family that God had intended for me now? Then I looked back down at Janice’s happy and rosy face, and knew the answer.

Janice and yours truly at 2 and 8 years old respectively

Of course our family continued to grow, blessing me with two more sisters, whom I love dearly, but I will forever view Janice as God’s way of healing our family and as the beginning of a new and happy life to come.

Today we celebrate my sister Janice’s birthday. She is now a grown woman, happily married with two grown children of her own. Janice is a teacher of fourth grade students, and her special brand of love, kindness, and humor makes her a favorite and memorable teacher who truly makes a difference in her students’ lives.

I couldn’t be more proud of the woman Janice has become and of all her accomplishment, but I must admit; to me, she will forever be the beautiful baby whose arrival was the beginning of all things good for our family.

So Happy Birthday Janice, I hope your day, and the year (and years) ahead, are as special and wonderful as you are. I love ya kiddo!

Janice & Me Today

Have you ever had one of those days when you wake up with a song in your head that you just can’t shake? This morning, for some strange reason, I woke up humming a tune I had not heard in a dog’s age. It was an oldie from 1963 that my sister Maureen and I use to like quite a bit as children. The song is “Sukiyaki,” by Kyu Sakamoto and it was a rather big hit in its time, reaching the number one position on Billboard’s Top 100’s in June of that year. Sakamoto was the first Asian to ever to go to number one on the American charts. His song went on to sell over 13 million copies!

It had baffled me all my life as to why the recording was named Sukiyaki. For all the times that I had listened to the song over the years, decades in fact, I had never heard the word Sukiyaki in the lyrics. Surly the song must be a catchy tune about food or at least have something to do with a meal, so after fifty-three years, I decided to investigate.

As it turns out, the song is about a man fighting back the tears of a broken heart, from a lost love. It’s actually a very tender love song, but why the name Sukiyaki? Well, it really isn’t titled Sukiyaki. The true title is, “Ue o Muite Arukou,” which translates to, “I look Up As I Walk.” Sukiyaki was simply a familiar word that Americans could easily pronounce. Why they didn’t simply use the English translation instead of Sukiaki is baffling, but that’s a whole other story.

The tender ballad is about a man who looks up to stop his tears from falling because, as he says in the song, “I am all alone tonight.”

Sadly, Kyu Sakamoto died tragically at the young age of 44 in the deadly 1985 crash of Japan Airlines flight 123. Thankfully he will be forever immortalized by his haunting melody. I have located it on YouTube complete with lyrics that have been translated, so you too can now hear and feel the song as it was truly meant to be felt.

Until next time (or should I say, Syanara?)

Don

The dictionary defines a “hero” as follows:

he·ro

/ˈhirō/

noun

• A person who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities:

In the wake of the recent fifteenth anniversary of 9/11, I was reminded by my very modest cousin, Joe Rabito – an actual 9/11 hero – that he has heroes of his own. This got me thinking, one doesn’t necessarily have to run into a burning building to save someone to be a hero. Certainly a person, who selflessly puts themselves at risk for the sole purpose of saving another, is undeniably a hero; but there are other acts of selflessness that people perform daily, making them unsung heroes to those they help, and I am sure, in the eyes of God.

As I pondered the thought, I realized that I didn’t have to look any further than my own back yard to find some of my biggest heroes. I wish everyone in the world could have had an opportunity to have known my mother. What can I say about a woman who literally spent half of her life suffering from one horrible disease after another, with hardly ever a complaint? For the sake of her family, she fought off breast cancer, cervical cancer, heart attacks, triple bypass surgery, total renal failure, steroid poisoning… well the list goes on and on, but I’m sure you get my point.

My mom did all this, with grace, dignity, a positive outlook, and of course her beautiful smile. She would somehow put her pain behind her, managing to hide it from most, while remaining funny, interesting, intriguing, witty, smart, kind, caring, gentle, and loving. She lived a life that inspired me to be a better person. Even in death, I can feel her guiding me every day. It is because of her, that I too can put my woes behind me and smile as if nothing is wrong. She taught me that behind every face was a story. There is no one exempt from pain and suffering. I learned that there is no such thing as an old person; every senior is a life lived, filled with a youth of their own, battles they’ve conquered, loves they’ve had, families they’ve raised, and wisdom that we will never be privy to, if we don’t take the time to get to know these people.

