Two Birds

Popop, you absolute deadbeat. You’re old Phillies shirt didn’t work. Of course, you’d take all the magic with you. Forever the showman.

You know I’m kidding. I’m just stopping by to say hi. It could have been worse. They could have lost to the Braves. That being said…

Shaving the playoff beard was a bummer. You could tell the guys really liked being around each other. Harper looks like the evil prince in a Disney movie, but Schwarber is my favorite. There’s no reason for a guy that thick to hit bombs and somehow still steal bases left and right. It was a lot of fun, especially seeing the athletes from other teams get into it.

There is something wildly romantic about baseball: the greenest grass you’ve ever seen against a city skyline, the stare down between batter and pitcher. It’s a gunfight at high noon, all the way from the unmistakable pop of a ball against the barrel, to the snap of the catcher’s mitt when a fastball rifles its way in.

“Sports are not about winning or losing. They’re about the moments, the good and the bad.”

If you gave me a jailhouse phone call with you, I really wouldn’t have much to say. We could always talk without talking. I just want you to know I’m well. Ten toes tall.

Sometimes I worry I’ll never calm down, but I also hope I don’t… at least in some ways.

The barbell has been kind. We may or may not have had the annual viewing of Tom Hardy in “Warrior”, so traps and forearms have been kind of the pet project at the moment. White boy tatted. White boy spatted. I’ve had to be careful to take extra care of my hands, but better to wear out than rust out, right?

I put the skates back on recently. I’ve still got it. I was surprised. It’s been years since I laced ‘em up. But it felt really good to put the cape back on. I wish Nike made black Air Force Ones in skate form… time to put the C back on my chest. There’s talk of forming the “It’s Always Sonny” line because everyone still loves you so much.

“As Clarkie goes, the Flyers go.”

We’re whoopin’ on ‘em Popop. I never played JV in my life, and I’m not about to start now. I promise you that. I’m still trying to decide on a specialty between surgery, oncology, pediatrics, or some combination therein. You know I need to be in the thick of it. I could never survive a laboratory, at least not on any long-term basis, but that’s all “a ways away.” If John Grisham can be a lawyer and write books for airport convenience stores, why can’t I be meathead Dr. Seuss?

Remember that bat signal sign Mr. Mitch gave me when I was really little? It’s still, out front. “The Prince of Gotham.” It still makes me smile.

I’m probably not sleeping enough. Uncle Seanie is probably due for a vacation, maybe a good camping trip, maybe some surfing or diving, and definitely some dancing… but I’m well. I saw A’s horses recently. That’s always fun. I still shoot good pool.

Your birthday’s coming up, but right now it’s Dallas week. You know what that means. I hope your mojo has recharged because Christ knows you were of no help to the Phillies. Maybe you were just saving it up for the real bad guys. The Dallas Cowboys.

Vive la Résistance. There are jackboots marching on rain soaked Parisienne cobblestones down les Champs-Élysées. Doc Martens stomping on le Pont Neuf, making their way to l’île de la Cité… and we don’t tolerate such things.

I love you, but that’s nothing you don’t already know. I know you can’t hear me. Dead men tell no tales, and bodies can’t snitch. But that’s fine. This is for me. Tell Grandmom I said hi. I hope she finally let you get a motorcycle. You can be Steve McQueen, but I call Paul Newman.

“O Captain! My Captain!” – Walt Whitman

Happy early birthday Popop. Go Birds. Beat Dallas.

Sean

There once was a puppy named Mickey. He liked sleeping with his brothers and sisters. The ground was cold, but they kept each other warm. His mother was very pretty, and his daddy was big and strong, and they loved each other very much.

He was brave and liked to go on all sorts of adventures. He loved to chase ducks and watch the horses. He was good at swimming with the ducks, but he could never catch the horses!

When he got tired, Mickey would drink from the sprinkler. Mickey would get under the fence to chase the horses. His family would follow him around to bring him home. They’d shout, “Mickey come back!” But Mickey was having too much fun!

One day Mickey stayed out too long, and it started to get dark. Mickey didn’t know how to get home! He was scared but he tried to stay brave like his mommy and daddy taught him.

It started to rain, and Mickey found a tree to sleep under. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever find his way back! How will Mickey find his way?

Mickey woke up in the morning and wasn’t sure if he’d ever find his way. He tried to find some breakfast, but a big man found him. He chased him around with a big net, but Mickey got tired, and the man picked him up.

