Professionally Paying For the Sins of My Past

I feel as though my head is going to explode. It is not angst or rage that has me feeling this way, it’s the world-record congestion that has built up in my sinuses. I eagerly await my eyeballs popping out to relieve the pressure.

Work has been kind of nuts this week. There have been all kinds of hurt feelings, shouting, and gnashing of teeth over various issues such as employees earned time off, our having to work on Monday, lack of raises, etc. The boss called each of us in to his office on Tuesday to go over our time usage and to give us a “state of our jobs” address. As usual, the effect was less-than-inspiring. I enjoyed a shower of the usual cascade of mixed-messages as my boss see-sawed between accolades and death knells. In one sentence I am an asset. In the next, my loyalty to the company is what is “keeping me around so long”. Since this guy has fired people since I started working for him in late April for as little as being “too defensive”, I sat there and said very little.

You see, I am trapped in situations like this by a myriad of elements, not the least of which is that I was a total retard (my apologies to those who might be developmentally challenged or have loved ones that fall into that category) in college. I went to school in 1992 lacking many things. While the opportunity to attend Ursinus College is one I am greatly thankful for, I went to Collegeville lacking guidance, any knowledge of where I was to live during breaks, and without any sort of plan for the future. These shortcomings paled in comparison to my not having any parental or financial help whatsoever, which led to my borrowing over $20,000.00 per year to make my stay at Ursinus happen. While I was as street-smart as any kid in his late teens could be in 1991-1992, I lacked a lot of worldly knowledge that would have greatly shaped my decision-making back then – and subsequently would have greatly helped me over the next decade-plus. For instance, I believed I wanted to be a high-school history teacher and basketball coach. There was no need for me to attend an expensive private college to achieve this aim. From what I have learned about “pot odds” while playing poker, it made little to no sense for me to get myself $80,000.00+ in debt to get a job that would most likely pay $30,000 per year to start. As they say, hindsight is 20-20. Poor decision making would become the norm for me throughout my early-to-mid twenties. Most normal people who had gone through what I went through growing up, who were looking at the debt they were compiling, would probably bear down and do everything they could to succeed. Not this kid. This kid continued to feel lost, to feel sorry for himself, to feel as though he was entitled to the pity of the world. This kid didn’t see the point, didn’t plan ahead. This kid blew off classes, drank too much, wasted his money from work on fast food and booze, had a chip on his shoulder a mile wide, fought too much and did everything he could to avoid graduating from college. In that, he was most successful.

I did not finish my degrees, nor my teacher certification. After leaving campus in the spring of 1996 I was 30 credits short of my Political Science degree, my History minor and hadn’t even started the requirements for completing my Teacher’s Certification. I had accomplished very little over 4 years other than giving lots of people plenty of fodder for legendary stories of drunken buffoonery and bravery, racking up a mountain of student loan debt and destroying what reputation I might have had as a student.

So, how does this trap me where I am today? It traps me for a bevy of reasons. First, until I go back and finish school, I’ll never be happy in what I am doing. Instead of pursuing my goals of teaching, coaching, and later becoming a Principal - I am forced to bounce around, looking for the best offer doing whatever I can to put myself in the best position to provide for my family. This means sometimes having to eat crow from someone with half my intellect, afraid to defend myself because not only can I ill afford to be out of work for a couple weeks should things go sour, but I cannot afford to take a pay cut either.

Here I am, almost ten years removed from when I was supposed to graduate from college. Professionally, I will continue to pay for my sins of yesteryear for as long as it takes me to get back into school to finish my coursework and teacher certification program. Truth is, reality may not ever allow for me to finish. Without a serious influx of income at Casa de Blando, I cannot foresee my return to classes. Plus, student teaching is a requisite for certification. I have no clue how we would ever be able to afford my not working for three months straight while student teaching. But hey, stranger things have happened, right? So for now I will bide my time, bite my lip, and remember that I have to suffer for awhile in professional purgatory for the sins of my youth. This is what I have to do for my family, and that is all that matters right now.


[Currently Listening: Iggy Pop (Feat. Kate Pierson) “Candy”]

“Life is crazy…”

Back To the Grind

For the record, I would like to state that being sick stinks. I am sitting here on my first day back post-Christmas wishing I was curled up in bed. The Man, Zachary has been sick for a week with RSV and an ear infection and he must be a sharing type, because he has passed at least some of that good stuff on to Mom and Dad. It appears as though at least three other people in the office are feeling ill, so I am not suffering alone. The baby, while sick, is in good spirits. The Man Zachary has a great little personality. One second he is coughing and making an insanely terrifying choking/gagging noise, the next he is smiling and laughing. God, I love that kid. Even if he gave me the gonnecoculous creeping death.