Mom taught me to be myself, no matter how different I may be, that I will never please everyone. I learned that your friends are not really those who “like you,” your friends should “love you,” and that we should love them back, just as passionately.

Through her lessons I have been rewarded with a partner who is truly my soul mate, dear and true friends, and a peace, happiness and contentment in my life as it is. Everyone I love and everything I have, I consider a blessing.

Shortly after she was diagnosed with a rear disease, my mother fell into a coma. We sat at her bedside waiting for the inevitable. Then just before she drew her final breath, mom suddenly awakened from the coma to utter the words “I love you” as she gently slipped away from this world. My mom was indeed one-of-a-kind and without dispute, SHE WAS A HERO.

Then there is my Father. Still a bachelor at age thirty-one, my dad was holding out for “just the right woman.” Realizing that life was too precious to waste, he was determined not to settle on just any woman, but to hold out for his version of “Miss Right.”  He had a clear image in his mind of the type of woman he wanted to spend his life with. It was definitely not the stereotypical Brooklyn born, Italian/American, hard edged women he had grown up with. He was focused on finding a lady who, in his own words, “was much more refined, in keeping with those, playing wives and mothers on screen in the movies and television.”

On paper at least, my mother, fit the bill, and then some. There were however a few snafus that had probably never even entered the equation when dad was planning for his perfect wife. You see, my mother was not only a widow, but she was seven years his senior… with three children!

Clearly it would be an awful lot for any man to take on, let alone a young bachelor. Still, my father went with his intuition, feeling that my mom was indeed the woman he had waited for, he married her and not only became our father, he became our “dad.”

He has broken his back over the years to provide us with the best that he possibly could, putting our needs above his at all times. He has taught me to be a man who is kind, loving, caring, and to have respect for the world that God created for us and respect for myself. He has been a source of inspiration and encouragement for me from day one. He has always been there in my corner, and he remains so today, still believing in me more than I could in myself. HE IS A HERO

I happened to be blessed with not only two, but three parents. My biological father was a very hard working man who did all he could to provide for his wife and three children. After suffering a heart attack at age thirty-nine, he was told that it left him with a blood clot. Back in 1961, before by-pass and blood thinners, it was pretty much a death sentence. He was told by his doctors that when the clot reached his heart, which would happen in a couple of months at best, he would have another heart attack, very massive, and die.

I can’t imagine what it was like for a young man, husband, and father to receive such news. I don’t know for sure how I would handle it, but my father decided to keep it a secret and work on a plan that would take care of his family.

Caring for his family was nothing new to him, as he had been taking care of family since he was a young boy in the fourth grade of grammar school! That was during the Great Depression and as a child; he would sneak out a window to run away from home. He would then hop freight trains to get to the Midwest, where he would find farm work. Once he amassed what he felt was, a sufficient amount of money, he would return home to give it to his parents, helping them with the expenses’ it took to raise their nine children. Each time he returned, he would promise his crying mother that he would never do it again, but of course he did. It was the kind of boy he was, and the kind of man he became. So when he learned that he was going to die, he knew he couldn’t leave this world without knowing that his beautiful wife and his three children would be okay without him.

Ironically, my biological father (Mario) and my dad (John) were friends. John had a huge crush on my mother and my father knew it. Although John thought that he was being very cool about it, everyone who knew them was well aware of his infatuation with my mom. She was the standard that he had set for his own wife.

One day when John came to visit my father in the hospital, my father told John (and swore him to secrecy) exactly what his grim diagnosis was. Of course John was stunned, but he was sent into a tailspin when my father gave him the green light to become my mother’s husband! My father knew that a man with John’s integrity and exceptional morals would take good care of his wife and his children.

