My Dad

For more than 38 years my father has been an educator. He started as a teacher, spent the bulk of his career as an elementary school principal, was promoted to Assistant Superintendent and eventually became Superintendent of Schools in the city where he (and I) grew-up. On June 30th, my dad will retire - marking the end of an era in the New Britain school district.

My Dad after throwing out the first pitch at the NB Rock Cats.

This past Wednesday night, my dad was feted at what can only be described as one of the largest retirement dinners I have ever even heard of, let alone attended. More than a dozen speakers touted my father's accomplishments and presented him with tokens of appreciation before my brother and I finally had the honor of introducing him. Here in its entirety is what I had to say:


There are more than 500 people here in this room tonight – and that is, in and of itself, both a tribute to my father and a representation of the vast cross-section that is his life. Family and friends… students and administrators… colleagues and business leaders… coaches, players, politicians… and teachers.

My father was and is - first and foremost - a teacher… a time-honored profession that transcends the history of civilized society. The acquiring of knowledge and dissemination of that knowledge is a skill - a gift – that generation upon generation of human beings have venerated not for its wealth or prestige, but for the very simple fact that it sustains our future. Teachers ensure that society advances; that it continues to propagate and prosper… for centuries and centuries to come. 

My father is a great teacher… and for all of you who know him, you won’t be surprised to learn that in my 34 years of being his son, he’s taught me a lot.

And for all of you who know him, you also won’t be surprised to learn that in 34 years of being his son, there are also several skills I’ve acquired that he ostensibly did NOT teach me: like sheetrocking… and plumbing. Installing an electrical outlet… or tiling a kitchen floor. Pretty much anything involving a hammer, nails, a drill… in fact he doesn’t even own a drill.

Every year I hike through a tree farm with my wife and kids and chop down a Christmas tree with my own two hands… NOT a skill I learned from my father.

Driving a car? Lord knows he tried… but that too was NOT something I learned from my father. And negotiating the price of a car? Definitely not something I learned from my father.

Fishing, painting, singing, playing cards? I can do all of them… with absolutely zero thanks to my father.

But obviously when I started thinking about what to say here tonight, it did dawn on me just how many things – how many important things – in my everyday life that my father the teacher did in fact teach me.

He taught me how to shave; and how to tie a tie… two skills without which I’d undoubtedly be unemployed.

He taught me how to read… a skill I not only use every day in my job, but more importantly every night when I put my kids to bed.

He taught me about baseball… a game that’s rarely ever over; that’s always possible to win. A game designed to make you fail, bounce back, fail again… and emerge stronger, more focused and more resilient than ever.

He taught me how to keep score in baseball… a skill that earned me all-conference honors at New Britain High my senior year; and he taught me how to be a coach… something I get to do with my son and his friends a couple of nights a week.

And while Joe Dimaggio famously thanked the Good Lord for making him Yankee, I always thank my father for making me a Yankee fan.

My dad the teacher taught me how to teach… something I’ve been doing at Central and the community colleges for almost ten years now. He taught me how it’s about patience and understanding… and always remembering that the ultimate purpose is to get your students to think.

He taught me about politics… how it’s not about celebrity or even a person; but rather a process – a powerful mechanism – that we all can use to help make our community, our country and our world a better place.

I make my living through politics – and though I don’t often say it: it was my father who first got me involved. In 1984, I was 7 years old – and my dad took me down to Democratic headquarters to work for Walter Mondale and an incumbent Congressman named William Ratchford. We stamped postcards, passed out buttons, ran numbers on Election Day… and of course we got trounced. Being only seven, I was devastated, but my dad taught me how to hope for the future and manage defeat… a skill that came in quite handy four years later when he took me to see Michael Dukakis speak in Waterbury – and he too got trounced.