My holiday was pretty good. Spent Christmas Eve at our house with my parents and Gabby, plus Kim's Mom and Brian. I usually get all kinds of fired up on Christmas Eve when my parents and Gabby open their presents, but this year was tough for me as I was already feeling sick. Christmas Day we went to Kim's Mom's for presents and for breakfast. Christmas morning breakfast is easily my favorite meal of the year. I believe I ate breakfast on Sunday for an hour and a half straight! We went home, got cleaned up and headed over to Kim's Aunt's around 4. The Von Bargen Christmas is always a very cool production. Zachary was the center of attention, and he made out over there like a bandit. From there we headed back to Kim's Mom's for dinner. I made out fairly well this year. Kim always does a good job in picking out gifts for me, and this year was no exception. Some gift highlights are the Lost: Season 1 DVDs, O.C. & Stiggs (one of my favorite 80s movies, just released on DVD - very goofy) DVD, a very cool watch (I have never really worn one, but will start now), two awesome poker books (Super System II & Harrington on Hold 'Em), some much-needed clothes, a cute little frame and picture of the The Man Zachary, and a very cute quasi gag-gift. I have been saying for years that the next huge thing (after the internet boom of the 90s) will be cloning various large animals into much smaller pet-sized versions for home keeping. With that being said, I have said that once this technology is available, that I want a mini-elephant to keep in the house. So, Kim got me a little motorized baby elephant that scares the hell out of the cats. Very cute.

Got to spend some time with the neighbors over the weekend, which was very nice. Our house is the social center of the block, and we always like having people come over. Looks like we might be doing something small in the neighborhood for New Year's Eve. This would be good, since all of the neighbors have kids that need to be accounted for that night. Plans are still up in the air though. New Year's Eve used to be my favorite day of the year, but now that I am old and boring, I don't have the same level of excitement about it that I used to. The best New Year's ever was 1999, hanging out with Jordan and the 7749 Crew waiting for midnight to yell and scream and also to see if Y2K was going to turn off the lights. Plus, unlike the year before, I managed to avoid falling down the deck steps. We did, however encounter some beach witches and warlocks that night. These three people (two girls and a guy) came up to us on the beach while we were running around and talked to us about their Wiccan belief-system. Not sure what kind of impact it had on me other than the initial shock of seeing three figures clad from head-to-toe in black approaching us on the beach. Very strange night...

We had our office Christmas party Friday afternoon and I wasn;t really into it. I was already coming down with the cold and was looking to get out of here as early as I could. A poker tourney ($20 buy-in) broke out and I was torn. Normally I would leap at the chance to take money from my boss and his brother, but it wasn't to be. We started with $230.00 in chips and the blinds were going up every 15 minutes. There were too many calling stations and I caught nothing in the way of cards. I finally got fed up around 3:15 and called an all-in bet with two suited connectors (I had an inside straight draw, and a straight flush draw). My boss re-raised me all-in and turned over 7-5 off-suit for a full boat on the flop. I needed a 6d to steal the pot and survive but it wasn;t happening. I was looking to get out the door so I could get up to RoFo to pick up Kim's last present before rush hour, so my disappointment level was minimal. I will play more disciplined next time I sit down with the boss and his brother though. They fancy themselves to be good players, but no matter how much time they spend in A.C., they are most beatable.

All in all, my holiday was okay. It would have been much more fantabulous if I were feeling better though.


[Currently Listening: Soup Dragons - "Divine Thing"]

Obnoxious Largesse

No, this is not an entry having to do with my fast-food drive-through ordering practices. This is a holiday-themed entry. I figured that this topic has a short window of timeliness, while the other topics I am bandying about (The Man, Zachary’s first illness & yet another thing that is wrong with this country) can wait a bit.

There are many holiday-related issues and annoyances that many of us could take umbrage with. For today I will skip the most annoying – that Christmas has become an almost purely secular holiday, and proceed to what has quickly become a close second – the giant, blow-up cartoon caricatures that are serving as decorations on the lawns and houses of our great nation.

I am all for decorating for the holidays. People that decorate, and even those that over-decorate their properties for the holidays add to the overall enjoyment level of this time of year. I don’t condone over-doing it to the point where neighbors can’t sleep due to the excessive light, but I digress. The past couple of years have seen an alarming rise in the population of garish, larger-than-life inflatable Grinches, Tiggers, Poohs, Snoopies and what-have-you. It also seems that many of the people who have gone this route to decorate their lawns REALLY love these blow-up cartoon characters, because they cannot seem to stop at just one. The obnoxiously large blow-up lawn ornaments tend to appear in clusters.

There was one such cluster in our small townhouse development - one that I am happy to say is no longer with us. The yuletide reveler in question started with one – a giant Tigger with a Santa hat that would have been cute if it didn’t dwarf the front of the house and the houses on either side of it. Then, the giant Tigger was joined by a giant Grinch. The display was most festive, and I am sure the neighbors of this particular celebrant of the birth of Christ were completely in love with the largesse. The display was not done growing yet, however. After spending some time together, the Tigger and Grinch coupled and begat a space-engulfing Snoopy! There were three of these behemoth monstrosities squeezed into a ridiculously small front lawn space! How Christmas-y! We were not surprised some mornings to find all three gargantuan pillars to Christmas festivity slumped into piles of bah-humbug flaccidity, no doubt brought to that fate by either a neighbor who wanted to see out to the street or a declaration of jihad against such obvious symbols of Christian pride.

