Dear Departed Past
Nov. 21st, 2014 05:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947Here’s to the dear departed past:
The photographs you find,
That seem to call to mind,
Familiar family faces.
That’s when every sky was bluer.
Clouds seemed to disappear back then.
That’s when every friend was truer.
Ahh, but then again,
Didn’t they know you when?
But here’s to the echoes of tomorrow,
Soon to be memories at last.
Memories that will someday reappear,
Loud and clear,
In the dear departed past.
(Dear Departed Past: Dave Frishberg – 1985)
I think the last time I thought longingly about Toñito as a child was when he graduated from high school and left home in 1996 to attend George Washington University in Washington D.C. His departure was like losing sight of your infant child, as he swiftly turned a corner into a narrow alleyway that he alone could see and walk. The path he had traveled at home, as a child and youth, could never be retraced, and would never be followed again. His life since college has been an independent one, filled with jobs, games, friendships, relationships, and adjustments – but he has always managed to remain geographically and emotionally connected to his family and loved ones. I suppose I’m suddenly flooded with memories of his youth and childhood because they are now truly coming to an end. You see, Tony fulfills the old Irish adage of “a son is a son until he takes a wife…” when he marries Nikki Willis in March of 2015. How much of that youthful boy of my memories still lingers and dwells in the man Toñito has become today? I wondered...
The final impetus for this essay came when I heard Rosemary Clooney’s rendition of a great old song called “Dear Departed Past” in my iTunes library. The lyrics captured my mood and sentiments as I approached this crossroad in Toñito’s life. It brought to mind many long buried scenes and images of Toñito as an infant, youth, and adolescent. (Note: Since I couldn’t find a YouTube clip of the song by Rosemary Clooney, nor the complete lyrics online, I took the trouble to transcribe the song myself, and added the lyrics to the end of this essay.)
I must finally confess that Toñito was a sweet and “special” child. There is no getting around the fact that a first-born child is a “once in a lifetime” experience, and Toñito’s personality made parenting a joy. I can clearly remember holding Kathy’s hand through her extended hours of labor pains; adjusting to the shocking news that she would require a “C-section” delivery; and seeing Kathy for the first time after the operation, radiant with happiness and relief as she showed me the perfect, fuzzy-headed infant in her arms. From the first time I held Toñito in the hospital room, to the long goodbye I whispered to him through the looking glass of the nursery, after the longest days of my life, I have loved him in a way that has never been repeated. No matter how intently Prisa interrogated me on this point later on, and despite all my evasions and insistence that she was “special” too, there is something unique in experiencing, caring for, and loving your first-born child. All the raw fears, worries, and uncertainties of parenthood are not often repeated with the second child. There is a relaxation and newfound confidence with the second, and the path of childhood has been clearly opened and mapped for them by the first. I saw these dynamics repeated in the births of our first granddaughters, Sarah and Gracie. Watching those two girls now, as they smile, laugh, and play with each other, only reminded me again of those first years with Toñito, of the years he and Prisa spent together as children, and our early lives in our first home in Reseda.
I’m sure that many people would assume that my first impressions of Toñito would be of his intelligence – how alertly he observed things, and how quickly he spoke, learned, and began reading. But more than anything else Toñito had the ability to astound me and bring tears of joy to my eyes with his actions, words, and imagination. I always thought of him as my own “Little Prince”, a boy from another world bringing the gifts of unconditional love, laughter, and childish wonder into our adult home. In many ways Toñito re-taught me the truths I knew once as a child, but had forgotten as a man.
Toñito’s laughter was his sweetest gift to us as a child. Until his voice changed at 10 or 11 years of age, Toñito had a secret, tinkling laugh that escaped him during private moments. It sounded like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. This was not his public laughter, the one he used in school, at family gatherings, or with friends. It was his private chuckling. I would hear it on quiet days from another room, while he sat alone in the living room or bedroom, reading a book, listening to an audiotape, or watching television. I would inch toward the open door silently and carefully, as if stalking a skittish hummingbird, hoping to find the source of the enchanting sound. Without betraying my presence, I would peek in for a quick glimpse of the tall, skinny boy, with a shock of black hair falling over his forehead, sitting on the rug or couch, engrossed in a book or magazine. Ducking back into the hallway, I imagined a luminous, Tinkerbell-like faerie perched on his narrow shoulder, leaning into his ear, and whispering the private jokes or riddles that delight children. If Kathy appeared, I would raise my finger to my lips and motion for silence. Her questioning look would disappear when the chiming giggles floated through the door again. She would beam a smile of clarity, and we shared our private secret silently. Too soon, however, a sound from the street, yard, or another room would intrude – a car starting, a boy shouting, or a telephone ringing – and the moment would pass. At puberty, Toñito kept reading, watching TV, and laughing, but the faeries came no more, and the sounds of tinkling laughter ceased.