The man put him in the back of a truck. Mickey did not know where he was going, but at least it wasn’t raining. Maybe they were taking him back to the ducks?

The man took Mickey to a big building. There were lots of loud dogs, but The Lady who picked him up was nice. Mickey had never seen so many dogs. There were other animals too, but Mickey wasn’t sure what they were or where he was going. How will Mickey find his way?

The Nice Lady took Mickey to a place with lots of other dogs. Mickey was big and brave, but the other dogs were really loud. Mickey sat down on his bed and wondered if he would ever find his way.

One day, The Nice Lady came and put Mickey’s picture on the wall. “That’s me!” Mickey shouted as the nice lady came to feed him and all of the loud dogs their breakfast.

Mickey was happy to eat, but he didn’t get any pizza or cheeseburgers. He got to go for walks, but it didn’t feel like home. How will Mickey find his way?

Sometimes other nice people would come to say hello to Mickey and the other dogs. It got really loud. The people were nice, but they didn’t have any pizza. Sometimes they would take one of the other dogs out for a walk and they never came back. Maybe they were going to the ducks.

One day, Mickey was sleeping in his bed wondering “will I ever find my way?” The Nice Lady opened the door and a Man in a hat sat next to him. The Nice Lady put a rope on him and they walked out of his room. He got in a car with the Man, but he got to sit in the front, and he listened to music the whole way!

The Man took him to a room that was much bigger than his. The Man started washing bowls that were like his. The Man played music Mickey liked and fed him some pizza! Mickey thought, “Maybe, I’ve found my way?”

The Man would bring friends over, and they were nice to Mickey. Sometimes they even brought other dogs! Mickey missed his brothers and sisters, but it was nice to have friends. Sometimes, they’d even go to the park to meet other dogs. Big dogs. Little dogs. Mickey liked playing with all of them. Maybe Mickey found his way?

Sometimes Mickey would get in the car with the Man and drive for a long time, but Mickey liked it. He liked listening to the music, and they’d get out to see all sorts of things Mickey had never seen before. They were on an adventure. He was an adventure dog. Mickey found his way!

Mickey liked to nap and listen to music, but his favorite time was when they’d go to the beach. There were so many dogs to chase, and he could play in the waves. Mickey found his way!

At night, Mickey would dance with all his friends until everyone got tired.  The Man promised him that they’d be back soon, so Mickey didn’t worry. He cuddled up with his family and couldn’t wait for the next time they’d meet.

Mickey found his way.

Ladies (and gentlemen, (and those in the spaces in between)),

Whoever the person is in your life, it’s important that you know what it means when they finally break the ice and tell you they love you.

And no, I’m not talking about some kid trying to score on prom night. I’m talking about the real deal: kissing under fireworks on the Fourth of July, snowball fights in Winter, crushing leaves on a crisp walk in the Fall, and long talks on porch swings during a late Spring breeze.

I’m talking about, “I love doing laundry with you on a Sunday afternoon. Those things that normally make me roll my eyes so hard that they get stuck in the back of my head? Maybe not going a million miles an hour all the time isn’t so bad. Maybe we can just pack some sandwiches and go see that day hike waterfall. Maybe we don’t need to pack bear mace.”

If they mean those three words, it didn’t just fly out of their mouth the moment their neurons started firing. It means there were thoughts during those early walks. Then there were even more after the walks ended.

“That was nice. I like them.”

Then an easy lunch in the sun, maybe a dinner or two.

“Wow. I really like them.”

Then days will go by where you can’t help but look at a book, hear a song, or watch a movie without thinking of them. Would they like this one? What character would they be? What would their voice sound like singing this?

There might even be a dream or two before it can’t help but be admitted:

“I love them.”

They’ll walk around with a smile in their heart, but they won’t be sure what to do. Maybe it’s too early. Maybe we should just see how things keep going. Maybe you just don’t feel the same. But the memories will stack up, and they’ll know it would be dishonest to not say anything, and they hope that you might be just as captivated by that beautiful form of madness.

“I just had to tell you I love you.”

Happy screams. Laughter. The Eagle has landed. We’re home.

The best part is the next time they get to see you, and the happy knowledge that there will be more next times.

