The Golden Apple

I got an award this week.  It's called the Golden Apple. I'd like to tell you about it, but first I'd like to tell you about my not so distinguished, and not very stellar award winning history.  It seems that each honor, though appreciated by me, carried a bit of a stigma on its back.  Read and you'll see what I mean...

My first encounter with prestigious awards came in 1969, while I was still elementary school age.  I was a school safety.  I don't remember the countless deeds I performed as a safety, but I remember that the faculty advisor was not a pleasant person, and quite frankly, scared me to death. She taught sixth grade.  Across the hall from her room was the art room.  The only time I was sent into the hall for punishment was that year when the art teacher had had enough of my talking and giggling in class.  I remember being so afraid that Mrs. Krauss would come out of her room and see me standing there.  Every time I heard her door open, I turned my head so she'd see the back of it.  Well, I didn't get caught and got my ill-gotten award....

In 1970, when I was in seventh grade and middle school age, students had to collect all their notes, tests, and handouts, and arrange them in a notebook, in a specific way, with a clever theme.  I remember that the grade had been recorded as a check++ on the title page, but the second + was in a different color ink, most likely changed after a teacher's second appraisal.  I remember how shaky and sweaty I was when the award was being given wondering if that second + meant that my name would be called, and how light-headed I felt as it was.  I remember how proud the other 157 recipients of the award and I felt as we shared the moment and the audience applauded... 

By the time ninth grade rolled around, it was common knowledge in the school, in the community, and in the family that I had absolutely no athletic ability.  I wanted to be involved somehow, and a friend of mine suggested that I be a team manager.  I remember organizing and carrying equipment and keeping score.  Soon I had the honor of being a non-athlete with an athletic award and a varsity letter for baseball!  Another ill-gotten award!  They got the last laugh, though...my name was misspelled on the certificate.  Go figure......

I spent all my free time in my senior year of high school in the library.  I helped organize the periodical section and distribute magazines to students who had properly completed the request.  I worked hard and was so happy to receive this award from the librarian on Awards Night.  A few years later, I saw her in the Mall and ran over to her and gave her a big hug.  I was so happy!  She looked at me with a blank stare.  She didn't remember who I was.  I told her my name and reminded her of the work we did together and she still didn't remember.  I was crushed...

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Fast forward to the first day of school each year as an educator.  Each year in the District, the entire staff from all the buildings assembles for eloquent, welcoming speeches from the Superintendent, the School Board President, and the Education Association President; and each year Building Principals and the Administration award a handful of what they call 'Golden Apples' to staff members whose nomination and review of that nomination result in eligibility.

It goes without saying that after a great summer, it is difficult to muster the desire to return to the grind.  In the beginning days of my time in the District, I kept it in my brain and suffered in silence.  Now, with Social Media, I have a way to express my anxiety and suffer out loud.  It's what a curmudgeon does!  With the summer of 2014 being my most fulfilling in years with day trips to state parks, a mini-vacation to the Jersey shore, an abundance of visits from the kids and grandkids, and an exploration of the history of my family; I can honestly say that when the day before the Staff's opening assembly in the third week in August arrived, I was not ready to go back to school.  So, I posted a status:  I don't wanna go back to school!  I really didn't!

I got up at my usual time on the magic morning.  I had hoped that something would make me want to mask the misery, but it wasn't to be.  After quite a few minutes of threatening to go to the school unshaven and disheveled, and after a few unsympathetic stares from my wife Jackie, I caved in and cleaned up.  She is between jobs right now, so when it was time for me to leave, she was at home, in the bed, in her pajamas, and doing a Sudoku on her Ipod.  Little did I know at that moment that she was masking something too!  

Golden Apple awards had already been presented to a community volunteer in the district, and three deserving teachers, including one of our own in the Elementary School. Our building principal rose to the podium and told the crowd that he was presenting two awards that morning.  He then proceeded to ask the audience to compare the pair to other great 'couples' in Entertainment history such as Ozzie and Harriet, Regis and Kelly, and Abbott and Costello.