Oddly enough for a fervent John Lennon fan, I never heard him sing his lullaby, “Beautiful Boy,” until listening to the radio on Father’s Day in 1988. I was driving home from Chatsworth, on Topanga Canyon Boulevard. Toñito was 10 years old, at the time, and very much still a child. As I listened to the lyrics for the first time, I could feel my throat tighten, my face flush, and tears starting to moisten the sides of my eyes. Mists of bittersweet memories crept into my mind and thoughts. The song awakened tender images of moments spent with Toñito as a small child. I recalled teaching him his night prayers, as we knelt together side by side at the foot of our king size bed; showing him how to cross the street by himself, but taking his hand into mine when he actually stepped onto the road; and reading the Bene Gesserit “Litany Against Fear” from the science fiction novel, Dune, as a means of calming his worries and anxieties. It seemed that Lennon was describing my life and actions as Toñito’s dad during those wonderful formative years. It suddenly struck me that my son was growing up too fast, and I feared, for the first time, that there might come a time when he would not need me anymore.
Ultimately, as Toñito grew older, his intelligence, talents, and abilities quickly equaled and far surpassed mine in grade school, high school, and college. While this was a source of great pride and satisfaction for me, I will confess that there was one trait I especially envied – Tony’s passion for acting and his desire to perform. You see, Kathy espoused a dartboard approach to exposing our children to a variety of athletic and artistic opportunities beyond school. Beginning at age 4, Kathy kept targeting new sports and activities for Tony and Prisa to tryout, searching for the bull’s-eye that would stick and become a lifelong interest or habit: AYSO soccer, baseball, softball, basketball, swimming, and finally, children’s musical theatre. Prisa loved sports, but Tony fell under the spell of stage and theatre at age 11. He took classes and auditioned for plays and musicals in high school, majored in it in college, and never stopped being a part of it until well into his late twenties. Strangely enough, although he performed in countless musical and theatre productions in grade school, high school, and college, the clearest memory I have of Tony performing is of a particular dramatic interpretation of an original story.
When Toñito was in the 7th grade, he was a first-time member of his school’s academic team, and participated in an annual Academic Decathlon of sorts at Louisville High School. One of his events was dramatic interpretation. Even though he had performed in children’s theatre for many years, Toñito had never participated in this type of competition. He was one of the first participants to perform, and although he was poised and effective, it was obvious that he lacked the polish and dramatic experience that the older performers brought to their efforts. I watched Toñito as he studied these veteran performers, his eyes fixed on their movements and motions, noting their pauses, inflections, tones, and mannerisms. When the competition was over, and I asked him how he felt about his performance, he explained that while he was satisfied with his effort, he was eager for next year’s competition when he could apply some of the techniques and methods he had observed.
The following year, the Louisville HS Academic Competition introduced a variation in this category. In homage to Dr. Seuss, the pen name of Theodor Seuss Geisel, who had died earlier that year, the event called for the interpretation of original stories, written in the Dr. Seuss style of message and rhyme. Kathy and I felt that the new twist played to Tony’s strengths of creative imagination, writing, and dramatic interpretation. Toñito was a devoted fan of Dr. Seuss since the age of three, when he memorized and recited, in their entirety, Dr. Seuss’s ABC, Hop On Pop, and Fox In Sox. However, while we knew that Toñito was working tirelessly on his story, he kept it secret, never giving Kathy or me a hint as to what the story was about, or how he meant to perform it. Sadly for me, the day of the Louisville Competition conflicted with an event I had to attend as Principal of El Sereno Middle School, so by the time I arrived it was over. Although Kathy raved about Toñito’s performance, telling me he was by far the most dramatic and original, I was depressed that I had not actually experienced it first hand. I didn’t get a clear notion of the quality of his work until the awards ceremony at the end of the competition. When the category of Dramatic Interpretation came up, the principal announced that because of its creative and artistic merit, the judges had decided to recognize and award Tony Delgado for exceptional excellence in the category. Later that evening, Toñito gave a private performance of “The Galumpagger” to a small audience of his family and friends. It proved to be one more occasion when his imagination, creativity, and artistic abilities brought tears of joy and pride to my eyes.