When I was 11, he took me to a local candidate forum sponsored by a group of New Britain school parents. He was supporting some guy named DeFronzo who had never held office before and had virtually no chance of knocking off the city’s longest serving mayor… that one, of course, we won (go figure). And we won a lot more than we lost over the years, but the message was always the same: be active. Challenge the system. Stand up for what you believe in. My father taught me that win or lose, we have an obligation to inspire, to be a part of the process - to bring people together and work for the type of society in which we all want to live.

My dad taught me how to be a leader… a professional… part of an organization. And he taught me how to be passionate about my job… how life is too short to waste by not doing something you absolutely love. How there are good days and bad days… but no matter what: at the end of the day, you’ve got to have feeling for what you’re doing.

My father taught me to remember where I came from… to take pride in the fact that I’m the grandson of a factory worker and the grandson of a carpenter… and that were it not for my grandparents and their insistence that their children be educated, neither he nor my mother nor my brother nor I would be standing before you today.

My father taught and continues to teach me every day how to be a son-in-law… and of course: a son.

He has taught and continues to teach me every day how to be a brother… and a brother-in-law… and a cousin… and an uncle.

I watch his relationship with my mom – the woman he has loved and adored since their days at New Britain High. His partner, his companion… his confidant, his best friend… And I know that he’s taught me how to be a husband.

But in the final analysis – and above all else – the single most important thing I’ve learned – and continue to learn – from my father… is how to be a father. It’s been almost ten years since I first looked at that white stick with the little blue plus sign and knew that my life had changed forever. First came Alex and Maddie… and then my little Katie… and then Kevin and Libby. Are they overwhelming at times? Sure… and it helped that my dad was always there for the big things: when they were born, when they were baptized… when they were in the Emergency Room (which by my count I believe at least four of the five have been at some point). But in a way he’s also there every minute of every day… as I navigate my own ups and downs of fatherhood with my own children. Whether it’s helping them with their homework, or taking them on vacation, or talking them through a bad day at school or a rough outing on the pitcher’s mound… or answering their millions of questions about everything ranging from: who built me?... to what’s it like up in Heaven?... to why haven’t the Houston Astros ever won the World Series?

At every turn, at every step of the way, my first point of reference is always to think back to me and Nick – two little kids growing up – and ask: what did Dad do? What would Dad do? And just like any good, free-thinking student: sometimes I follow my teacher’s lessons, and sometime I don’t. Sometimes I have to try and fail on my own before I can see that he’s right… and sometimes he’s even taught me so well that I can admit that he’s wrong.

That’s the beauty of fatherhood… and the beauty of teaching. And in the end, they’re both what he knows best.

It’s my pleasure, my privilege, my honor to introduce the guy my grandparents named Ron… the guy that people call Ronnie and Jake… Mr. J… Coach Ron, Uncle Ron… Grandpa…

And the guy I still just call Dad.    

All I Really Need to Know I Learned from "Saved By The Bell"

Although the less cultured among us undoubtedly dismiss it as nothing more than a cheesy NBC Saturday morning television show for kids, I will admit: all I really need to know in life I learned from Saved By The Bell*... for instance:

- There is no such thing as magic zit cream... and even if there is, its not without some side-effects.

- Despite the laws of popular physics, you can instantaneously pause all moving matter simply by calling "TIME OUT".

- "California Girls" by the Beach Boys does, in fact, have hypnotic powers.


- Don't make friends in middle school... because once you get to high school they're all going to disappear without explanation, only to be replaced by newer friends who happen to be significantly more attractive (thus ensuring higher ratings and a significant mark-up in advertising rates).

- And while you'd think someone named "Miss Bliss" would be a porn start or a pole dancer, chances are she's simply your teacher.

- Pay attention in Health class... you never know when you're going to be trapped in an elevator with your principal's pregnant wife and have to deliver a baby.

- Don't under any circumstances allow your nickname to become "Screech".

- And if by chance your name does become Screech, be warned: the rich girl in school who looks like Punky Brewster is only after you for your money.

