Best Job Title Ever – Father

Fathers’ Day will come and go, celebrated in a whirlwind of sunshine, breakfast on the deck, poolside cocktails, and a game of pitch and catch. As the years go by, and they go by rather quickly, I become more entrenched in the title of “father” or “Dad.” It has become my favorite line of work.

I’m grateful for many things in this life. When my wife had a little scare with her health, I was grateful that it wound up, in the end, being nothing to worry about.

I feel gratitude for having so much time with my grandparents in their time on this Earth, especially my grandmother. We shared many cups of coffee over the years.

My life is what it is because of what they taught me as well. You know, enjoy the simple things in life, don’t stress too much, and forget about keeping up with the Joneses of the world. Good advice.

I’m grateful for the music too. Sounds that are constantly in my head, ringing in my ears, providing the soundtrack to life. Whether it was an old Sinatra standard blasting from an transistor radio in the house on 14th Street, or a song by Muse playing on my daughter’s iPod, it has been forty plus years of enjoying some really amazing sounds.

More than anything, I’m happy to be Dad. As I said, it’s my favorite job. And my most important.

I took on this line of work on a ferociously hot day in late June 1995, when my daughter was born. Since that morning in the hospital, I’ve never looked back. I knew when I held her close to me, she would be the most important thing I would ever be a part of.

When my son was born five years later, he became part two of “my most important work to date.”

Now, they’re getting older, growing up way too quickly, and the work is becoming complicated. When you think you have a handle on what you’re doing as a parent, monkey wrenches appear from everywhere, and you realize you don’t know much. But you keep doing the work, and gain knowledge as you go forward. There are always new things to learn.

I was a guy who, at one time, felt there was no problem to be consumed by his job. The work. Whatever “nine to five” I was doing. But I smartened up, looking at the work as a means to an end, that glorious paycheck, and try to get really good at the important jobs. Job titles that include husband and…father.

When Gabrielle was born, at the time I wasn’t doing just a job. I was working in the family business, a restaurant where I managed the bar and spent the majority of my days tending it, serving the customers who would become, over the years, my friends. It was what I loved to do, and couldn’t see myself doing anything else.

But the days and nights at work were long, and they took me away from my little girl. To have more time at home, I gave up what I loved to do, and got a “real job” (Real? The concept of corporate jobs as being “real” is strictly a myth).

I gave up the restaurant business, a way of life that was important to me. But I gave it up for much more important work, a partnership with my wife with the job title of parent. Father. The fringe benefits are more than excellent.

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500 Words On the Power of Music

I used to have coffee with my Nonna and my father on a regular basis, but now that my grandmother is gone, I still go to my Dad’s house to have coffee with him. Driving over there the other night, I was surprised to see a Cars CD in the player that my wife was listening to.

I’ve gotta tell you, listening to certain bands just gets me all fired up.

The Cars were one of my favorite bands when I was a teenager, and now that I’m in my forties, I’m still impressed with their sound. I’m even more impressed with the way the music makes me feel. That night, when I heard songs like Magic or Heartbeat City, I felt a surge of adrenaline and energy that made me feel like a teenager all over again.

Music has never been just music to me. I consider certain songs and artists to be the soundtrack of my life. Bruce Springsteen has been my background music for nearly thirty five years. To me, there has not been another rock musician that plays with the passion and intensity that Bruce does. And I’ve loved every minute of listening to it.

Whenever I hear a song by Rush, I think of hanging with my childhood friend Mike. Any song by the Clash reminds me of my buddy Chris from military school, who turned me on to the punk and new wave scenes when they were starting to gain musical ground.

Say the name “Tom Petty” to me, and I think of outdoor concerts in scenic Saratoga Springs, with torrential rain always greeting the concert goers.

I could never listen to Bob Marley without thinking of my wife Suzanne, who opened my eyes to the sweet sounds of reggae.

At the other end of the spectrum, whenever I hear Jerry Vale or Al Martino or Frank Sinatra, I will always think of my grandmother, who loved music and used to turn the volume up on the little transistor radio in her kitchen as far as it would go whenever she heard a favorite song. More times than not those sounds were accompanied by the fragrant smells of freshly fried meatballs or soup cooking on the stove.

And she would sing too. Giving in to the power of her favorite sounds.