Directly across the street from our house stands The Grinch, in all of his 8-foot-tall Christmas glory. I considered looking for a giant, blow-up nativity scene to put out front. The first obstacle was my wife wasn’t having it. The second one is that I couldn’t find one. I found 6-foot snow globes and 8-foot Grinches, Snoopies and the like. Bummer.

Perhaps I am overreacting on the subject, being this much of a scrooge over a mostly harmless decorative fad. Perhaps you are considering the purchase of one of these inflatable lawn decorations, or adding to your already established yard population. But take warning: the owner of the house referred to above has moved, and thus our holiday season has been denied the overwhelming cheer was have become accustomed to when entering the development. However, they did not move far. I am happy to report that this particular homeowner moved a mere mile away, to a nicer, larger single-family house across the street from my wife’s Aunt Jill’s house. Along with a larger domicile, the property naturally has a larger lawn – a much larger lawn. One now populated with no less than EIGHT giant inflatable lawn ornaments! Yes, eight. What was once a relatively-tastefully decorated neighborhood now has a rampaging horde of giant cartoon characters greeting residents and visitors alike. From what I hear, the neighbors would prefer an invasion of Crips over what now dominates the neighborhood landscape.

[Currently Listening: Olivia Olson – “All I Want For Christmas Is You”]

A Special Day

December 14th is an important date for me. It marks a very special night, full of all kinds of beautiful nuttiness, and one that ended up changing my life forever.

The night of December 14th, 1999 was cold. Very cold. We had gotten snow in the couple of days prior to this date, and some nasty cold weather was hanging over the area like a shroud. The Stanford women's basketball team was in town to play the St. Joe's Hawks in what would provide the only opportunity for our closely-knit 7749 Crew to see our good friend Lauren play ball during her sophomore season. Most of the group was planning to attend. Jordan was on break from Northwestern, Jeannie, Quinnie and Shan were students at St. Joe's, and Eric, Mike D., Matt and I trolled in from our various suburban locales.

Just prior to halftime it was decided that the four guys in the group would run across campus to the Muddy Duck, a dive bar that we had passed on City Line Avenue. I wasn't really into the idea. This in and of itself was quite strange. Most of my twenties were spent seeking out watering holes, not looking for excuses to avoid them, work nights be damned. If I remember correctly, it was a Tuesday night. We went over to "the Duck" and found only two other patrons. This didn't bother us because we were simply going to have a beer and a shot for Eric's birthday and run back to the game. Two pitchers between the four of us, a shot apiece and two victories over bar manager Steve in foosball (that netted me $20) later, we made it back to the Fieldhouse with about 11 minutes left in the second half. Stanford lost, and there was much dismay. Ok, not that much dismay.

We got to visit with Lauren for awhile and then it was time to go get the cars, which were parked in three different locations around the sprawling campus. The plan was to go to Friday's for a bite but I had had a couple drinks and was warming up to the idea of making an evening of things. Matt and I returned to the Duck and picked up right were we left off. There were a few more people there at this point, and the shady bar manager seemed happy that I was back. I assume he wanted a chance to win back his money. After beating hima third time, I told him I had to go. I had some people waiting for me to go get something to eat. Steve suggested that I invite them in. I told him that most of them were not quite of age, but we came to an agreement and he let all of the Crew in. What a night. Money and drinks were flowing like a river. My buddies were having a great time and were in ridiculous shape. There was a group of four girls that I was buying round after round of drinks for, and all of us were having a blast. Then, it happened...

Another group entered the bar and came over to the group of four girls I was buying many drinks for. There were two girls in this new group and four guys. I worried for a moment that I might be in trouble if these guys were the boyfriends of the said four-girl group but it turns out I was safe. Plus, even though three of them were off-duty Philly cops, I have no doubt I would have acquitted myself well if the situation would have deteriorated.

On this night, I was wearing jeans, black Docs and a nice white button-down. None of these were the article of clothing that would be the ice-breaker with my future wife. On my head I wore a white CTW baseball cap, turned backwards. You see, Kim was an elementary school teacher in training, and a Children's Television Workshop hat on a 6'5 280-pound guy was pretty intriguing. (Editor's Note: I used to love the weird looks I would get at the Trappe Tavern while imbibing Lager bottles while wearing a Sesame Street cap)

At some point, Kim and I got to talking, I believe it was the hat that started the conversation. We hung out for awhile at the jukebox and we ended up in a liplock in the middle of the bar. How I allowed myself and my morals to be corrupted in such a public fashion I will never know. By the end of the night, the 7749 Crew was a shambles. Eric and Fineberg were missing. Mike Dolan was in his car, asleep with it running (not safe at 2am at 54th and City Line, Mike!). I found Eric slumped against the floor of the passenger side of his car, and Mattie was found propping up the Duck's bathroom wall at one point. This left me in a pickle. I had no way home. Everyone was planning to crash in the girls' rooms in St. Joe's housing. But, the strangest thing happened: Kim and her friends offered to drive me home to Audubon. This was no quick jaunt. Audubon was a good half-hour from St. Joe's. They got me home, I called and left Kim a message on her machine thanking her for getting me home and letting her know that I hoped we'd talk again sometime...and the rest is history.