He may not have had a lot of schooling, but my father was a wise man nonetheless. As the weeks passed, he would ask John to drive him to his doctors’ visits. Once there, he would always be very insistent that my mother and John go to the diner down the street to wait, while he saw the doctor alone. This not only kept my mother in the dark, it also gave her and John an opportunity to get to know one another better.

Of course everyone knows that John did indeed marry my mom and become my dad, but what an incredible biological father I had who, during his final days, kept focused on his family’s future. HE WAS A HERO.

I find heroes everywhere I look around. The nuns in my church, who have become my friends, started the only organization in Palm Beach County to not only feed the homeless, but also provide them with a shower and a place to wash their clothing, a simple human dignity we take for granted. These nuns; THEY ARE HEROES.

My sister Janice; who sat outside in the rain for hours, just to watch one of her students play in his little league baseball game, simply because she promised him that she would do so. I remember her telling me that the smile on the boy’s face made it all worthwhile. SHE IS A HERO

The more I began to think about my family and friends, the more I began to see everyday people, who by their deeds, things done without any thought of self-gain, are heroes in their own right. I know without a doubt that if you take a look at your own family and friends, you’ll find yourself surrounded by heroes as well. You are most likely a hero to them.

Every day there are men and women, boys and girls, who are preforming selfless acts of kindness for their family, friends, strangers, and even animals. In a world where the news media constantly bombards us with stories of evil doings, I am happy to know that one quick appraisal of the people in my life, has me surrounded by true and honest heroes. I know that you are too.

Until next time,

Don

I first met Denise over thirty years ago. It was Thanksgiving Day 1985. Her son Dave, my now brother-in-law, had become engaged to my sister Janice and it was arranged that the Pakula family would come to our house so we could all meet and celebrate the holiday together.

Denise asked my mother if there was anything she could do or bring. “Just yourselves and a hearty appetite,” my mom answered. Then Denise, still a stranger to us, replied in her own inimitable way, “ Okay, then I’ll just bring my green goop.”. Now you see, my mother never, ever, ate any food from another person’s house. The only two exceptions were her own sister and her mother. It was just my mom’s thing. Can you imagine her despair when she heard Denise utter the words, “Green Goop?” For two weeks that’s all I heard, “what do I do if she asks me to try the ‘goop,’ suppose she insists?”

Finally Thanksgiving Day arrived and so did the Pakula clan, and as it turned out, green goop was simply Denise’s term for green bean casserole. If only dear sweet Denise knew the stress that she had put my mom through she would have… well who am I kidding? We all know she would have handled it the exact same way, laughing until she cried! That was Denise, forever laughing, always looking for the humor in just about everything. Of course we all had a wonderful time and knew that very day, that we would always be lifelong friends.

The Mothers-In-Law

Then the next time I saw Denise was because I had promised to go shopping with Dave for a new wardrobe. Back then, Dave was the ever-so-casual fellow in sweat pants, tee shirts, and baseball caps (Yankees of course) and I was to be his introductory lesson into the art of men’s fashion. I guess you can say that I was his “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy,” long before the show was ever a concept.

Of course it was fun bonding with Dave during the excursion, but the real fun came when we returned home, where he was living with his parents. I was met by Denise, who welcomed me as she did everyone, with open arms and an opened heart. I remember sitting next to her on the living room sofa, as a very proud Dave not only showed his mom the new clothes, but as per her wishes, gave Denise and I a full fashion show, trying on every single garment. He walked through that living room as though he were a short, chubby, Jewish version of Fabio. Denise would squeeze my hand with pride as Dave beguiled her with his newfound fashion knowledge with such remarks as, “I would never have picked out a paisley tie on my own, but do you see how well this one brings the shirt together with the sport coat?” All the while, Denise doing her famous “Betty Rubble on steroids giggle.”

When the show was completed, Denise gave me the warmest hug and through her trademark laughter, she thanked me for turning her son into a full-fledged grown-up in one afternoon. She laughed as she said, “David became more of a man today than he did at his Bar Mitzvah!” I think I made some sort of wisecrack like, “and they both cost about the same amount, only this time it was his own dime!” I could still hear her laughing from all the way out in the driveway as I left.