So bear in mind the next time you hear I love you, that the real ones don’t take those words as a cheap way of upgrading on “I like you.” No one should ever wish for that, no matter how good the words feel in their own right.

Please don’t shoot up today, but if you do, please make sure that the needle is clean.

I drove the Badlands not too long ago. I just had to check in, if only for myself.

“Down in that part of town, where when you hit a red light, you don’t stop.” – Bruce Springsteen

I was raised around enough old men to know that being from the K&A was a mark of pride, where they made the tough guys. Now it’s the zombie factory. The opioids hit you hard, and that makes me sad.

Do better PPD. You think those Oakley wraparound sunglasses, hoodies, and khaki 5.11 shorts are fooling anyone? At least find a cop, whose 6”2’ and weighs a buck fifteen… and keep him awake for a few days before you send him out on the streets trying to score and put someone away for 30 years.

You think that twelve-year-old dope boy on the corner can’t smell the trenbolone coming off you? That kid’s got ten toes down. Ten tall on the yard. I’ll bet you anything you’ve got some shitty clover tattoo on your ankle or some Italian name scrawled across your back. I’m gonna guess O’Connor and Esposito.

I’m just as guilty of anyone to working out to tracks that celebrate how rough it is.

“Came up two blocks off the Badlands.”

“Almost got murked in front of the same church my family got married in, dad got carried in.”

I’m not proud of it, but there is a dark ego in knowing that certain kinds of people can still survive amidst this nonsense. Our people.

There are so many beautiful places in this city. So many parks, museums, and old buildings… and then there’s this wasteland humans get ground up in. Throwaway people are discarded like organic refuse, biological waste. I know we treat you like the stupid little brother who got kicked in the head, and in many ways you are, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t part of it. You’re in the club. You know how it works here. We can talk all the shit in the world, but the moment someone outside the tribe starts up….

We don’t hire hitters around here. We call family.

Kensington. You’ve got that dog in you. I want you to take all that trench baby you’ve got thumping around in your chest and crawl up out of the mud. I know it’s not easy, but it’s not like you’ve ever known any other way.

Please know that you can always call home.

With every ounce of love I can muster.

“This one right here is for all of my Oodles of Noodles babies.”

Hands clutching like otters holding each other so they don’t drift apart in their sleep. Legs interlaced around one another in the peaceful still of the night.

The room air is crisp on your face, but there is a warmth in your cores clinging together. There’s the calm glow of stars fading out of the window as the melody of songbirds begins to sound through the walls.

“What are they singing?”

“Whitney… No. That’s gotta be Aretha.”

A sleepy, slow peck on the cheek.

A lazy smile.

“Sorry. I’ve been meaning to shave.”

“No. Leave it.”

Her word is law. The beard stays.

As the sky turns into a dark blue and the world begins to wake up.

“Do we have to get up yet?”

“God. I hope not.”

But you’re scared to check the clock.

You can hear the coffee pot start to rumble, signaling the start of the day.

But not yet. There’s still time.

Gentle hands down necks and shoulders, soft palms but firm fingers working into the strips of rubber that hold all of humanity together.

The pieces of carbon that make up our bones from some distant star all supporting a glorified primate that futilely tries to mold the world in its image.

But not in this moment. Not now.

Not a lot of people know this, but my Popop was a kidnapper.

I didn’t hear this story from him. He was hauling a load through the deep south, I want to say Georgia, way before I was born. There was a teenage girl, a runaway, at a truck stop. He picked her up and took her back to Jersey. My grandparents housed and cared for her, but when the guys on the yard heard, they were right to be worried.

“Sonny, you took a minor across state lines! Do you know how much trouble you could be in?!”

Popop was the Teamsters’ Shop Steward, the go-between “the guys” and management, and he was good at it. They needed him, and if anyone came looking for that young woman, there is a chance that he could have been in real trouble. But Joseph had young daughters. The guys were right, but so was he. All he could say was:

“I couldn’t just leave her there like that.”

He had to have been thinking about his little girls at home when he saw her in that parking lot. My grandparents got her on her feet and found her a place. They were pen pals with her for a while. Last my grandmother heard she was getting married. All because some fat trucker just couldn’t leave her there like that.

And that was just how he was.

He had a way of making every little trip feel like the greatest adventure.

“Popop, where are we going?”

“Crazy! Wanna come?!”

“No! Popop! Where are we going?!”

“I told youse! Crazy! Wanna come?!”