By the way, the rest of the Crew made it safely to shelter that night, although the Lower Merion P.D. tried to interfere with that at one point... Who'd have thought you could meet your future spouse with all of this craziness going on?

Life, Death and the Holidays

I had an introduction in mind last night for today's blog, which was going to be about people with those giant annoying Christmas caricatures on their lawns. The introduction was basically an apology for me not having anything poignant to say and to thank people for reading my self-indulgent ramblings. And, while I still plan to rant about the most horrible trend in Christmas decorations in recent memory, there is something a little closer to my heart that I want to talk about today.

I got two emails this morning that bore bad news. Horrible news, actually. The first was from my old friend Becky. Becky was notifying me that our good friend Keadren's fiance Mike had passed away last night. Mike was hospitalized a couple of weeks ago and was found to have a recurrence of his cancer. The second email I received was from good friend Danny E. informing me that another good friend, the Rev. Dick Sutton, was suffering through an agonizing mystery illness. He is reportedly "worn-out from the pain" and was eager for his opportunity to "talk with God".

I have known Keadren since the late 80's. I used to spend a lot of time with her, her brother Matt, and the rest of their Lansdale-area-based crew which later became known as the Elephant Posse. I used to take the R5 with my friend Jamie Alessi to visit those guys almost every weekend. We used to have a blast, no matter what we did. These guys were some of the best friends I have ever had. That being said, Keadren has had this long-standing foible of being drawn to the wrong sort of guy. As a caring big-brother sort to Kea, I never approved of most (if any) of her boyfriends. In fact, I didn't really like any of them. Keadren is a loving person, and tended to see the best in these guys while throwing herself into the relationships 100%. Most of them ended badly. I never said "I-told-you-so" or anything like that. I just tried to be there for her when the wheels came off. I only met her fiance Mike once or twice, but he was the first guy I saw her with that didn't set off my Big-Brother alarm. You could sense how happy they were together. I can read people very well, and I sensed that they truly cared for one another. It made me feel good to see Kea FINALLY find a good guy that was going to treat her the way she deserved to be treated. A couple of weeks ago, Kea sent out an email that Mike was sick and had to be taken to the hospital. They couldn't figure out what was wrong, but two previous bouts with cancer had everyone worried. After being transferred to a hospital in Philadelphia, doctors did find that the cancer had returned and was attacking his liver. Keadren didn't give up hope, and kept everyone apprised through email updates and prayer requests. Knowing Kea, she stayed positive and supportive of Mike throughout the ordeal. Mike's condition, however, continued to deteriorate until finally, last night at approximately 5:25pm, Michael Fulmer passed away in Keadren's arms.

Dick Sutton is easily one of the greatest people I have ever met. I worked for the American Baptist Churches, USA for about three years. I was easily the youngest person working for the organization, but I forged friendships that I will treasure for the rest of my life. While I might have been a youngster back then (mid-twenties) compared to most who worked for the ABC, Dick Sutton had an aura about him that belied his 60+ years. If there is a "people-person" on a greater scale than Dick, I haven't met them or even heard of them. He was the most approachable, engaging, disarming and enjoyable person I had ever worked with or been around. I had many long talks with Rev. Sutton about family, the workplace, personal struggles, religious topics and the occasional sports or current events chat. I looked forward to my talks with Dick, and while I was not following in his footsteps by any means, he was a true mentor to me. I haven't spoken to Dick much at all in the time following my departure from ABC a few years ago. The news that he may pass soon has hit me harder than I would have expected. If there was anyone I should been using as a resource as I enter fatherhood and the rest of my life, it's Dick Sutton. I feel guilty for not getting in touch, even after getting word of his retirement from ABC. Should Dick Sutton pass away from this illness, it will be a huge loss for everyone who has known him. No story about Dick Sutton would be complete without referencing "story time". While working for National Ministries at ABC we had daily department breaks, and every-once-in-a-while Dick would break out a book for story time. All story times involved children's books. Dick would read the group the books just as though we were 5-year-olds gathered around their Kindergarten teacher. He would even turn the book around so we could see the pictures. At the time, I found it simply amusing. In time though, I would see that there were messages in the books Dick chose to read to us. You see, the Rev. Dick Sutton knew that most of us were too busy with our lives to notice the little things in life. Many of these little things can teach huge life lessons. In all of the hustle and bustle of life, we constantly lose sight of what it is important. Dick Sutton always knew how to help us put things in perspective. He is a wise man, maybe the wisest I have had the pleasure to interact with. I miss my talks with Dick. I miss him in general. He is a great man. My thoughts and prayers will be with Dick and his wife Carole (another fantastic human being). To hear that Dick is suffering as he is has me in tears. No one deserves to suffer like that, but least of all someone who has done so much for so many people. When Dick Sutton walks through the gates of heaven, heaven is going to be better for it.