During the next year or so, I provided floral décor when her daughter Rose came home to Levittown to announce that she was getting married… THAT very weekend! Sometime later, Jackie was graduating from high school and was not going to her senior prom. I asked if she would attend if I were to escort her – and to make a long story short, she and I BOTH attended our first senior prom. As you would expect, Jackie’s friends and myself gathered at the Pakula house to await the limo which would bring us to the gala. Denise would not have it any other way, and I could see by the kids gathered there, that this happy home was a natural choice for them.

As the years ticked by, through thick and thin, Denise and I became stronger and more dedicated friends. Holidays, birthdays, and family milestones alike, our two families melded together beautifully. I would always enjoy sitting with Denise at the various family functions, sharing never ending jokes and belly laughs with her. No one could be sad with Denise around.

When they received the news, while vacationing with Matt & Courtney in Colorado, that my mom was going to pass away at any moment; Denise and Ben cut short their trip, turned around and DROVE STRAIGHT THROUGH THE COUNTRY to be with us here in Florida. After my mom’s funeral, Denise and Ben came by to see me. Denise pulled me aside and gave me a little card with a verse about a never ending friendship. Please indulge me, as I share it to you:

“Sometimes in life, you find a special friend. Someone who changes your life by being a part of it; someone who makes you laugh until you can’t stop; someone who makes you believe that there really is good in the world. This is FOREVER FRIENDSHIP, and if you find such a friend, you feel happy and complete. You have a forever friend, for life.”

It was a small gesture with a huge meaning. Realizing that I had lost the only truly unconditional love a person knows, she wanted to make it clear to me that she would always be there. Although given to me, the verse ironically sums Denise up to a tee. I kept the card in my wallet since the day she gave it to me, well over a decade ago. It remains there today, and most likely will, until the day that God calls me home. It will stay there not only because it’s a special reminder of an extraordinary woman, but because there was one error in the verse. A FOREVER FRIEND is not only yours for life, when that friend is Denise, that friend is literally FOREVER.

Yours truly with Denise

I am always going to celebrate Denise as the happy, kind, loving person that she was in life and who I know, is in spirit as well. I will rejoice in her reunion with her beloved daughter, Rose, her parents, and her grandson Nicholas, who will forever be doted upon by BOTH of his grandmothers. I will thank God that I – out of billions upon billions of people in this world, was blessed to be one of the chosen to have time with Denise. I will be forever grateful and I will be happy in knowing that on Earth or in Heaven, I have a very, very special, FOREVER FRIEND.
Until next time,
Don

I would like to take a moment to wish everyone a very happy “National Moon Day!” Now before you drop trou and bend over; today is a celebration of the July 20, 1969 manned landing of the American Lunar Module aka; “the Eagle” onto the surface of the moon.

I don’t know about you, but for sure I can remember just where I was when I heard those magic words spoken by the Apollo 11 Commander, Neil Armstrong, “The Eagle Has Landed!” I was 13 years old and even then I could remember thanking God for having this happen in my lifetime.

Later that evening, every American, if not everyone in the world with a television, sat glued to their seat as we watch Neil Armstrong take the first steps onto the moon. The room filled with shouts of joy as Armstrong announced, “That’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind”

It’s hard to believe that it was forty-eight years ago today. Reminiscing about that awesome moment still brings tears to this writer’s eyes. It stands as a reminder that no dream is too big to aim for.

Happy National Moon Day to everyone. Here’s hoping all your dreams come true.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Until next time,
Don

So terrorist attacked our beautiful city of Paris last week and I say “our” city in solidarity to all the free nations around this majestic planet we live on. They may call themselves terrorist but never before has a name been so inappropriate.

Their goal may be to induce terror but with each and every action they take, they accomplish the opposite. We don’t fall and cower in terror; instead they only make us become more patriotic, more compassionate, and stronger in our convictions… and in our faith!

I thank God with all my heart that my dear French friends were safe from harm’s way. I don’t need to name them, they know who they are and they also know that they are more like extended family to me than friends and that I love them all with every inch of my being.