He would dress up as Santa, and not just for our house.

He taught me that intelligence is admirable, despite his living in a realm where slick talk is looked upon with suspicion (as it generally should be). You don’t have to be an idiot to kick it with the boys on the yard (though it does help). That being said: character, integrity, and intelligence are completely unrelated… but strive for both.

In the face of any serious matter, never tell someone “You owe me one.” That is the realm of petty tyrants.

Look out for your dudes, stick up for your guys, and roll with the boys. Whether or not they repay you. It’s not about debts or making sure somebody knows they owe you. It’s a method of conducting oneself. To do the right thing because it is the right thing.

He taught me strength, but with warmth, without cruelty or malice. He was a tough guy, but I never feared him. It was not the numb callousness of stainless steel, but a steady comfort, like a golden light through dark forest.

He taught me how to love without fear, which can get a man in plenty of trouble, but it’s the only way I know. You can’t have bravery without risking a fair amount of foolishness. It’s a razor’s edge to walk, but I wouldn’t rather have it any other way. Thank you Popop.

I’ve known since I had some vague sense of my own existence that the most beautiful woman in the world could have walked into the room to ask for a dance, and he would politely decline. I’m sure he would make some joke about what my Grandmother would do to him, but the truth of the matter is that there was no force strong enough in this universe to shear him from his Lady.

He even held off his own death for her. He was very much tired of living, held together with paper clips and bubble gum, but she wasn’t ready for him to go, so he kept on trucking, even if it just meant playing solitaire in his underwear. She was the queen of the world as far as he was concerned (even if he’d never say that to her face). Those two very much deserved each other, how ever you want to take that.

I’ll never forget driving down from Jersey with him in the middle of the night. I had my learner’s permit, and we were somewhere in Georgia. He asked me for the first time if I wanted a coffee. I swelled with pride, thinking “Oh, I’m one of the boys now.”

Later that night, a deer ran out in front of the road on that Georgia highway. It wasn’t even a smooth move; I didn’t have time to think. I popped the wheel of that white Buick one way and then back the other. The only other time I’ve had something like that was when a car almost took me head-on over the median in Tallahassee.

We were both silent until Popop just sort of blankly said, “That was good.” We just sipped our coffees, kept on driving and talking. I still can’t look at a deer without thinking of that dark stretch of Georgia highway.

I’m still truckin’ Popop. Love you. Happy Father’s Day.

Your Seanie

Wooooow… I would cook her breakfast so hard.

———————————————————————–The coffee was warm, but not as warm as the sun coming through the shop windows, and even that wasn’t nearly as warm as the words.

Her: “You look tired.”

Him: “I was born tired. What do You think the coffee is for?”

Her: “I thought You liked the taste?”

Him: “I do. What did You want to be when You were little?”

Her: “Oh god…. Anything with animals… but You first.”

Him: “I’ve always wanted to own a chain of slaughterhouses.”

Her: “Stop it.”

Him: “Hey! Don’t stomp on a man’s dreams! So, a vet?”

Her: “I’m serious. Anything. A vet. Zookeeper. Dogsitter. Cats. Dogs. Frogs. Snakes. Birds. Horses. Anything.”

Oh, I’m in trouble.

Him: “Cats or dogs?”

Her: “Why not both?”

Him: “How dare You compare cats and dogs.”

Her: “What’s wrong with cats?”

Him: “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with jungle cats, but some of those little bastards think they belong to Cleopatra herself. Besides, all dogs go to heaven. That’s scientific fact.”

Her: “Cats don’t have to belong to anyone… if they ever can.”

Him: “Fair point. You got me. I guess that’s a draw for some people.”

Her: “I’m guessing You’re a devoted dog guy.”

Him: “You haven’t met ol’ boy. He’s a good dog. I know everyone says that, but he really is a character. We’ve been around the block more than once. We’re just a couple of strays together.”

Now She’s gonna start giving you the business back.

Her: “The dynamic duo… so… are You a good dog?”

Yiiikes. She’s a cruise missile.

Him: “No. I’m a human being. Listen, I’m not just a piece of meat, OK?”

Her: “Oh, so now we’re playing serious?”

Him: “I didn’t realize we were ever not being serious or ‘playing’ at anything.”

Her: “So, You were serious about being a slaughterhouse magnate?”

Him: “As serious as a heart attack from all of that red meat coming out of the abattoir.”