As the holidays approach and stress levels rise, as we get to spend time with relatives no matter how annoying, try to keep in mind how truly lucky we are to have time with the people we love. Life is short, and precious. I was reminded of that indirectly in the wee hours of the morning today. My son woke us up this morning at 4:30am, and usually this is cause for consternation. But, in my haste to get into his room and get him to go back to sleep this morning, the darndest thing happened. I looked into his crib and The Man Zachary was wide awake. He smiled at me and laughed. I couldn't be upset. In fact, at that moment I wasn't even tired. I stayed up with him and stayed calm while trying to coax him back to sleep. After some sleep-fighting and a nice head-butt to my right cheek, the baby settled down and all was well. As I looked down on him smiling back up at me, something dawned on me. He isn't going to be this little forever. Every bit of time I get to spend with him is a blessing, no matter how tired I am. Ferris Bueller said it best: "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in awhile you could miss it".

In all of our haste to "get through" the holidays, family gatherings, church and the like - let's take a minute to look around at the people around us and take a minute to think about how much we'd miss them if they were gone. It sounds a bit morbid, but it really isn't. None of us is guaranteed another day, and neither are our loved ones. Make sure the people that are important to you know how you feel about them. Take the time to truly enjoy their company.

I ask you, should your beliefs lean this way, to keep Keadren, Mike's family, and the Suttons in your prayers.

[Currently Listening: Neville Brothers - "Will the Circle Be Unbroken"]

Race In America (and Overbrook), Powerball and Immigration

Sorry for the lack of blogging on my part over the last handful of days. The heat has been on me BIG-TIME at work, and I have barely been able to breathe. However, a lot has been going on, and I fully plan to make up for lost time.

There has been a recurring theme that seems to keep bopping about my life for most of this week. Wednesday, I found myself breaking a serious workplace rule-of-thumb. I got roped into a political discussion with my boss at the tail end of the work day. Common sense (when I am exercising it) dictates that you never allow this to happen to yourself. My boss, a fairly well-to-do type, was espousing his views on a certain minority group and their supposed attitude towards work and way-of-life. I was almost out the door. I could have kept my mouth shut and driven home to my wife and son and let this one go. I SHOULD have kept my mouth shut and driven home to my wife and son and let this one go. I did not keep my mouth shut, I delayed my drive home to my wife and son, and I went ahead and shared my thoughts on the subject.

Later that night, Kim alerted me to the fact that she did not have enough gas in he car to get to work the following morning. And, since she seemingly saves these alerts for the coldest nights of the year, I was not pleased. However, the Powerball jackpot was over 80 mil so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone, my being in my pajamas be damned. When I went in to get my tickets, there was a younger guy of Indian descent working that I had seen before and talked to in passing here and there. He remembered me coming in steaming a month or so previously when we had talked about my run-in at basketball with a mutant trailer-spawn. I thought it was cool that he remembered our talk that night, so I stopped to shoot the breeze a bit. Somehow Kevin and I (this is without a doubt the first “Kevin” I have ever met from India) found ourselves on the topic of immigrant families, race relations, and attitudes of people living in this country.

Thursday night on Boston Legal (one of my favorite shows, no matter how silly or preachy it gets), one of the subjects broached was that of those in this country living under the poverty line - and how that status affects the attention one might receive from your fellow man or even the government.

There are a couple of topics that I have long considered writing about, but haven't been able to properly wrap my mind around. The first is my personal thoughts on race in this country. The second is my thoughts concerning where I grew up: Overbrook, West Philadelphia. I worry that my thoughts on these two topics might make some people I care about think of me differently. Or, that I might not be capable of accurately conveying my thoughts and feelings on the subjects. I figure that if I am going to attack these subjects, that I need to put a lot of thought into them, and make sure I do them justice. Another big road block to me opening up about this sort of thing is that I have changed a lot in the past 5 years or so, and I am frightened sometimes by some of my attitude changes. I am happy to report that even though some things have happened that I have allowed to sink into my thinking some, the two discussions that I had this week have gone a long way towards showing me that I have not turned to the dark side.

As most of you know, I attended public schools in Philly from 1981 through 1991. My elementary school, while in the middle of a white neighborhood, was over 90% black as most families in the neighborhood sent their kids to parochial schools. My junior high years were spent at Masterman, a magnet school for supposedly gifted students at 17th and Spring Garden. I was taking the El and Subway to school everyday at the age of 12. It was exciting and scary. It exposed me to some things that a lot of kids my age in my neighborhood wouldn't see for years to come, if ever. I attended Parkway Program H.S. at 39th and Walnut (and one year at 11th and Market), where the racial split was probably 80-20 black, where I was told that I was the only white basketball player in school history at the time. I can honestly say that for most of my life, I have been able to interact with people regardless of their ethnicity, color or creed. I have had friends from all walks of life, and I have prided myself on surrounding myself with people based on their personalities and not their outward appearance. My family did not have a lot of money. We didn't have much in the way of clothes or toys, but my parents owned their home and we always had food to eat and there was always heating oil in the wintertime. I never felt I was better than anyone else (except maybe in basketball) and I have always been a fairly humble person.