I’m just like her. Few things inspire or motivate me more than music. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing during the course of the day, it has to be accompanied by m-u-s-i-c. My teenage daughter is the same way. And thankfully she likes a lot of the stuff that Mom and Dad are fond of, like Coldplay and the Beatles. So we can listen too…

Only she listens on her iPod now, not stereos or tape decks like her parents used to. Music in an instant. Just like the instant it takes for all my great music to take me back in time, to when life was a little different, but no less sweet.

“Music takes you back. There are some songs I avoid, since they depress me or make me feel the unwanted tug of lifestyle choices I gratefully abandoned nearly 40 years ago. They want to take me back to places I never want to see again. But most of the playlist of my youth recreates all the positive feelings and joy I felt the first time I hear it.

A culture, an era, a whole world. It’s all reflected in the music.” – Bill Davis

OK, the post is a little longer than 500 words. So, what’s your story? Do you love a certain artist or style of music? Does it get you pumped? Or do you take it or leave it? When it comes to music, who do you love?

Thoughts on Work Ethic, My Grandfather’s Hands, and Stone Cold Winters

We all love to talk about our jobs, our work. How much we love them, loathe them, or how boring they can be. The subject of jobs is, and probably always will be, a hot button topic.

I’m a lot like other American workers. Most days on the job are palatable, but there are select others that can invoke me into anxiety and doubt.

We can all have one of those days.

Any day at the office can be less stellar than what you expect.

I’ve posted about gratitude here before, and also about if you don’t love your job, don’t worry about it. It’s not necessary to.

But when I have a day like today, I need something to turn it around mentally. And for that, I think about my grandparents. When I consider what they had to go through when they came to America from Italy, I know I have it pretty easy.

When I consider what they had to go through to be successful in this country, I’m sure I have it easy.

I like to have days when I’m happy and enthusiastic about my work. With no negativity surrounding it. Which makes me sound like a sissy who likes to complain.

Because I’m sure if my grandparents wished for anything, it was a day when they weren’t knock down, drag out tired.

Both my grandparents worked in factories. My grandfather in manufacturing and my grandmother sewing collars on Arrow shirts. Primal, physical labor.

My grandfather worked on the railroad for a time, getting so dirty from the work that his wife didn’t recognize him as he was coming home, walking up the sidewalk towards her.

They both worked in restaurants as well, my grandmother waiting tables, and my grandfather behind a bar. He worked the bar at night, after his day job. He didn’t particularly like the work of being behind a bar and serving drinks (maybe because he was already tired), but he did things without much complaint, if any at all. When my grandparents gave their restaurant to my father in later years, both of them still worked there. They went to work well into their 80s. It was what they did.

You know that definition of “work ethic” in Webster’s dictionary? That’s my grandfather’s picture next to it.

We have had a rougher than normal winter here in the Northeast this year. Lots of snow, mind altering cold temps, and ice, ice, ice. Lately, I can’t go anywhere without my hat and gloves. Especially gloves. As I get older myself, I seem to be more sensitive to the cold.

My grandfather never wore gloves. Ever. And those winters back when I was a kid were just like this one. Rough. He may have worn an overcoat, but there was no knit cap pulled down over his ears, either. If he had a hat on, it was a fedora. I can still see an image in my mind of him shoveling snow in cold, brutal weather with bare hands. Those huge, weathered, hard as rock hands never saw a glove. Not that I can remember.

He was one tough guy. And although I don’t think I could ever approach him on the toughness scale (I’ll keep my gloves on, thanks), I can emulate him and my grandmother a little bit by not crying about the job so much when things don’t go my way. And just keep going forward. That’s what they did so well.

Saying “No” To Holiday Stress

Here it is. That time of year again.

The time where it seems everyone is stressed out about the big holiday. Christmas. Many of us are still searching for an appropriate gift for someone, or making last minute Christmas dinner or holiday party plans. A lot of people say they are stressed. My wife has said it. My co-workers have said it. I overhear strangers in the stores say it.

The pressure is on. They feel the stress of so much to do, coming down to the wire.

Why bother with all this stress? Stop. It’s not that hard, really. Your kids will not be disappointed if you stop. The adult who you absolutely have to buy that gift for will not be disappointed. If you stop the stress and remember the real reasons for this holiday, you will feel better about it.

This holiday is not about Target, WalMart, or Toys R Us, no matter how much you are persuaded to believe. It is not about the commercials and advertising bombarding you with the idea that this upcoming day will be perfect if you buy that one last present, or go overboard and put yourself into extreme levels of debt for the next year.

It is not about the gift of a Lexus with a big red bow on it (who does this anyway?).