“No, but seriously… I had that phase every little boy does of wanting to be an astronaut. Then I wanted to be a photographer for national geographic. Then the phase of doctor/lawyer (just so they have to call you Doctor in the courtroom) fighting the good fight, then… something else.”

“I was on an ambulance for a hot minute. That was fun, just wish you could pay the bills with it. Being a lawyer who isn’t a vampire is a tough road, so I guess it’s back to the medical side of things.”

Her: “Hmmm…”

She stares into your soul through the steam rising from the mug. You’ve barely touched your coffee.

Oh, shit. She’s got me pegged… and talking way too much.

The words will tumble out of your mouth with less elegance than you would like and even less than she deserves.

Him: “But mostly I think my life’s calling is to take You dancing.”

Her: “Oh, for god’s sakes. Is this every day?”

Him: “Only when I’m on a roll.”

Her: “Is that what You call this? Seriously. Is this all the time?”

Him: “Seriously… I guess you’ll just have to find out.”

“Pretty good coffee though, right?”

We live to fight another day.

Once upon a time.

Have you ever… Jumped out of a perfectly good airplane? Surprisingly fun. I recommend. SCUBA diving always made sense to me. You get to control the where, the what, the depth. I figured skydiving would just be a thing you do to say you went, but I am wrong. Lots of fun and far more agency than one might guess.

Have you ever… Watched her run to you and realize “Oh, home doesn’t have to be a place”? To not just know sleep, but to know rest. To put your head in her lap and it doesn’t matter what’s on the TV. If it makes her happy, it goes on, end of discussion.

Have you ever… Looked across the canvas from another man thinking “I’m gonna take what he loves.”? It doesn’t sound nearly as macho when 30 seconds later you’re begging him to tell you that he’s ok. To hurt, yes. To damage, never. Teddy Roosevelt’s Man in the Arena. And you live with countless memories of people who could have watched the light fade from your eyes if they didn’t remove their forearms from your throat when you tapped their shoulder, so pump the breaks there killer.

“To do something you love, are terrified of, and yet acknowledge as pragmatically pointless is art.”

Have you ever… Had your hands gently massaged? One of the sexier feelings ever. Can’t recommend it enough.

“Will you sing?”

“Only if you tell me a story later.”

“Deal.”

“Once upon a time….”

Have you ever… Watched a woman you love die slow and hard in front of you? She’s a tough, stubborn old bird, so she refuses to show fear, but every now and then you’ll get a text message in the middle of the night from outside her bedroom door.

“I’m scared.”

God and I are going to have a discussion later.

“How’s birthday cake for breakfast sound?”

One of the hardest things will be the knowledge that there is nothing more to do. There will be no refuge to take in thoughts of, “If only I had.”

Have you ever… Thrown a tennis ball over the head of a mangy Tallahassee street dog? The ball will sail over his dome in the yard. Ten toes tall on D-Block, but he’ll jump on you.

“Alright. We’re getting you out of here, buddy.”

 His paperwork will cost more than him, but he will pay you back in a million road trips and goofball moments. He’ll win more than a few hearts and urinate in more states than a lot of people have set foot in.

“He’s a tramp, but they love him. Breaks a new heart every day.” – Peggy Lee & Sonny Burke

Have you ever… Rolled over in the morning to watch a beautiful woman’s eyes flutter open? It already makes your day when she smiles seeing you’re the first person she gets to speak to.

“How’d you sleep?”
“Terribly. Awful dream.”
“Why? What happened?”

“I was walking in this field. The grass was soft and green. The sun was warm, and flowers were just starting to bloom. There was this stream, and the water was so clear and so crisp that I barely noticed the snow on the mountaintops in the distance.”

“Then how did the dream go bad?”

“You weren’t there.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Have you ever… run through a crowd yelling her name? Bold wager there champ.

You get the bad ending and you’re just another schmuck holding grocery store flowers in the rain. And walking in a dripping suit sucks. I don’t think I need to ask anyone how they feel about wet socks.

You get the good ending, people coo and clap while you dip her and laugh at each other. Each attempt to talk being met with a demand to know why in the hell you’re not kissing me right now, feeling like the end of a 90’s movie and you just barged your way through an airport terminal.

But hey, wouldn’t be a fairy tale without some deep dark woods and dragons living in gingerbread houses.