My heart goes out to all those who were affected by the cowardly bombing of the innocent (and unarmed) citizens of the Great Nation of France. I pray for the souls of the dead, the healing of the injured, and peace for the surviving family members.

Paris, you are the City of Light, and that light shines through your darkest moments.  Your bravery and strength has your law enforcement already arresting the cowards responsible.  You are France, and you do not stand alone at this time. I am with you, America is with you, the world is with you. We support, love, and hold you in our hearts. May God Bless you now and forever. Vive la France!

With love from,
America

The other day was my sister’s birthday. As difficult as it is for me except, my kid sister turned 50; the big Five-O! I don’t even want to talk about where that places me in the grand calendar of life; let’s just say that I am older and leave it at that.

If anyone in the world deserves to be celebrated, it’s Theresa. She is the most giving, kind, and sacrificing person you could ever hope to meet. Theresa even chose a job where she could nurture and care for children with special needs. The students adore her and if you know Tee, you most likely do too.

So in honor of her grand milestone birthday, my other (but equally wonderful) sisters planned a special surprise celebration in her honor. Unfortunately for me, I would have to be away on business and was unable to attend. That said, I had to do something to make my presence felt by Theresa. If there is one major trait that Tee and I share, it is that we are both extremely sentimental. So I sat down and penned a letter to my dear sister that I hoped would convey what is in my heart and let her know how grateful that I am to God for giving me the privilege of sharing life’s journey with her.

Once the letter was completed, I went through all the family photos covering the past fifty years. Thanks to my sisters, my niece Taylor, and Theresa’s sisters-in-law, Jean and Virginia, I was able to put together a video-slide presentation celebrating Theresa. Our brother-in-law, Joe, who is married to our baby sister, Sharon and is a wiz with technology, arranged to have a screen at the party, which would allow everyone to share the past fifty years of the guest-of-honor’s life! Not only that, my sister Janice agreed to read my letter aloud to Theresa and I understand that Janice did a stellar job! Thankfully, I was blessed to have the ability to reach out across the miles and touch my sister’s heart. In our own special way; we did get to spend a bit of her birthday together in spirit.

Theresa and Yours Truly

I could not post this blog on her birthday, as it would have given the surprise away but now that the party is forever etched into her heart and mind, I would like to share with all of you, the special woman that is my sister, Theresa Ann and what makes our bond so unique…

Dear Theresa,

How I wish I could be there with you to help celebrate this milestone birthday. I hope you know that I am with you in spirit.

It’s almost unfathomable to think that it was fifty years ago when mommy and daddy came walking through the door of our little apartment at 107 Engert Avenue, in Brooklyn, with my new baby sister.

Only a child myself, I had been secretly wishing for a baby brother, after all, the scale was already unbalanced; two girls to one boy. When news broke that mommy had the baby and that it was another girl, I was beside myself. I was quite sure that I was going to be very indifferent to your arrival but when mommy sat me down on the sofa and placed you onto my lap; my heart melted. I couldn’t believe that I was able to love you so much. As your tiny fist held tightly to my pinky finger, I remember thinking, “this is my new sister and it’s gonna be my job to take care of her and protect her, all my life.”

Not that you’d need it, you were a fighter from the get-go. Born blue, you beat the odds and drew that precious first breath of life into your lungs to let out the cry of your arrival. Clearly God had a plan for you and I was lucky to be a part of that plan.

As a man who was never blessed with any children of his own, I had the honor of helping our parents care for you, Janice, and Sharon. The happiness that those years have given me fills a place in my heart that would otherwise be hollow.

I remember back in Bayside, spending days and days holding your hand, teaching you to walk. I can still remember the evening I gently slid my finger out or you grip and watched you take those first steps on your own. Mommy and daddy were sitting on the front porch, chatting with neighbors as I excitedly gave them the news. Everyone, including the neighbors, came inside to witness you do it again – and you didn’t disappoint; you teetered across the floor with a knowing grin on your face that made it quite clear to all, there’d be no stopping you now!

Not only did I get to teach you to walk but I was also there to teach you how to ride a bike, jump rope, roller skate, and swim across our little pool.