That being said, what has happened to my old neighborhood (easily the greatest place in the world to have grown up) has greatly affected my outlook on certain sociological issues, and my life philosophy as well. My parents moved out of Overbrook two summers ago, selling their home of 22 years. They loved their house, but the neighborhood had gotten so bad that they were compelled to leave. Drugs, murders and robberies had become the norm, and a constant danger. Once they knew that they would have to raise my niece Gabriella, it became a no-brainer that they would have to sell and move. Overbrook ("Down The Hill") and Overbrook Park ("Up The Hill") were once thriving neighborhoods. If you take the unofficial borders of Overbrook to be from 63rd St. to the east, City Line Avenue to the west and north, and Race St. to the south - the neighborhoods supported three Catholic parishes and schools (St. Donato's, St. Callistus and Our Lady of Lourdes) at least two synagogues, numerous small businesses, two separate Little Leagues and other various social organizations. Overbrook proper was mostly Italian and Irish in ethnic makeup. Overbrook Park mostly Italian and Jewish. My Dad's family came to this country from Italy in the 1960s and all of them settled in the area. I spent the first 8 years of my life in Darby, and my parents moved us to Atwood and Lansdowne in August of 1981. I loved it right away. There were tons of kids on the block my age, and there was always someone to play with (usually sports). The happiest days of my life were spent on the concrete playground at Cassidy Elementary playing baseball or football with my childhood friends. I wouldn't trade where I grew up with anyone on this planet. However, you could not pay me enough money to try and raise a family in Overbrook today. The neighborhood has changed greatly in just the last 10-12 years. The changes that my old neighborhood has undergone have made me very bitter.

Overbrook was a truly insular place. Many people who lived in Overbrook rarely had to leave it. Just about everything you could need could be found within Overbrook or Overbrook Park. Overbrook was also a very racist place. I used to bristle at the jokes, comments and old-timer stories that were bandied about back then with regularity. Most of my school friends were black, and I couldn't see why there was so much fear and hate coming from the older people of the neighborhood. I would get shouted down when I tried to take issue with these attitudes, and I would get very defensive when my "products of their environment" arguments failed to sway people's hearts and minds.

While I will NEVER blanket-statement an entire race of people, nor do I feel fit to judge any other human being - I can never again make the "product of their environment" argument. I just don't believe in that theory anymore. The biggest reason? Overbrook. It's history, and it's deterioration. You see, I grew up in a fantastic environment. The description above does not begin to do my old neighborhood justice. I miss the people I grew up around, and I would give anything to have that back. Suburban life does not offer the family-rich environment I got to experience as a youth. People knew one another, interacted with one another, CARED about one another. My home didn't offer much in the way of love, but I was cared for by other people in the neighborhood. I will always be thankful for how the people of Overbrook and Overbrook Park treated me. As I said, there was nothing wrong with the environment I grew up in. However today the old neighborhood has truly become a scary place. At least three local businesses have had their proprietors killed in robberies. Crack use is off-the-scale, murders are commonplace. I didn't want to admit it, but these acts were not being committed in those neighborhoods prior to the demographical shift in the neighborhood populace. Every visit to my parents home during the last 5 years or so of their living in the old neighborhood affected me greatly. I would get profoundly angry, deeply saddened or some combination of the two. I was in a constant state of worry for my parents, and it ratcheted up my stress level greatly. Worse, I let it affect how I looked at entire groups of people. I allowed myself to wonder if maybe there was some truth to different races being wired differently. I found myself wondering why these things didn't happen (or at least nowhere near as often) in the white equivalent of poor areas (i.e. trailer parks, etc.). I found myself saying things that were at best, tinged with racism - and at worst, downright hateful. You see, the environment of Overbrook was a beautiful place. The environment didn't cause the new dominant demographic to change. The new dominant demographic CHANGED the environment.

This brings me back to the two conversations I was involved with this week. The first, with my boss, was relatively short. His argument is that certain racial groups do not "pull their weight" in society, and that it is up to white people and the government to carry the load. I countered that we are less than 40 years removed from the Civil Rights Movement, and the brutal treatment that people of color received at the hands of the white majority. That the building of true wealth takes generations, and that minority groups in this country didn't have access to education, high-paying jobs and the ability to acquire property or invest. He looked at me like I was crazy, my argument went right over his head, and as far as I know I didn't hurt myself with him at all. The second was with Kevin, whose family matriculated to our country 5 years ago from India. He asked me if I noticed that Americans of most ethnic backgrounds seem to begrudge relatively recent immigrants who take advantage of what America has to offer in terms of access to education, business acquisitions and the like. I told him I did, but that I didn't agree with most or any of that backlash. I shared with him a brief summation of the challenges that have faced immigrants to the United States for generations. I told him that every group that came over here has had to face down racism, Italian, Irish, German, Asians, and now most prominently those immigrating from our neighbor to the South... People from these groups had to take the worst jobs, the worst living conditions, and had to work their way up the ladder. He wondered why groups that have been here longer than his family don't take better advantage of the opportunities this country has to offer, and why education isn't stressed here as much as it is in the families of many of our new fellow Americans. I told him that the American people in general have grown to feel entitled. I told him that I believed that there are large segments of our population that feel that someone owes them something. Some of those attitudes, when the history of their people and how they were treated is taken into account, have some merit. As I argued with my boss, we are not even 40 years removed from a time where Blacks in this country were being hanged from trees in the South and very little was done about it. They did not have the right to vote. They were treated like sub-humans. It takes time for a group to overcome that type of treatment. It takes time for a group mistreated for so long to build true wealth. It takes longer than 40 years for this growth to occur. It takes generations. I did agree with Kevin on one point: if people that are up against it turn to education versus a life on the streets, they can evolve. I also shared with him a very painful point. Drugs and the street life are not relegated to one race. All three of my siblings are drug addicts. The two youngest are currently in jail, and the 2nd oldest of the four of us just recently got out.

