My Dad, The Mensch

Father’s Day can be a rough one for members of the Dead Dad’s Club. It carries many of us on a trip down memory lane. For me, I think of my dad, Jim Parker, and smile. He was a fun guy for the most part, a good guy for the whole part. I’m not sure if he’d have ever used the word mensch, but he was one. Not that he was a saint, mind you, but pretty darn close in the mind of a girl who was only eighteen when he died.  My mother and his friends will carry other memories, more layered with adult worries and circumstances, but I was young enough to have viewed him from the eyes of an almost-adult. The only picture I’ve found of my dad very close to me, is below. I feel a little funny using it as its before the arrival of my younger brother, but, it will have to do. This would be around 1961. I’m the baby in my father’s arms.

familypreJay1961

There are other pictures, of course, but not a lot. He died in 1979, long before everyone photographed everything.There’s a family shot from my sister’s high school graduation which I don’t love because Dad has a beard which he had grown for a bicentennial event, and it was not a great experiment. Also, seeing that shot reminds me that we never took a family shot at my graduation, two years later, and that’s kind of a drag.

But I remember moments without the help of photographs, and the lessons I learned could not be photographed.

I wish I’d gotten to the age where I could have thanked Dad for the things he taught me just by being him. I remember listening to my father brag about me and my sister and brother at a family event, and being very embarrassed, but also, secretly thrilled. I learned that sincere praise (even when it was inflated beyond reason, as it was in my dad’s case) can do much to increase a child’s self-esteem.

I remember my father taking me on his lap when I was up crying one night after everyone else had gone to bed. I was in fifth grade, a bit old to seek the comfort of Daddy’s lap, but he knew what I needed. Some girls had called me a “Mommy’s girl.” (I was a chronic rule-follower in those days – a straight A goody-two shoes for the most part.) While I don’t remember his exact words, I remember him saying something like this, People who are mean like that don’t get anywhere. Someday, you’ll show them. You’re going to go to high school and college and anyone who was mean to you won’t matter one tiny bit. You’re going places. The meanies aren’t. I don’t think I totally believed him, but I felt better. I did believe that one day, those “meanies” wouldn’t matter to me. And, they don’t.  I learned that guiding a child through hurt that might seem on the ridiculous side to the parent, requires a gentle touch and a promise of hope for better times.

 My father landed in a career that he shouldn’t have. He was a banker and I suspect, not a great one. He was probably a little too nice. He should have been a gym teacher; he was a natural as a coach and encourager, not at denying people loans who maybe weren’t really ready for them. When I was thirteen, I wrote in my diary, “I’m so scared. Dad’s so stressed out all the time about work. He’s going to have a heart attack. I don’t know what to do.” Five years later, I was right. I learned that it’s important to like what you do sometimes, better to love it all the time (and to marry someone who loves what they work at).

My dad also coached Little League and basketball, sang in the church choir, was a charter member of the town’s Lions Club, played basketball, and ran before running was trendy. He played a mean piano. I learned that being involved and contributing to something matters.

My brother and sister and I each were involved in different sports – for me, mostly ballet and gymnastics, but there were soccer matches, softball games, hockey games, baseball games. If Dad wasn’t coaching or working, he was there. I learned that being there – really being there – whenever you can, matters.

My father lived his values. It was easy to talk about blacks not being different than whites when I never saw any in our very white town, but it was another thing to watch my father literally jump to help a little African-American girl who had fallen off the merry-go-round at Riverside Park when all the other white people on the bench stayed seated. He drafted the first girl in town on his Little League team. He gave kids rides to and from practices if that meant they could be part of the team. I learned that kids often learn more from actions than they do from words.

Sometimes I’ve sat and wondered, besides genetic material, what of Dad do I carry in me? And I used to think, not much. He was funny and outgoing and nice. He was an exceptional athlete. But Dad was a cheerleader too, in so many ways – for his family, his friends, his teams, his causes. I think I may have gotten a little bit of that positive, encouraging attitude from him. I may not be a mensch, but I try. Will always love you, Dad.