Our first baseless concern about Toñito (of which there were many over the years) was worrying how he would react to the birth of a sibling and a rival for our affection – his sister, Teresa. We needn’t have bothered, because it was love at first sight. Toñito was devoted to his baby sister, and he made her his first real playmate. He watched her, cared for her, worried about her, and shared everything he owned with her. He joined us on the carpet, watching and encouraging Teresa’s steady physical development as an infant, and he dubbed her with the nickname “Prisa” through his early attempts at pronouncing her full name. He patiently spent hours playing with her, reading to her, and involving her in his imaginative games and activities. One such game was his version of “Make Me Laugh”, a TV show he recorded on his cassette machine in June of 1984, when he was 6 and Prisa had just turned 4. This was an 8-minute audio recording in which Tony played a game show host and Prisa was his first contestant. The interaction is hilarious, with Tony very much in character as the MC, introducing the game and contestant, and then reading a series of jokes from a children’s joke book he had read. Prisa, whose role was merely refraining from laughing (which was pretty easy considering the childish nature of the jokes), was constantly moving and interrupting:
Tony: “Prisa, how do you stop a lion from charging? You take away his credit card! Why did the elephant sit on the marshmallow? To keep from falling in the cocoa!”
Prisa (trying into interrupt): “Wait a minute! You know what….
Tony (ignoring the interruption): “Why did the elephant paint himself all different colors? So he could hide in a bag of Skittles! Aaacckkkk” (he said, simulating a buzzer). Sorry, time is up Prisa. You have just won $60.00. Would you like to keep it or keep on going?”
Prisa (after a long pause): “Keep going”.
Tony (dramatically): “Okay! Teresa Delgado says ‘Make Me Laugh!’ Yayyyyyy (he yells, simulating the crowd).
Tony (after reading 3 more jokes from his joke book): “Aaacckkkk… Time’s up! Now Teresa Delgado, would you like to keep your $120.00 or would you like to keep on going?”
Prisa (impatiently): “I’ll keep it!”
Tony (dramatically): “Okay, goodbye Teresa Delgado, it was nice knowing you! Now our next contestant is… get back Prisa, you’re not on the show anymore.”
Prisa (as if talking off-camera): “It would be better if you were watching this show on TV!”
Although I doubt she remembers those years when they shared bunk beds in one room, very clearly, before the making of personal friends in school and sports, but Toñito was Prisa’s first hero. She idolized and looked up to him, imitated him, and loved to watch him play Nintendo with his friends Tomar and Oded. She could ask him any question or favor, and know that it would be answered seriously and granted, even if it meant letting her have a turn at the games they played. I’m reminded of those interactions now when I see Sarah’s love for Gracie. I’m convinced it is a testament to our unlimited capacity for love; a love that begins as children, grows as adults, and finally matures and resurfaces as spouses and parents. I saw it in Teresa, as a wife and mother, and I’m looking forward to seeing it in Toñito, as a husband and father.
The Dear Departed Past
by Dave Frishberg.
Am I hopelessly old fashioned,
Cause I’m harboring a passion
For the olden days?
Is my sense of time so out of joint,
It’s starting to distort my point of view?
Does my antiquarian brain contain
Imaginary memories of golden days?
Can one feel a real nostalgia,
For a time and place one
Never even knew?
I anticipate times to come,
With something less than jubilation.
And I’m turning to times gone by,
With something more and more
Like admiration.
Here’s to the dear departed past:
The musty magazines,
The sepia tinted scenes,
Of long forgotten places.
Here’s to the dear departed past:
The photographs you find,
That seem to call to mind,
Familiar family faces.
That’s when every sky was bluer.
Clouds seemed to disappear back then.
That’s when every friend was truer.