Then Amy, the Reading Specialist, who is my immediate supervisor, replaced the Principal at the microphone and continued the discussion of couples.  I appreciated all her observations, even if I didn't agree with all of them.  She began describing my coworker Lisanne and I.  She said you never think of  one of us without thinking of the other.  Joe and Lisanne, Lisanne and Joe, That's the way it is.

She began by telling the audience that I am THE man...really...the only one in the OES Reading Department and warned the crowd not to get me started on how difficult my day is working with so many women. This is true.  It's hell on Earth!  It's a tough job but someone's gotta do it!  When the girl talk and antics get to me, I just tune it all out.  I raised four kids, you know, and I can tune out anything!  

She talked about how Lisanne, my coworker and co-recipient, is quick at everything.  This is an understatement.  Usually I have responded to a statement or question from Lisanne, only to find out that she left the office in the two and a half seconds between the time she made the statement or asked the question and my response! The beginning of what was a discussion or an answered question quickly became a frustrating and embarrassing monologue by me to no one!  

Amy revealed to my district wide coworkers that I always put our computer's memory stick in the same place except when I accidentally put it in my pocket and take it home.  I concur that this is true.  Then she spoke of tabloid fodder, saying that I do a Friday Happy Dance.  This is not true.  There is no video and no substantial evidence that I have ever danced, however briefly, in the office.

She marveled at Lisanne's ability to talk in code.  This is true.  Most times I can't figure what the heck she is talking about.  Then Amy talked about the snacks.  I literally gain five to ten pounds during the school year and lose it again in the summer.  I have actually stopped going for my annual physical near my birthday in February, and now go in September, before the snacks begin pouring in and the pounds begin pouring on!.

It's true that we are both obsessed with words, and have a mammoth dictionary fondly known as 'the Beast'; that we both like to search for typos in whatever we read; and that we both love to teach. Amy also included some adjectives to describe us: hard working, funny, compassionate, flexible, reliable...instinctive, I hope!

As it was revealed that Lisanne and I would be called to the front, my neighbor, who sat next to me, said that I was 'beige', and my coworker, who sat on the other side of me said that I cowered in my seat.  I felt lightheaded.  When it was time, I walked to the stage; collected my award; and greeted the Superintendent, the Principal, Amy, and Lisanne.  I went to the microphone and, being a man of few spoken words, blurted, "Well, this is embarrassing!"  and then said a few more words that I don't remember, and Lisanne went to the microphone after me and said, "Ditto what he said!"  Then we were greeted by our spouses.  My little sneak had known about what would happen on that day for awhile.  She played it well and, when I finally left the house, got out of bed and prettied up in record time to be there.

Are you sure it was meant for me?  It's not ill-gotten, is it?  When a late career actor or actress is in the running for an award, he or she is the sentimental favorite.  He or she could get an award just because he or she is old, and they want to catch him or her before he or she...you know! 

Are you sure it was meant for me?  Could it be that, though I started in the Reading Department in the year 2000, I first walked the halls of that school in 1990 with my oldest son, and never left?  Could it be that the path worn in the hall was worn by me during my time as a parent, a volunteer, a cafeteria aide, and a member of the Reading Department?

Are you sure it was meant for me?  I work with so many folks I admire.  Any of them could have been called to the podium for their contributions to the children in our district.  Were they okay with the outcome?  So many of them have offered kind words.  I am blessed to be in their company.

The shaking stopped the next day.  It had sunken in.  There was no stigma.  It was perfect.  I am humbled. 

This week I got annoying around the house and got those wifely stares from you know who. I thought that fetching the Golden Apple and holding it in front of me would remind her of my new commanding of respect. 
It still looks like an improvement in my behavior, and not the Apple, will make my days better at home.

At school, the students have returned.  The routine is back.  The Apple was yesterday.  The gratitude is ongoing.  It's feels stellar and distinguished because it celebrates a job that I love to do! The successes and frustrations, the ease and difficulty, the silliness and restraint, the discipline and compassion, Joe and Lisanne, Lisanne and Joe, all the women, the Beast, the absence of happy dancing, and everything and everyone in the Elementary School...it's all back, it's all good, and I'm ready...