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Roses and Writer’s Block?

 

“Some say love, it is a river…..”

Something happens when spring finally, really and truly, sproings — love abounds! Everything is growing, blooming, increasing. In Wisconsin, we’ve had an Irish spring — lots of green, lots of rain, and a slow movement toward warmer temperatures. In my neck of the woods, the baby animals are plentiful if you’re observant enough. Every weekend, wedding parties are in the parks getting pictures taken. The June anniversary shots are popping up in my Facebook feed, and mine will be there too next week. And, flowers — finally flowers are everywhere! Monochromatic days have been buried in our memories. In complete concordance with the times, the rose bush on the side of my house has exploded these last few days – thanks to my love who worked hard pruning it and replacing the trellis this year.

rosebush

Robert Burns equated love with a red, red rose, (if you’re interested, there’s a lovely, lovely version of Carly Simon and her sisters singing the poem here)  but these soft white ones with a hint of pink come to my mind when I think of love. The bush was planted by the original owners of our home, an older couple who happen to attend the church we now belong to and we see them sometimes. I’m sure they’ve been married over sixty years. Despite not being the most green-thumbed individuals, my husband and I have managed to keep this rose bush going, and now, thriving. Love and marriage can be a lot like rose bushes — some thorns, some amazing beautiful times and some times when external conditions drag you down.

Being a working writer is not unlike being in a loving relationship. There are times of ecstatic bursts of creativity, of quiet ho-hum routine, of turmoil, of difficulties, but as in a good marriage the effort to go through all the steps is well worth it.  I’ve been in a season of difficulty in my writing. I’m not a big believer in writer’s block, but I’m getting converted. Though spring has made it feel like all good things are increasing, that hasn’t been the case with my writing. My writing feels icy and still stuck in winter.  I’ve allowed my inner critic to get far too vocal and I’ve been singing the “I can’t do it,” blues. But that season is done. I’m not happy with my writing right now, but I’m still doing it. I’m not happy with my pace, but I’m at it. I’m not happy that this is such a hard section to slog through, but I’m doing it, because if I don’t, this story will never be read. This is my work to do – to share this story that I love, these characters that I love, hoping that others might love them too. I am the author of this story, no one else.  Even in the wintry times, when the writing doesn’t come easily, we need to channel Bette Midler“Just remember, in the winter, Far beneath the bitter snows, Lies the seed, that with the sun’s love, in the spring, becomes the rose.” And now, from the beautiful Bette, enjoy, The Rose:

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Tooting Your Own Horn – v. 2

In June of 2011, I ran a post called “Tooting Your Own Horn,” and decided it was time to bring it around again. Yesterday I received an unexpected email, letting me know that an essay I wrote and read on WUWM, Wisconsin public radio, won an award in the Wisconsin Broadcasters’ Association 2012 Awards for Excellence. My essay, “The End of ‘Pinktober’” won first place in Large Market Radio, Essay/Commentary. If you have interest and about 3 1/2 minutes, you can listen to the essay here. I’m especially grateful to Mitch Teich and Stephanie Lecci of Milwaukee Public Radio for all they do to keep that great program, “Lake Effect,” up and running.

Since many authors — oh, let’s face it — since many people are uncomfortable spreading the word about their successes because it feels like “bragging,” I hope you’ll take a few minutes and consider the importance of “tooting your own horn.”

 

Tooting Your Own Horn

By pam

June 14, 2011

Self-promotion is one of those things some people struggle with, but it’s part of the game if you’re a writer. You MUST get comfortable with letting people know where you’ve had writing success – you are part of the process in driving traffic to your work! I’ve written before of my beloved writing community here in Milwaukee, RedBird-RedOak Writing (RB-RO). One of the things I do to give back to this community that means so much to me and my work, is that I prepare entries for the Wisconsin Writer’s Association newsletters about what’s happening in our community.  Kim Suhr, the director at RB-RO, has developed a wonderful way of making my job simple. On the homepage for RB-RO, she created a link called “Something to Crow About.” Writers post their acceptances, sometimes they post when they’ve finished a novel that they’ve been workshopping, or when a blog post catches on. It’s a great way to keep each other informed and to read each other’s work. Occasionally, I have to remind some of our writers to post and more often than not, squirmy women reply with something like, “I don’t like ‘crowing,’” or, “I don’t like tooting my own horn.” Announcing your acceptances and/or radio visits or publications or speaking engagements is NOT bragging. It’s informing and it’s part of taking yourself seriously as an author.