Ahh, but then again,
Didn’t they know you when?
Here’s to the folks who lived next door:
Let’s cut across the yard,
Drop in and leave a card,
With neighborly affection.
Here’s to the ways we see no more:
The manner and the style,
That makes you want to smile,
In happy retrospection.
As for me, I’ll forget about the future,
Cause the future fades away too fast.
Now’s the time to lift a cup of cheer,
And say ‘Hear, hear!’
For the dear departed past.
Here’s to ‘sides’ we used to spin:
The Decca’s and Savoy’s,
With all the surface noise,
The Lindy Hops and Foxtrots.
Here’s to the Orphan Annie pin,
The Secret Squadron ring,
The mailman used to bring,
For a quarter and some boxtops.
Music on the yuke was easy,
E-7 always went to A.
Chinese Checkers and Parchessi,
And every Saturday,
The movie matinee.
I loved the ’55 Bel Air, the ’37 Fords,
Complete with running boards,
And rumble seats
And fenders.
Where are the clothes we used to wear?
Now don’t forget your tie,
And button up your fly,
And fasten your suspenders!
As for me, I don’t think about tomorrow,
Cause tomorrow wasn’t built to last.
Now’s the time to weep a little tear,
Into your beer,
For the dear departed past.
Three cheers for the champs of yesterday:
Jack Dempsey, John McGraw,
Joe Louis, Sammy Baugh,
The movers and the shakers.
And here’s to the teams that moved away:
From disenfranchised towns,
The old Saint Louis Browns,
The Minneapolis Lakers.
That’s when basketballs had laces,
And halfbacks played safety on defense.
That’s when there were parking places,
Hot dogs for a dime, White Castle 7 cents.
And here’s to White Castles by the sack:
I heard somebody say
They’re still around today,
But they wouldn’t taste the same now.
Here’s to the years that won’t be back:
The days that dodged away,
And left us here to play
A completely different game now.
But here’s to the echoes of tomorrow,
Soon to be memories at last.
Memories that will someday reappear,
Loud and clear,
In the dear departed past.
Memories that will someday reappear,
Loud and clear,
In the dear departed past.
The photographs you find,
That seem to call to mind,
Familiar family faces.
That’s when every sky was bluer.
Clouds seemed to disappear back then.
That’s when every friend was truer.
Ahh, but then again,
Didn’t they know you when?
But here’s to the echoes of tomorrow,
Soon to be memories at last.
Memories that will someday reappear,
Loud and clear,
In the dear departed past.
(Dear Departed Past: Dave Frishberg – 1985)
I think the last time I thought longingly about Toñito as a child was when he graduated from high school and left home in 1996 to attend George Washington University in Washington D.C. His departure was like losing sight of your infant child, as he swiftly turned a corner into a narrow alleyway that he alone could see and walk. The path he had traveled at home, as a child and youth, could never be retraced, and would never be followed again. His life since college has been an independent one, filled with jobs, games, friendships, relationships, and adjustments – but he has always managed to remain geographically and emotionally connected to his family and loved ones. I suppose I’m suddenly flooded with memories of his youth and childhood because they are now truly coming to an end. You see, Tony fulfills the old Irish adage of “a son is a son until he takes a wife…” when he marries Nikki Willis in March of 2015. How much of that youthful boy of my memories still lingers and dwells in the man Toñito has become today? I wondered...
The final impetus for this essay came when I heard Rosemary Clooney’s rendition of a great old song called “Dear Departed Past” in my iTunes library. The lyrics captured my mood and sentiments as I approached this crossroad in Toñito’s life. It brought to mind many long buried scenes and images of Toñito as an infant, youth, and adolescent. (Note: Since I couldn’t find a YouTube clip of the song by Rosemary Clooney, nor the complete lyrics online, I took the trouble to transcribe the song myself, and added the lyrics to the end of this essay.)