It is about watching Rudolph again. It is about the excitement of your kids finding that one special present under the tree. It is about creating memories with your family and friends, and dropping some money into the Salvation Army kettle when you see one, to help those who might not have much of a Christmas at all.

Remember the birth of Jesus Christ? If memory serves me right, this is the original reason we celebrate this holiday.

It’s not necessary to get all religious on you here. But if we can reflect on why we hold this holiday in such reverence in the first place, it just might lower that stress level. You may be able to breathe a little easier. You might just think…”there’s no reason to be stressed at all, and plenty to celebrate.”

Especially in a year like this one. If you’re lucky enough where your only concern is what to buy your friends and family (and not how you’re going to pay for it) and if you’ll have enough time to do it, you’re doing just fine. No stress necessary.

So, relax, have some egg nog, and have a good time. That’s what the season is all about.

Buon Natale! (Otherwise known as “Merry Christmas”!)

The “Stallone Effect:” A Rocky Road to Weight Loss

I can imagine in this modern day, it is not easy to be the fat kid in class.

sylvester-stallone — Stallone with my favorite exercise equipment: the heavy bag

I remember it well, as I was that kid. It was years ago, in elementary and middle school, but I was once the fat guy. Chunky. Overweight, whatever you prefer to call it.

I empathize with today’s modern kid because even if you want to lose weight, there is temptation everywhere. Fatty foods, high carbs, sweets, sugar in everything…it seems worse now than when I was young.

It’s challenging to be overweight when you grow up Italian American as well. Although I’ve mentioned before that my grandmother cooked me a lot of great meals that were heavy on the vegetables, I also ate a lot of things that could potentially put on some weight.

I’m talking meats, rich sauces, sweets and pastries galore.

As much as I loved my veggies, meatballs and manicotti were likely to be on any menu as well.

If there was a cannoli in the room, chances are I would eat it.

Things were also made a little more difficult attending middle school at a military academy. With the extra weight, I obviously did not look the part of a polished cadet. Among the sharp creases, perfect shoes, and shiny belt buckles, you stand out from the crowd when your stomach flops over that belt buckle.

I have to admit, when I finally decided to make some changes to take weight off, it wasn’t for any health reasons. I was too young to think that way. I just wanted to get those rotten kids in school off of my back.

Although I wanted to make some strides in taking off some weight, I wasn’t exactly sure what to do. I had little knowledge about health and fitness, and even less inspiration and motivation.

Then my inspiration hit me, square in the face, while sitting in a movie theater.

Rocky.

For anyone unfamiliar with this mid 70’s classic, Rocky is the not so improbable story of a boxer with slightly less than average fighting talent, living in near poverty, who is randomly chosen in a 4th of July marketing ploy to fight the world heavyweight champion.

In the movie, the fight scenes are dramatic, the acting crisp, and the training montages, where Rocky prepares for his big night, are inspirational. For me, very inspirational.

Can you picture the face of a young kid, watching Star Wars for the first time, or some great animation, staring at a movie screen with eyes wide, his mouth agape? That was me while I was watching Rocky, as he trained by climbing the summit of the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, or pounding a side of beef posing as a heavy bag in a desolate freezer.

He transformed himself from a washed up, out of shape fighter, to a lean physical specimen that was a whisper from calling himself champion. I had my answers.

After seeing the movie, I ran circles around my neighborhood. Running became a top priority in my life. I learned to use a heavy bag, worked around my awkward attempts at jumping rope, and although I never aspired to do the one handed push-up that Rocky did in the movie, I became pretty good at the two handed version.

Rocky was Sylvester Stallone’s baby. He wrote the script and played the lead in what was to be the breakthrough moment of his life. And I can’t thank him enough for it. It also wound up being a breakthrough moment in my life.

Fueled by the motivation I had gotten from the movie, I worked for months to shed pounds and get fit, and it was a success. I don’t know exactly how much weight I came off, as I lost track after the first 20-25 pounds.

By the time I was 15-16 years old, I was in pretty good shape. And I stayed that way. When I met my wife years later (I was 30), I was 6’1″ and 170 pounds, with a 32 inch waist.

I’m not in that kind of shape now, I confess I am a little heavier. But as far as I can see, Stallone still looks fantastic physically, now in his 70s!! Knowing that, maybe it’s time for me to recommit to the roadwork, the heavy bag, and the sit ups.

Yo Rocky…how ’bout a rematch?