Tag Archive | fathers


Ray doesn’t quite understand about teams. About rooting for your favorite team in baseball, too be exact. He does understand winning and losing, and boy howdy he wants to be on the winning side.

Brian loves the SF Giants. It’s his team. He has been a rabid fan since, well, since before I met him. And there’s no team he hates to see win against the SF Giants quite as much as the LA Dodgers.

You  probably know where I’m going with this.

They played last night, in LA.  Everytime the crowd would clap and go wild, Ray would run around the living room “We win! Yay! Win!” Of course he didn’t know that he was rooting for the wrong team. He was just having fun, spending time with Dad. Which he really needed, because he had an extremely hard day yesterday.

Of course, Dad had a rough day too… “I can take a lot of things, Wyn… I can accept almost anything my son throws at me. I’m not sure I could take it if he’s a Dodgers fan.” There was defeat in the man’s eyes.


It’s baseball. The American passtime for crying out loud. Let the boy root for which ever team makes his heart go pitter patter.


Changes, they are a coming. And I’m not sure how I feel about them.

The first is obvious. My little Baby Ray is no longer a baby. He is all boy. He is growing by leaps and bounds. I’m so proud of him– his speech has come a long way from this time last year. He has come a long way from this time last year. He’s a smart boy, too, and has a bit of the imp in him.

Then there’s the change in how I feel about where I’m living. I still feel safe-ish. But not completely safe. I suppose that’s normal, but it’s still an awefully big change for me. I’ve felt safe everywhere I’ve lived except for 1 place.

Work is, well, it’s work. I have a job and am very grateful for that. THat it happens to be one that I enjoy for the most part, and that I’m good at is a super big bonus. But things there are going to change too, it’s the nature of the beast.

ANd my writing. Wow. Has it changed. My habits with writing need to change, too, though. I need to write more consistently, instead of waiting on the muse. I know this, I’ve gone through this before. Yet it’s a lesson that I need to re-learn over and over. What will it take to get it pounded into my head?

And my marriage. IT’s changing too. Evolving somewhat. We spend more time together, as a family unit. Which is ALL GOOD, don’t get me wrong. BUt sometimes I wonder at our roles, and why we have the ones we have, and and and and….

Changes are coming all around. SOme will be good, some bad. But the only thing certain about life is that if you’re doing it right, SOMETHING is BOUND TO CHANGE.

Just gotta re-gain my optimism for the day 🙂

Stories from my father

In my last post (which may very well go private very soon… I think I told too much), I touched breifly on a story my father told me this morning, about my ear problems.

Growing up, I knew my grandfather told wonderful stories. He told me how I was part cowboy and part black foot indian and I could tell, because just look at the bottom of my mother’s feet. I did, and they were black! (I was very young, very gullible, and she went barefoot most of the time). We got back from Kentucky that summer, and in the fall in my second grade class, they asked all of us if we had any American Indian heritage. I proudly raised my hand. “I’m half black-foot indian!” I declared.

My mother started getting baffling mail from the tribe. Then a phone call, where they talked about her not honoring her heritage (her father sailed from Scotland, her mother’s family the same)… Until she talked to the school office, she had no idea why these people were harassing her.

It makes for an amusing story now. It’s in the chronicles of family history now.

My father’s stories, however, were a little more sly. He told me how he swam across a frozen river once, and how he had to walk uphill to school– both ways. Listening to my father requires paying attention, because he also told stories, real stories, of growing up. The difference is in the wittiness. The true stories are still gripping, but they don’t really require you to puzzle out what he’s saying.  And yes, I was way too old when I figured out the sly part.

One of the witticisms that I caught as a teenage was the CGU2L. He talked about them as if they were a bomber that he flew in during WWII. Say it out loud… CGU2L. If you don’t get it yet, don’t worry. It took me a while too. C… G…U…2….L.  It’s a weird spelling of the word Sea Gull. I used to giggle as a teen when he’d say it at the beach and my friends would be confounded but unwilling to admit to it.

As much as I remember my mother reading stories to me growing up, I remember my father telling stories.  I’m able to honor both of them. I am my mother’s little book worm, and I have a knack for telling stories.

I love hearing my father’s stories. Stories of his early life, World War II stories, stories of being married and broke with my mom. I also love the fables he tells… Like the ship trapped in my ear, doomed to cause me pain everytime I move my head.

And yes. I’ve decided that I’m going to be stealing some of his stories in part or in all. If I ever get them published, I’ll make sure that his name is on the book as well.