The truth is the poor and indigent of this country are for the most part ignored. Sure, there is welfare, which may help some. But the system is abused, and throwing money and foodstamps at people in lieu of actually trying to work with them to improve their lives are two wholly separate solutions. Entire cities are being blighted, and subsequently avoided and forgotten by the rest of America. And, don't think for a second that this doesn't affect the rest of us. The cities are our cultural centers. As the cities die so does what's left of what holds us together as a people. There is no quick-fix to what ails our country. The fracturing of the American populace into racially-divided segments is at the heart of what is wrong with the system. And, I honestly feel that the powers-that-be PREFER it this way. With everyone broken up in their little groups, there is almost no chance that the groundswell of support needed for true change could manifest itself. Alan Shore, played brilliantly by James Spader on Boston Legal summed it up best: "37 million people living under the poverty line. What would happen if they all decided to rise up?".
 
I am in no way promoting hate-mongering, one race's superiority over another, or anything of the like. I have had too many truly beautiful people in my life from so many different racial and ethnic backgrounds to be any type of racist. Many of these people treated me like family. In fact, they treated me better then my family treated me. The main "theme" as it were for my sharing this blog is that I allowed what happened in my old neighborhood to change my views on some theories and beliefs that I held as truth. I was worried that my life philosophy might have been skewed for worse by how my childhood home has changed. The events of the past week or so have reinforced my beliefs that we all need to work together, regardless of our ethnic makeup, to make things better for everyone in our country.


Oh. I still didn't win the Powerball...

[Currently Listening: "Lungfish - All Creation Bows"]

Truly Inspirational

My week has started off fairly decently. Better than my weekend anyway. The weekend wasn't bad, it was just spectacularly boring. Thanks to everyone who has shared their stories about their experiences with baby-dropping and the well-wishes for success on the gaming front. I still can't believe how common it is for people to drop their kids. But, as I said before, it explains a lot. Some good news, I haven't had any more near-misses with The Man Zachary. The bad news, I still got killed in Halo on Friday night. Oh well. Can't win them all... I was all kinds of psyched for the Hopkins fight Saturday night, and then as the day wore on I started feeling kind of draggy. Not in the dress-like-a-woman sense, but in the finding-it-tough-to-get-moving sense. The fight was slated to start around 11pm EST. Kim went out with a friend and left the baby at her Mom's, so I had some nice alone-time at the house. I was flipping back and forth between the Flyers and Sixers losses and I actually fell asleep on the couch. Bill, Jess and Alexander had to knock on my door three separate times to wake me up. Oh yeah, exciting times at Casa De Blando. We ordered the fight on PPV and something must have gotten into the water of all of the Philly teams and athletes over the weekend. The fight was one of the most boring I have ever seen, much less pay almost $60.00 to watch. Neither fighter did enough to win the fight, and I almost fell asleep again during the match. Hopkins lost what was supposed to be a controversial decision. But the truth is he didn't do enough to win the fight. However, if the Champion should be awarded the decision in these types of fights, then by that standard he should have never lost his belts in the first match with Taylor. I like boxing, but it gives me a headache sometimes.

Sunday was an interesting day. Kim made an appointment for us to take Zachary to Picture People to get some Christmas pictures taken. I truly expected the worst. First of all, any mall on the weekend at this time of year tends to be a crazy outting. Secondly, I had no idea how The Kid was going to handle the photo session. Truth be told, the baby did okay, and the mall was actually not anus crevices-to-elbows crowded. The only drawback to the trip was the photo place botching some of the pictures, and our having to wait forever to pick up the photos. While I was reaching my boiling point a few times, the baby stayed calm and that is always a blessing that makes things better.

I also got to spend some time with my good buddy Rob Y. on Sunday. Zach hung out with him for awhile and seemed to take a liking to him. You never know how a baby will react to a new face, but Zach was loving life. Ended up winning both of my fantasy games this weekend, which helps offset some of my disappointment over my showing in the spread pool this year. I have been brutal. I am only four games over .500, and 7 games out of the money with four weeks left. I can make up seven games, but I need to start doing my homework again.

Work still tends to be hot-and-cold, but yesterday the boss alluded to me getting some new responsibilities around the office, so that will be good. Last week he also alluded to something about an end-of-year bonus. Now, if he takes care of me, that would be right on time. I think some of my mood over the weekend was my being bummed that I can't do everything I want to for the holidays this year. I knew that having a baby would make for a new financial climate for the household, but I didn't know just how much. Everyone says it works itself out. Guess we'll see.

Thanks to the man with no fantasy luck whatsoever this season, Derek W. for forwarding the following link. After last night's Eagles debacle topped of a most drudgerous weekend, I was in need of some inspiration. If this video doesn't get you fired up in true fighting Philly fashion (even though it looks to have been shot in England), then you aren't alive!

http://theteatime.free.fr/talc/rocky.html

Hot Weekend Plans!