Please, be okay with tooting your own horn. Or, in this case for me, tooting my friends’ horns (hmmm…..that sounds strange). If you can think of a time you’ve shied away from announcing a writing success, can you still announce it? If you’ve nothing to announce yet, are you working toward that day? Are you setting plans in place to facilitate your own crowing? :-)

Happy #writing.

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Times Square, Tonies and Three Faves

I haven’t been to New York City in decades. While I love the energy and excitement and pace of the City, this small-town girl at heart can only manage it in small doses. Because my college roommate lives in Cortlandt Manor, I get the bost of both worlds while visiting with her and her husband. It’s a calm oasis far enough from the City, complete with hills, flowering weeping cherries and dogwoods, deer, hawks, yards and woods. Saturday we drove in from their house to the City without any problems, except parking, which was his problem, not mine. (Sorry, Josh.) While we waited for him, Laurie and I checked out Times Square, which is quite different from my memory of it — but even before the bombing at the Boston Marathon, I’d been leery of places that would assuredly be very crowded, so my anxiety level in Times Square was quite high.

Some of Times Square looked like this:

 

TimesSquare

We didn’t stay there long, but long enough to hit TKTS and score seats to the show we were hoping to see, Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike. The Tony Nominations were not out yet, but the blurbs about Vanya and Sonia…. made it sound like a fun show.

Dinner first at Jack’s Restaurant & Bar. Tapas and a yummy Caesar salad for me. A glass of Sauvignon Blanc and the wallet was, surprisingly, NOT screaming. Then off to the play, where a minor misunderstanding about our seats — someone was sitting in them because their tickets looked like they were in Row F in the balcony, but they were actually in Row E and their tickets hadn’t printed well – was resolved in time for us to enjoy the opening moments. David Hyde Pierce (Niles in Frazier; Vanya here) and Kristine Nielsen (Sonia) sat musing about their wasted lives — quickly we learn that their parents were community theater buffs and HUGE Chekhov fans, thus their names. We also learn that Sonia is 52, Vanya, 57 – and they have sacrificed their lives staying on the family home in Pennsylvania, caring for aging parents until their deaths while their sister — Masha (Sigourney Weaver) — has been off becoming a famous actress. It’s a fun, marvelous show and Christopher Durang‘s writing is brilliant. Even if you’re unfamiliar with the multiple Chekhov references, you’ll still enjoy the show — you’ll miss one layer of meaning, but still love it.

I have three favorite things I take with me from this show:

Kristine Nielsen as Sonia – I was not familiar with this actress, although I may well have seen her on episodes of Law & Order at some point. She has been quite active on and off Broadway and has won many awards and been nominated for many. Here’s hoping she collects some of the ones she is nominated for this performance, now including the coveted Tony.  My friends and I walked out of the theater all commenting on her riveting transformation onstage.

David Hyde Pierce as Vanya (now Best Actor Tony nominee) — Without a doubt  my personal favorite part of the show was an incredible rant by Vanya when he loses his cool after Spike (Masha’s boy toy wannabe actor, played perfectly by Billy Magnussen, now also Tony nominated for his role) is texting during a reading in the family living room of a play Vanya has written. Vanya’s rant presents the point of view of the height of the baby boom generation — at 57 now, he represents the people born in 1955, the very peak of the boom. A bit older than me, I couldn’t relate to every single cultural reference that he mourned, but I got most. Pierce held the audience in his spell as he ranted and shouted and screamed and jumped on furniture and spoke of Ed Sullivan and nobody thought it was okay to play video games killing prostitutes or anyone; and when he was twelve he didn’t know what a prostitute was and now three year olds know; and….