I remember the hours spent on chilly winter afternoons, riding you on my bicycle. Around and around the court we’d circle until the “Chow-Chow Cup” truck would finally arrive and we would share a cone shaped paper cup full of greasy (but hot) fries, which we thought was the bomb back then!
As silly as it was, it made us both feel special to have this secret moment just between the two of us.

And of course there were the trips to the florist to see Santa Claus and his workshop; hikes through Ally Pond Park, and picnics at Oakland Lake; such happy memories.

I fondly remember the days spent dressing you up and fixing your hair for school. I even made your Halloween costumes. I helped you with your homework and played your favorite songs on my stereo; always loving how much it would make you smile – or better yet, dance!

I gave you piggy-back-rides, pushed you on swings, and in Vermont when daddy took you fishing on the little row boat, it was I in the water beneath, who would slip a fish onto your line and give it a tug. I picked you up from religion class and even dressed you for your First Holy Communion. How beautiful you looked that day. You knew it too; you couldn’t wait for Sister Agnes to see you!

As you grew, I’d take you to work with dad and me and you would help us to fill displays and price bottles. When the work was done, we would all go to Junior’s for a hearty lunch. As I remember, there was usually a little bit of downtown shopping involved too!

I made the flowers for your wedding, and James and I did your hair and make-up. As you came gliding down the aisle on daddy’s arm, you looked like Heaven’s most glamorous angel.

I could go on and on about the times we’ve shared but the important thing is; they were many – and they were happy.

Our family has spent a lifetime being there for one another, supporting each other and loving as only mommy could teach us. Because we have each other; our good times are better and the bad times more tolerable.

I am so proud of the woman you’ve become and the amazing mother that you are. You have a reputation for being a person who cares deeply and is always willing to help others. Your special brand of kindness breaks through the barriers of the troubled students you help, bringing them joy and comfort in knowing that you are there for them.

You’re a true and loyal friend and about the best sister a guy could ever wish for.

So here’s to you and your first fifty years. May those beautiful memories be your guide and your comfort as you set forth on the next chapters of your life. My birthday wish for you is that you may realize how much you are treasured and loved, and that you always know that your brother is here for you.

I love you Tee, more than these simple words can express and I know that mommy is looking down on you with pride and great joy for all that you do and all that you are… The one… The only… Theresa!

Happy, happy birthday little sister.

With love from your brother,

Don

PS, I hope you enjoy the little slide presentation I’ve assembled, chronicling and celebrating, the past fifty years of “you.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiFNJ9lxBTw

Pardon my rant but…
When did grown men, in their 30’s and even 40’s, all begin to act like twelve year-old boys? What happened to the wisdom of the dads of yesteryear? From Jim Anderson of Father Knows Best to Alex Stone of The Donna Reade Show, Walt Cleaver of Leave it to Beaver fame, or Mike Brady from the Brady Bunch, dads have been dispensing wisdom that growing up and becoming an ADULT MAN used to bring automatically. I know first-hand that my father was a hard working guy whose priority was making sure his family had all that they needed. I cannot recall him ever having to be drunk, hang with his bros, or go out and play.

Nowadays it seems that in the world of entertainment, our male role models, play video games more than they work, drink more than they eat, must be the first to buy the newest iPad, quote stupid syfy movies, drive recklessly for fun, and would betray their best friend, wife, or even their own children in an attempt to win a silly game or merely “be right” or have the last word for that matter!

At least in the land of show-biz, God and Country are out – in favor of football, fast cars, guns and big (albeit artificial) breasts. This is what the world has been watching on TV and films for the past few decades and what has it gained us? All I see is a blatant lack of respect for authority, non-stop shootings that make the old, wild west seem tame by comparison, and a generation that knows so little about empathy, sympathy or the world around them, that in an effort to have purpose to their boring lives, they can be swayed into the jaws of a crazed, radical organizations by a simple “social media” message!