I must finally confess that Toñito was a sweet and “special” child. There is no getting around the fact that a first-born child is a “once in a lifetime” experience, and Toñito’s personality made parenting a joy. I can clearly remember holding Kathy’s hand through her extended hours of labor pains; adjusting to the shocking news that she would require a “C-section” delivery; and seeing Kathy for the first time after the operation, radiant with happiness and relief as she showed me the perfect, fuzzy-headed infant in her arms. From the first time I held Toñito in the hospital room, to the long goodbye I whispered to him through the looking glass of the nursery, after the longest days of my life, I have loved him in a way that has never been repeated. No matter how intently Prisa interrogated me on this point later on, and despite all my evasions and insistence that she was “special” too, there is something unique in experiencing, caring for, and loving your first-born child. All the raw fears, worries, and uncertainties of parenthood are not often repeated with the second child. There is a relaxation and newfound confidence with the second, and the path of childhood has been clearly opened and mapped for them by the first. I saw these dynamics repeated in the births of our first granddaughters, Sarah and Gracie. Watching those two girls now, as they smile, laugh, and play with each other, only reminded me again of those first years with Toñito, of the years he and Prisa spent together as children, and our early lives in our first home in Reseda.
I’m sure that many people would assume that my first impressions of Toñito would be of his intelligence – how alertly he observed things, and how quickly he spoke, learned, and began reading. But more than anything else Toñito had the ability to astound me and bring tears of joy to my eyes with his actions, words, and imagination. I always thought of him as my own “Little Prince”, a boy from another world bringing the gifts of unconditional love, laughter, and childish wonder into our adult home. In many ways Toñito re-taught me the truths I knew once as a child, but had forgotten as a man.
Toñito’s laughter was his sweetest gift to us as a child. Until his voice changed at 10 or 11 years of age, Toñito had a secret, tinkling laugh that escaped him during private moments. It sounded like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. This was not his public laughter, the one he used in school, at family gatherings, or with friends. It was his private chuckling. I would hear it on quiet days from another room, while he sat alone in the living room or bedroom, reading a book, listening to an audiotape, or watching television. I would inch toward the open door silently and carefully, as if stalking a skittish hummingbird, hoping to find the source of the enchanting sound. Without betraying my presence, I would peek in for a quick glimpse of the tall, skinny boy, with a shock of black hair falling over his forehead, sitting on the rug or couch, engrossed in a book or magazine. Ducking back into the hallway, I imagined a luminous, Tinkerbell-like faerie perched on his narrow shoulder, leaning into his ear, and whispering the private jokes or riddles that delight children. If Kathy appeared, I would raise my finger to my lips and motion for silence. Her questioning look would disappear when the chiming giggles floated through the door again. She would beam a smile of clarity, and we shared our private secret silently. Too soon, however, a sound from the street, yard, or another room would intrude – a car starting, a boy shouting, or a telephone ringing – and the moment would pass. At puberty, Toñito kept reading, watching TV, and laughing, but the faeries came no more, and the sounds of tinkling laughter ceased.
Oddly enough for a fervent John Lennon fan, I never heard him sing his lullaby, “Beautiful Boy,” until listening to the radio on Father’s Day in 1988. I was driving home from Chatsworth, on Topanga Canyon Boulevard. Toñito was 10 years old, at the time, and very much still a child. As I listened to the lyrics for the first time, I could feel my throat tighten, my face flush, and tears starting to moisten the sides of my eyes. Mists of bittersweet memories crept into my mind and thoughts. The song awakened tender images of moments spent with Toñito as a small child. I recalled teaching him his night prayers, as we knelt together side by side at the foot of our king size bed; showing him how to cross the street by himself, but taking his hand into mine when he actually stepped onto the road; and reading the Bene Gesserit “Litany Against Fear” from the science fiction novel, Dune, as a means of calming his worries and anxieties. It seemed that Lennon was describing my life and actions as Toñito’s dad during those wonderful formative years. It suddenly struck me that my son was growing up too fast, and I feared, for the first time, that there might come a time when he would not need me anymore.
Ultimately, as Toñito grew older, his intelligence, talents, and abilities quickly equaled and far surpassed mine in grade school, high school, and college. While this was a source of great pride and satisfaction for me, I will confess that there was one trait I especially envied – Tony’s passion for acting and his desire to perform. You see, Kathy espoused a dartboard approach to exposing our children to a variety of athletic and artistic opportunities beyond school. Beginning at age 4, Kathy kept targeting new sports and activities for Tony and Prisa to tryout, searching for the bull’s-eye that would stick and become a lifelong interest or habit: AYSO soccer, baseball, softball, basketball, swimming, and finally, children’s musical theatre. Prisa loved sports, but Tony fell under the spell of stage and theatre at age 11. He took classes and auditioned for plays and musicals in high school, majored in it in college, and never stopped being a part of it until well into his late twenties. Strangely enough, although he performed in countless musical and theatre productions in grade school, high school, and college, the clearest memory I have of Tony performing is of a particular dramatic interpretation of an original story.