The Perfect Father's Day Gift

Father's Day.  It means a whole different set of things these days than in years past.  

I remember the days when we would honor my father by giving him his gifts and hugs and kisses on his wonderfully stubbly face, and then visit our two grandfathers, the patriarchs, presenting them with hugs, kisses, and gifts as well.  When there were no more grandfathers and we were all on our own, Mom would have her house ready for whoever wanted to stop in and see Dad, and my mother-in-law would do the same.  The patriarchs of our young adult years, my father and father-in-law, lived within a half hour of each other, and the short distance allowed us to get to both homes to show each of them how important they were to us.  I remember the feeling of having to see our fathers and grandfathers on that particular day, or we'd feel a sense of guilt and disappointment.  I remember the gifts too.  It became a guessing game to buy our Dads something that they didn't already have.  Still, they graciously accepted our well-meaning gestures and savored the visits from their children and grandchildren.

Now, I am the patriarch.  I have the stubbly face...and four kids and two plus one-on-the-way grandkids. I have to admit, the Hallmark celebration of Father's Day doesn't appeal to me.  The anxiety and anticipation of the day brings forth many feelings.  It goes without saying that I want to hear from or see my children.  I am fortunate that all of my children live close enough that we can see each other whenever we have the desire.   I don't like the buildup of the day.  I don't like the obligation the kids feel thanks to the ads of organizations that promote holidays, and those that deal specifically in clothes and products that cater to men.   I don't want my children to feel the pressure of Father's Day.  I am a simple man, and I like a simple day.  I also like visits from my children any day of the year.

This year I was the luckiest man in the world.  My granddaughter Jenna celebrated her second birthday during Father's Day week, and the party was on Father's Day at my son's house, where there are chickens!  All the children and grandchildren were there to celebrate Jenna's big day, and to honor me for Father's Day too!  

This year, my daughter Karen, who lives in Philadelphia, gave me a card with the pictured coupon enclosed. When it comes to offers like this, I am somewhat indecisive.  I don't want them to spend their money on me, and I don't want the decision of where to go to fall on me.  Little did I know how important and therapeutic the excursion that resulted from this coupon would be.....A day at the beach, a day on Broadway, an afternoon at Marsh Creek State Park...they all sounded good, but their mention never resulted in an outing.  I wanted simpler.  When she mentioned a trip into Philly on a beautiful summer day in late July, doing whatever we felt like doing at the time, I couldn't refuse!

The first thing we did after we drove into the city was meet my son John, who works in center city, for lunch.  As soon as we were finished eating, we strolled to a nearby park and I couldn't help but smile at the sunshine and cool summer breezes...and join them in posing for a selfie. When John had to go back to work, we drove to Karen's apartment in South Philly. The little stroll that followed of the surrounding neighborhoods would make this the best day of my summer!

Our first stop on our 'on foot' journey led us to this place.  It's a place I've thought about and talked about often...my grandfather's barber shop on Porter Street, which was on the first floor of his house.  I spent many a late Sunday afternoon or early Sunday evening in a chair in that shop in the 1960's and early 1970's.  I remember sitting on the stoop in the picture that belonged to the next door neighbor...just a kid socializing and playing.
Around the corner from the barber shop was a little shop where we could get a tiny sample of water ice for a nickel.  We looked forward to this treat every summer Sunday we spent in that neighborhood.  This picture is from the 1930's when the shop was in its early days of business.  My grandfather is the man on the left.  

Today, there is no barber shop.  The storefront has been replaced by bricks and a residential window.  The neighbor's stoop is still there.  The water ice shop is only a memory.  Still, the feeling of being there brought back good memories of roots and family and friendly faces.
Our next stop was only a few blocks away...my maternal grandparents' house on Juniper Street.