“I WORRY ABOUT THE FUTURE AND I MISS THE PAST!!!!!!!!!!” Oh, don’t we all? It was a terrific rant that I can’t wait to find a print copy of one day.

Liesel Allen Yeager as Nina. Liesel is an up and coming actress, a graduate of Juilliard in 2010. She is an understudy in this show and happened to be onstage that night.  Though she has many off Broadway credits, her understudy role in this show is her Broadway debut. I have no way of knowing if I was seeing her very first Broadway performance on stage, but I love the possibility. She was beautiful, captivating and delightful. During the bows, I saw a special smile from her in a particular direction, and I was hoping that out there sat a proud theater Mom who had dreamt of this moment too, and was rejoicing to be alive to see it. Congratulations to Liesel! (And Mom and Dad too if they’re around, and I so hope they are.)

I found a photo from the opening night bows of Vanya and Sonia… :

Photographer: Bruce Glikas, © Broadway.com

Photographer: Bruce Glikas, © Broadway.com

I’m thinking about understudies and the importance of paying our dues as writers, learning from mentors and progressing onward. Not sure if that will become another post or not, but it’s on my mind. In the meantime, my hours in the metro-NYC area are winding down. Back in Milwaukee tonight and back at my own desk tomorrow. Happy #writing to you wherever you are!

 

 

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Feeling Good

Sometimes when I scroll through Facebook, I’ll hit something that I’ll only click on because of a trusted friend’s comment. What I’m about to show you, is a youtube link I opened because of the comment, “this kid is great! his mom is great for standing up for him and Michael Buble is awesome for letting him on stage.. and getting soo excited for him!!! love.”

So many things in there appealed to me — a talented kid, a mama bear in action, a performer generously letting a kid on stage. If you haven’t already seen this one, see if you can watch it without getting goose bumps:

Hope you’re feeling good today. Happy #writing.

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Facing Facts – Final Funeral?

It is April 5th. For regular readers of this blog, you know that means it’s time for another round of Facing Facts on the Fifth, wherein I update about progress on my writing goals from the 5th of the previous month. Facing Facts has been all about setting goals, tracking progress and revising goals as necessary. I wrote about it here on January 1st:

January 1st. In my college and post-college days, January 1st often meant drinking lots of water to reactivate a sandpaper tongue. As I got older, and hopefully a bit wiser, January 1st was sometimes a day to reflect on the year past and consider hopes and dreams for the unfolding year. Not everyone makes New Year Resolutions, but unfortunately, for the many who do, if they forget to make a plan and to check in and tweak the plan as necessary, the Resolutions are likely to remain unfulfilled. Resolve to plan.

Writing Goals

In 2012, for writing goals, I resolved to update my progress and goals monthly here on the fifth of each month. This exercise, Facing Facts on the Fifth, was helpful for me in keeping me on track in many areas of my writing. As I pondered whether I would continue that practice this year or not, I decided I would, but, there would be one significant change. I would no longer post about what I was doing with my novels. I decided I need to keep that part of my writing life to myself, for now. So, it was interesting for me to read a great post today by Lisa Rivero on the importance for many people of keeping goals to themselves. For me, I’m okay with, and need, some accountability, but even before reading Lisa’s post, I had come to the conclusion that my work on my novel needed more privacy.

It’s time to tweak the plan as I said above. It’s time for me to bury Facing Facts on the Fifth — at least for a while. I’m at a point with the novel that I need to focus my lens there, that doesn’t mean I won’t blog, but it does mean I’m not going to be focusing on other writing goals, or tracking them for a while. I’ll miss the updates and the responses about them here, because it was fun to know that sometimes my reminders/nudges to myself were helping some of you move along too. But, it’s time for a funeral for facing facts, which makes me think of Elton John‘s Funeral for a Friend, “Well if the wind of change comes down your way girl, you’ll make it back somehow.” I will leave you with that, and ask, if you’re so inclined that you leave your own eulogy for Facing Facts. :-) Happy #writing.

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