If you’re not getting anything out of your church or current religion, it’s not the organization… it’s you! EVERY church and temple out there has ministries where you can put yourself to good use. So you want to feel you make a difference? How about volunteering yourself to feeding starving children, caring for the elderly, working towards housing for the homeless, cleaning up the planet, assisting Doctors without Borders, or hell, even help out at a local animal shelter! Look around you; I am sure you have family, friends, and neighbors that may need your help. It would seem to me that such work would not only give your life meaning, help humanity, and change the world but it would show favor in the eyes of God, if you’re so inclined to believe (as I am).

Here’s a newsflash for the crazy radicals and bored, spoiled teens who think the world owes you because you were picked on, left out, or misunderstood; once you’re dead, you’re dead. You NO LONGER retain human form and your body rots away into the planet so you will not have any use for the 12 virgins you’ve been promised will be waiting for you if you blow yourself up in a car-bomb! You’re dead you jerk, you have no human body or a reason to procreate so therefore, no silly carnal desires. It does not take a genius to figure that one out. You will not receive any measure of “fame” for shooting your unsuspecting classmates. You will just die… the end! Then it will be your spirit that will have to answer for your actions when you meet your maker.

Speaking of that, how will you explain, killing the people he created, turning your back on the hungry and the poor, and destroying his beautiful planet, not to mention the art and historic architecture his children created by his gracious gift of talent?

I know that this blog is very deep but I am feeling exceptionally poorly these days and today’s TV news sent me over the edge when I learned about a sweet, innocent little two year old girl fighting for her life right here, just a short ride north of my town. Why is she fighting for her life? Some moron’s stray bullet came to rest in her young face! This freakin’ idiot who thinks he is a big man and has a right to shoot his gun (most likely attained illegally) has ripped a family apart. Other headlines; “Couple accused of keeping two of their children locked in a closet and feeding them out of a Bucket,” “Woman’s body found dead on side of the road from apperent homicide,” Two people arrested for setting a man on fire,” “Drive-by shooting sends brother and sister to hospital after car is riddled with bullets.” This is all only today’s headlines. It’s as though there is no respect for human life any longer.

Day after day the news informs us of a body found shot to death on such-in-such street or in a car, a canal, an alley, a parking lot, and even in their own bed. We feel hopeless as sit idly by shaking our heads in disgust as “the powers that be” fight any legislature aimed at putting an end to this horror because “it is our first amendment right to bear arms!” I don’t think that some dumb hick with an arsenal of automatic weapons was what our forefathers meant when they believed it was important to bear arms back in a day and time when we needed to protect ourselves from British invasions, attacks by the angry Native Americans and quite frankly, men needed guns to hunt for their food. They did not “kill for sport” and the entire sacrificed animal was put to good use whether for food, clothing, or energy.

It’s as though people can no longer tell the difference between make-believe and reality. I was actually sickened while watching “former honor student” Shayna Hubers, laugh in her police interview as she told the gruesome details of shooting her boyfriend to death. Recalling the moment she put the gun to his nose and pulled the trigger, “I gave him the nose-job he always wanted,” she said with a giggle. I don’t know about you but that sounds anything but remorseful to me.

On so many levels it seems that for all we learned, we are moving backwards. It feels like there has been a resurgence of racism, hate, and phobias that are bringing the world to its knees.

What can we do to change the world? Damned if I know! I do know that more violence is not the answer. Maybe it’s time to once more teach simple things like, make love not war; we are all brothers and sisters, and God is watching us. Our children must be taught about empathy, kindness, and sacrifice in an effort to stop the plague of selfishness and entitlement that has taken control of society over the past several years.

I hope that things start to get better soon. I feel sorry for today’s young who know a world very different than the one I grew up in. We may not have had internet or high definition television, but we were happy, caring people who always had something to do and friends to do it with. We actually spoke to them, one-on-one, had genuine social skills. We didn’t sit alone in a room and text until our thumbs needed surgery. I do have faith however. For all the bad news we hear about, which gets the lion’s share of the press, there is a lot of good in the world and the people in it if we take the time to look around. I am sure that God will do good by us but maybe we should do good by him too… just sayin’.

Thanks for letting me rant, I promise my next blog will return to my usual lighthearted self.

Until next time,

Don