This photo is of my mother on her wedding day in 1946, and the man on the left is my Grandpop Giacchino, who was the dearest soul you could ever meet.  He died in 1967, when I was ten years old.  It was the first time in my life that I felt uncontrollable heartbreak.  This house had two kitchens:  one on the first floor and one in the basement.  When we would go for Sunday visits to this house, homemade ravioli and gnocchi would be placed on cookie sheets from one end of that basement kitchen to the other.  We were fascinated as we would watch them form the shapes of the pasta as if it was second nature.  To this day, I've not tasted any Italian food that matches its goodness.  I remember playing games on the front porch and stoop of this house, and entertaining my younger sister and cousins at the same time.

The front of the Juniper Street house was more recognizable after forty years.  The steps and landing were still there and the archway, which always fascinated me with it's brick architecture, was intact.  More memories from my history came to the forefront and a feeling of happiness overcame me.  I was proud and happy to share these times with Karen.  We tried to see if my mother's cousin, who was also my Godmother, and who also lived on Juniper Street, was home.  Unfortunately, she was out, most likely with one of her children.  I hope to get back to see her soon.
From Juniper Street we went to 13th Street, the home of my cousin Linda.  My heart raced as I labored over the decision to knock on the door to see if she was home.  She was, and she was so gracious and welcoming.  She shared some family history and we updated her as well. I had seen her at family funerals and weddings, but talking when there was no 'occasion' other than a visit was a gift that couldn't be matched.  It was a glorious follow up to the Juniper Street leg of the excursion.  The exchange of phone numbers and email addresses gave hope for contact with her despite our busy lives.  

Linda had suggested that we walk to our next stop, which was to this house on Iseminger Street.  This is the first house that my parents bought.  It was just blocks from their relatives, and served them well as a starter home.  I was born in February of 1957, and my parents moved their growing family to Secane, Delaware County, Pennsylvania in March of 1958.  Though I lived in this house for over a year, and visited the surrounding streets countless times in my youth, I cannot remember seeing this house before this week.  Another blank space in my timeline filled in!

I don't have a bucket list.  If I die and I haven't done it, so be it.  If I die and I haven't seen it, so be it!  If I get to do it or see it, I'll feel fortunate and blessed.  If I did have a bucket list, though, this day of sharing beauty, warmth, memories, and history with my little girl would be on it....and crossed off of it!!

Thank you, Karen, for the perfect Father's Day gift!

The Facebook Positivity Challenge, The Final Day: Nature, Grandchildren, and the Future

Well, being positive for four days went better than I thought it would.  So how do I close this exercise?  I've been telling you some simple and some complicated positives that have come my way in recent days.  Maybe now it's time for the obvious......

1.  Nature

Nature gave me the gift of positivity today.
I'm not too successful at gathering nature's moments in photographs unless the targets of my shooting are still and cooperative like flowers and slugs.  The first thing this morning though, during the calm after last night's storm, I was able to capture this moment right on my deck.  I took this photo through the window and screen, so that cardinal and that squirrel didn't even know I was out to get them!

2.  Grandchildren

No positivity challenge can be properly completed without the mention of one's grandchildren.  Somehow, the crowds and the noise seemed irrelevant at our local Fair when this little lady, who only poses for photos when it suits her fancy, posed for these gems with her sister!

3. The Future

I wouldn't say that the uncertainty of the future is a positive for me.  None of us knows for sure what tomorrow will bring.  I'd like to say that I don't worry about it too much, but I worry about it all the time.  I didn't used to worry about the weather, but now the that the patterns are changing, and my kids are out there moving about, even the forecast of heavy rain can make me pace.  A roadway with an aggressive driver or a distracted cell phone user is the bane of my existence.  What is positive in all of this is that I have diversions squashing the fear:  a longtime wife that has stuck with me even when I don't feel like being too positive; kids that, for better or worse, bring challenges that distract me from thinking of myself; and of course, the grandchildren that are here and the one that will join us this fall....

Thanks Facebook friend, (You know who you are!), for asking me to take the positivity challenge.  Remember when you said, "Joe, even old curmudgeons can do it!!"  You were right...I am an old curmudgeon, and being positive feels almost as good!