If I've spoken too much in the past about how memorable Sunday mornings were in my house as I grew, I apologize. The significance of those times leads me to tell again what made them so special. Mom would wake up early and begin the task of making the meatballs and gravy for our Sunday feast. We would go to church at noon and were usually home by one, at which time Mom put the final touches on the meal, specifically 'putting the pot on', a.k.a. boiling the water for the pasta, and making the salad. The 45 rpm records would play on the record player. In the early '70's, one of the songs in the rotation was 'Cracklin' Rosie' by Neil Diamond. My sisters, my parents and I were a family of showoffs when in the comfortable environment of our living room, and shouted the lyrics to that song. Before we knew it, Mom was in on the act jumping and dancing with us. She would sling her apron strings and get an intently silly look on her face and jump in time with the beat of the song. We'd laugh and sing and dance until the meal was ready. The only thing in the world that could compare with Mom's Sunday gravy and meatballs and the clowning around was the leftover gravy and meatballs at Thursday's dinner! Everyone, including my kids, knew the story of the Sunday family dinners, but never did 'Cracklin' Rosie' come up in conversation...until now...
My son got married this May. I was the proud father of the groom as he took his bride in his formal Air Force uniform, and she took him looking radiant and beautiful. The weather couldn't have been better for such an occasion. All the children were there and we were a family unit much like the one that filled that Larkspur Lane living room forty plus years before.
With each major event in my family's history, Mom was the proud matriarch, basking with pride in her children and grandchildren's milestones. Dad was her support system, getting her where she needed to be and showing his happiness in a much more quiet and subdued manner. My sister Janet was the confidant, the adviser, the boaster of all that was positive in anyone's life...I was so appreciative of the family who could share this important event in my life, yet felt an occasional emptiness as the festivities began. I know it's been nearly nine years for my Dad, five for Janet, and three for Mom, but I still want them to be there for all the events, and certainly wanted them there that day. I've accepted that they couldn't be there and the day proceeded with all the happiness you'd expect from such an occasion.
When we arrived at the outdoor party, the deejay was already playing many of the fun tunes you'd hear at wedding receptions and many of today's radio favorites, most of which I was unfamiliar with. Fortunately for this old fogie, some classics and oldies were interspersed with the usual wedding reception fare. With thousands and thousands of oldies to choose to play at a wedding reception, I'd think that Neil Diamond's records, no matter how endearing and enduring, would not make the cut. If a Neil Diamond tune was chosen to play at an event, I'd think it'd be 'Sweet Caroline', 'America', or 'Cherry, Cherry'.
Imagine, if you will, the deejay playing 'Cracklin' Rosie' by Neil Diamond within a few minutes of my arrival. Imagine that he and the bride and groom had no prior knowledge of the 'Cracklin' Rosie' portion of my Sunday family time story. Imagine that my two surviving sisters are enjoying the perfect temperatures and the sunshine at their tables. Yes, Imagine that the song 'Cracklin' Rosie' begins playing on the deejay's turntable and three siblings stop, look at each other, and exclaim, "They're here!"
It happened. It couldn't have come at a more appropriate time. It was a Sunday afternoon and we were together again! It was a feeling that I needed to feel. They are not with us physically any more. They live in a deeper place and when we needed it most, they let us know that they were with us and were happy we were together on that Sunday afternoon...
Coincidence? I hope not. Wedding presence? Perhaps. Wedding present? Definitely!
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| Kevin and Jessicca, May 18th, 2014 |
The late comedian, Rodney Dangerfield, was an aging, down on himself slinger of one-liners that showcased the mild mistreatment from those closest to him in life. In a phrase he proclaimed, "I don't get no respect!" Back in the late 1960's and early 1970's, I watched him on television and I just didn't get his humor. I didn't understand all the attention this middle aged, self-deprecating curmudgeon got. Now though, four decades later, I'm getting it! Just like Rodney, I don't get no respect!
I don't get no respect from my wife, Jackie. Everyone knows that this winter was one of the worst ones on record in the Philadelphia region. I was already riddled with anxiety and restlessness because, in case you didn't know, I don't like snow, and significant snowfall had been forecast. I looked out the window and saw something I didn't want to see. "I see flakes," I said in a slightly aggravated, and slightly fearful voice. "I see a flake too!" she responded. Nope, no respect!
I don't get no respect from my daughter, Karen. She has posted a photo to social media announcing her plan to 'adopt her parents'. I see an anxious, restless pup by the name of Joe on the right side of the photo. I see a more attractive, less frazzled gal pup named Jackie on the left side. I don't get the connection, and I still don't get no respect!
I also don't get no respect from my coworkers. Two of them, whose identities I want to conceal, so I'll call them Amy and Lisanne for the sake of the story, were inventorying our Reading Library books and came across two titles that they laughingly brought to me. They called them my 'summer reading assignment'. One of them was called The Little Round Husband. It's about a man who loved to eat. His wife loved him round, but the rest of the world thought he should be thin. After painful effort to lose weight, he accepted his roundness. The other was called The Wonderhair Hair Restorer. This one told the story of a Dad who was losing his hair. For Father's Day, he received a bottle of hair restorer. It didn't work, and a series of embarrassing events allowed him to accept his baldness. Again, I don't get the connection and I don't get no respect!