There was a time in my life where the weekend meant going out, time with friends, bar-hopping, partying, and general care-free drunken buffoonery. Those days, I am somewhat glad to say, are ancient history. And no, this is not neccesarily a bad thing by any stretch. With the added responsibilities that come with getting married, buying a house, and then having a baby, there just isn't room in the budget for the hundreds-upon-hundreds of dollars I used to waste on the weekend in the form of bottled beer, shots and cover charges. Now, this doesn't mean that I don't still find ways to have fun. Take this weekend, for example. Some may say that this is further proof that with my rapidly-advancing age, I continue to slide down the slippery slope of boring adulthood, and even worse - total geekdom. I'll let you be the judge.

This weekend, this is what appears to be on top for The Fat Guy. Tonight, I will spend some time with my son before he goes to bed, watch some of the Sixers game, and eagerly await the arrival of my good friend and neighbor Bill and his ultra-cool son, 12-year-old Alexander. Why, you ask? Because in this age of desperately seeking out affordable entertainment options, firing up the XBox and getting killed repeatedly by ultra-experienced 12 and 14-year-olds in Halo 2 is tough to top. Yes, I am a 33-year-old who not only enjoys playing the occasional video game, I truly look forward to the weekends when the kids are around so I have someone to virtually hunt me down and kill me 12-ways-to-Sunday over and over again in "deathmatches" I have no chance whatsoever of truly being competitive in. My life, as rewarding as it is with a great wife and a beautiful son, has deteriorated entertainment-wise to a point where I eagerly anticipate the opportunity to be virtually blasted to bits by kids not even half my age. And I had so much potential...

Now don't get me wrong. Even if I had scads of money I wouldn't be going out every weekend anymore. And I don't miss the drunken idiot I used to be - for almost a decade of my life. I wasted SO much money and time back then. Now, there are tons of good stories, sure. But I did a lot of really stupid things back then, and with a little one at home I can't afford to make mistakes like that anymore. I do miss seeing my friends. I miss a lot of them very, very much. I just have to pick my spots now.

Saturday night Bill and I are going to get the Hopkins/Taylor fight on PPV. I don't know if Bernard has anything left, but this is it for him if he loses. He was (and still could be) a great champion, and a true example of how hard work can help overcome mistakes made early in life. I will be rooting for him tomorrow night, as I always do for fellow Sons of Philadelphia. And, depending on when the fight starts and ends, I plan to avoid getting shellacked too badly by the youth of the neighborhood in Halo 2.

[Currently Listening: The Selecter - "Madness"]

Prone To Drops

I had a pretty big scare yesterday morning. We started a new routine this week with Kim heading back to work, one that calls for me getting up almost an hour before I'm used to - but one that allows me to spend about a half-hour with the baby before taking him next door for the day. Yesterday I learned a valuable lesson.

I had the baby laying on his back on the bed while I got ready for work. He started to fuss some, so I figured I'd prop him up against a pillow so he could watch the lights on the television. This usually makes him somewhat happy as we would seem to have a 3-month-old couch potato on our hands. I figured it was safe for me to leave him like that for a few minutes while I went into the bathroom to throw some goop in my hair and finish what passes for me as getting prettied up. Something told me I should go back in and check on the baby, and low-and-behold I re-entered the bedroom to find little Zachary face down with his face hanging off the bed with his head precariously close to the night stand. I didn't quite freak out, but I did snatch him up and proceeded to check his face and head while apologizing to him profusely. He wasn't crying, in fact he had this little mischievous look about him when I picked him up.

I was pretty upset with myself after allowing this to happen. I felt like a truly horrible Dad. This incident came on the heels of the Z-Man slamming his head into my jaw the night before. Again, I believe he was okay but it must have hurt him. That being said, I was beating myself up pretty good over it. Then, as the morning went on - I learned about a very interesting phenomenon. Apparently, what I did in the morning isn't considered that big a deal. In fact, in broaching the subject with a number of people, it is apparently very common for people to actually either drop their children or at the very least, allow them to fall from furniture. No fewer than five parents I talked to within two hours of the near-miss told me it wasn't a big deal and proceeded to tell me about events related to their children or their friends' children falling to the floor from beds, couches, swings and what-have-you.

While this did make me feel slightly better about my faux-pas, it made me wonder. First, it made me want to ask my parents how many times I was allowed to test gravity. Second, it made me wonder just how many people have been affected by these seemingly all-too-common mishaps. Perhaps it isn't the Republicans, or the dual-party system that is at fault for what is wrong in the world. Maybe it's a world-wide pandemic of careless parents like me that have flooded the world with generations of brain-damaged youth. Nah, it's the Republicans... But, I can't blame them for my near-miss. Guess I won't be leaving the Z-Man unattended anymore...

[Currently Listening: Murder City Devils - "Johnny Thunders"]

Old Blog Home

Figured it would be a good idea to provide a link to my old blog in case anyone wanted to check it out. I may try to pull them all over to this site, but that might take some time. So, the link to the old MySpace blog is: http://blog.myspace.com/vinceblog