When Toñito was in the 7th grade, he was a first-time member of his school’s academic team, and participated in an annual Academic Decathlon of sorts at Louisville High School. One of his events was dramatic interpretation. Even though he had performed in children’s theatre for many years, Toñito had never participated in this type of competition. He was one of the first participants to perform, and although he was poised and effective, it was obvious that he lacked the polish and dramatic experience that the older performers brought to their efforts. I watched Toñito as he studied these veteran performers, his eyes fixed on their movements and motions, noting their pauses, inflections, tones, and mannerisms. When the competition was over, and I asked him how he felt about his performance, he explained that while he was satisfied with his effort, he was eager for next year’s competition when he could apply some of the techniques and methods he had observed.
The following year, the Louisville HS Academic Competition introduced a variation in this category. In homage to Dr. Seuss, the pen name of Theodor Seuss Geisel, who had died earlier that year, the event called for the interpretation of original stories, written in the Dr. Seuss style of message and rhyme. Kathy and I felt that the new twist played to Tony’s strengths of creative imagination, writing, and dramatic interpretation. Toñito was a devoted fan of Dr. Seuss since the age of three, when he memorized and recited, in their entirety, Dr. Seuss’s ABC, Hop On Pop, and Fox In Sox. However, while we knew that Toñito was working tirelessly on his story, he kept it secret, never giving Kathy or me a hint as to what the story was about, or how he meant to perform it. Sadly for me, the day of the Louisville Competition conflicted with an event I had to attend as Principal of El Sereno Middle School, so by the time I arrived it was over. Although Kathy raved about Toñito’s performance, telling me he was by far the most dramatic and original, I was depressed that I had not actually experienced it first hand. I didn’t get a clear notion of the quality of his work until the awards ceremony at the end of the competition. When the category of Dramatic Interpretation came up, the principal announced that because of its creative and artistic merit, the judges had decided to recognize and award Tony Delgado for exceptional excellence in the category. Later that evening, Toñito gave a private performance of “The Galumpagger” to a small audience of his family and friends. It proved to be one more occasion when his imagination, creativity, and artistic abilities brought tears of joy and pride to my eyes.
Our first baseless concern about Toñito (of which there were many over the years) was worrying how he would react to the birth of a sibling and a rival for our affection – his sister, Teresa. We needn’t have bothered, because it was love at first sight. Toñito was devoted to his baby sister, and he made her his first real playmate. He watched her, cared for her, worried about her, and shared everything he owned with her. He joined us on the carpet, watching and encouraging Teresa’s steady physical development as an infant, and he dubbed her with the nickname “Prisa” through his early attempts at pronouncing her full name. He patiently spent hours playing with her, reading to her, and involving her in his imaginative games and activities. One such game was his version of “Make Me Laugh”, a TV show he recorded on his cassette machine in June of 1984, when he was 6 and Prisa had just turned 4. This was an 8-minute audio recording in which Tony played a game show host and Prisa was his first contestant. The interaction is hilarious, with Tony very much in character as the MC, introducing the game and contestant, and then reading a series of jokes from a children’s joke book he had read. Prisa, whose role was merely refraining from laughing (which was pretty easy considering the childish nature of the jokes), was constantly moving and interrupting:
Tony: “Prisa, how do you stop a lion from charging? You take away his credit card! Why did the elephant sit on the marshmallow? To keep from falling in the cocoa!”
Prisa (trying into interrupt): “Wait a minute! You know what….
Tony (ignoring the interruption): “Why did the elephant paint himself all different colors? So he could hide in a bag of Skittles! Aaacckkkk” (he said, simulating a buzzer). Sorry, time is up Prisa. You have just won $60.00. Would you like to keep it or keep on going?”
Prisa (after a long pause): “Keep going”.
Tony (dramatically): “Okay! Teresa Delgado says ‘Make Me Laugh!’ Yayyyyyy (he yells, simulating the crowd).
Tony (after reading 3 more jokes from his joke book): “Aaacckkkk… Time’s up! Now Teresa Delgado, would you like to keep your $120.00 or would you like to keep on going?”
Prisa (impatiently): “I’ll keep it!”
Tony (dramatically): “Okay, goodbye Teresa Delgado, it was nice knowing you! Now our next contestant is… get back Prisa, you’re not on the show anymore.”
Prisa (as if talking off-camera): “It would be better if you were watching this show on TV!”
Although I doubt she remembers those years when they shared bunk beds in one room, very clearly, before the making of personal friends in school and sports, but Toñito was Prisa’s first hero. She idolized and looked up to him, imitated him, and loved to watch him play Nintendo with his friends Tomar and Oded. She could ask him any question or favor, and know that it would be answered seriously and granted, even if it meant letting her have a turn at the games they played. I’m reminded of those interactions now when I see Sarah’s love for Gracie. I’m convinced it is a testament to our unlimited capacity for love; a love that begins as children, grows as adults, and finally matures and resurfaces as spouses and parents. I saw it in Teresa, as a wife and mother, and I’m looking forward to seeing it in Toñito, as a husband and father.
The Dear Departed Past
by Dave Frishberg.
Am I hopelessly old fashioned,
Cause I’m harboring a passion
For the olden days?
Is my sense of time so out of joint,
It’s starting to distort my point of view?
Does my antiquarian brain contain
Imaginary memories of golden days?
Can one feel a real nostalgia,
For a time and place one
Never even knew?
I anticipate times to come,
With something less than jubilation.
And I’m turning to times gone by,
With something more and more
Like admiration.
Here’s to the dear departed past:
The musty magazines,
The sepia tinted scenes,
Of long forgotten places.
Here’s to the dear departed past:
The photographs you find,
That seem to call to mind,
Familiar family faces.
That’s when every sky was bluer.
Clouds seemed to disappear back then.
That’s when every friend was truer.
Ahh, but then again,
Didn’t they know you when?
Here’s to the folks who lived next door:
Let’s cut across the yard,
Drop in and leave a card,
With neighborly affection.
Here’s to the ways we see no more:
The manner and the style,
That makes you want to smile,
In happy retrospection.
As for me, I’ll forget about the future,
Cause the future fades away too fast.
Now’s the time to lift a cup of cheer,
And say ‘Hear, hear!’
For the dear departed past.
Here’s to ‘sides’ we used to spin:
The Decca’s and Savoy’s,
With all the surface noise,
The Lindy Hops and Foxtrots.
Here’s to the Orphan Annie pin,
The Secret Squadron ring,
The mailman used to bring,
For a quarter and some boxtops.
Music on the yuke was easy,
E-7 always went to A.
Chinese Checkers and Parchessi,
And every Saturday,
The movie matinee.
I loved the ’55 Bel Air, the ’37 Fords,
Complete with running boards,
And rumble seats
And fenders.
Where are the clothes we used to wear?
Now don’t forget your tie,
And button up your fly,
And fasten your suspenders!
As for me, I don’t think about tomorrow,
Cause tomorrow wasn’t built to last.
Now’s the time to weep a little tear,
Into your beer,
For the dear departed past.
Three cheers for the champs of yesterday:
Jack Dempsey, John McGraw,
Joe Louis, Sammy Baugh,
The movers and the shakers.
And here’s to the teams that moved away:
From disenfranchised towns,
The old Saint Louis Browns,
The Minneapolis Lakers.
That’s when basketballs had laces,
And halfbacks played safety on defense.
That’s when there were parking places,
Hot dogs for a dime, White Castle 7 cents.
And here’s to White Castles by the sack:
I heard somebody say
They’re still around today,
But they wouldn’t taste the same now.
Here’s to the years that won’t be back:
The days that dodged away,
And left us here to play
A completely different game now.
But here’s to the echoes of tomorrow,
Soon to be memories at last.
Memories that will someday reappear,
Loud and clear,
In the dear departed past.
Memories that will someday reappear,
Loud and clear,
In the dear departed past.
no subject
Date: 2014-11-22 03:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-22 08:15 pm (UTC)xo Christy