- Kelly Kapowski was and is the measure by which all women on this planet should be judged.

- There is no shame in mourning the loss of a pet chameleon. (Oh, wait - there is? Sorry... scratch that one.)

- Babysitting your Anthropology professor's kids is a bad idea; falling in love with said professor is even worse.

- Like The King himself, vintage Elvis statues are irreplaceable.

- No matter how hard you work, how good you dance or how many caffeine pills you pop, you will not - I repeat: will NOT - get into Stansbury College... since it doesn't exist.

- It is possible to go from being a geek at one high school to part of the in-crowd at another high school without losing your virginity. (Granted it also helps if your father owns the production company.)

- Nothing good could possibly come from being set-up on a blind date with your principal's niece... nothing.

- Disney fairy tales set to rap music are soooo 1990's.

- You would think its against a slew of federal and state laws to sneak into the women's locker room, secretly take pictures of the girl's swim team and then publish said pictures in a pin-up calendar... but apparently its not.

- A new stepbrother is like a mild STD: it shows up out of nowhere, wreaks havoc on your life for a few days and then disappears, never to be heard from (or even mentioned off-handed) ever again.

- When judging a Fourth of July beauty pageant between your ex-girlfriend and your current girlfriend, always always always vote for your current girlfriend. (As if that really needs to be pointed out.)

- Striking oil on school property is fun and will make you rich. Unfortunately, it will also kill your favorite duck.

- Never give relationship advice over the phone unless you are absolutely 100% sure who's listening on the other end.

- The popular kid who hates school, cuts class and spends an eternity in detention always scores better on his SATs than the super-smart bookworm aiming for the Ivy Leagues. It's inevitable.

- Also inevitable: hot homeless chicks hanging around the mall at Christmas.

- When you graduate high school, you will be replaced by a new set of students... but fear not: they are neither as interesting or original as you were, and after a year or two no one will even remember they even existed.

- And finally: yes, its true... there is, in fact, no hope with dope.


*With many many apologies to the brilliant Robert Fulghum

Fifty Shades of Jay

A few months ago my wife and her Book Club friends began giggling about the new trilogy they were reading; and as soon as I heard the heated debates about who should play - gasp! - "Him" in the movie, I discerned that their latest literary conquest carried with it an unusually risque flare.

Both the rapidity and dedication with which my wife and her BFF's devoured the books were quite impressive, and I naturally became intrigued... even more so a few weeks later when said wife/BFFs made their pilgrimage to New Haven (along with a thousand other women) to meet the brilliant British author who had turned her personal musings into an international bestseller.

Interest grew when I told a writer friend who was covering the New Haven event for our state's paper of record that my wife would be attending. Her blunt response upon hearing of my wife's interest in the author and her trilogy: "Wow... you must be exhausted."

The straw of intrigue that broke this camel's back, though, came in the halls of my kids' elementary school. It was Open House night and parents were being lead chaotically from classroom to classroom by their adoring children. My wife started talking to another mother about "the books" - and while being pulled by her first or second grader in the opposite direction, this mother managed to announce with a suggestive smirk: "My husband's quite happy too."

Enough!

I couldn't take it anymore... I had to know: What, exactly, was this Fifty Shades of Grey? And why the hell did it have a cosmic hold on every 20/30/40-year-old woman in Connecticut?

First, the simple answer: Fifty Shades of Grey is an accidental novel originally written by British author E.L. James as a series of blog entries. It became so popular that Vintage Books picked it up, published it and awarded the movie rights to Universal Pictures, thus rendering Ms. James an instant multi-millionaire. (Since this is the desired career path for all of us writers, Ms. James' success story leaves me slightly impressed but mostly dripping with bitter jealousy.)

The plot itself was billed by my wife (and countless others) as a Pretty Woman-type love story... an analogy I'd wholly accept were the Julia Roberts character a sexually naive virgin instead of a hooker and the Richard Gere character a dark, disturbed sadist instead of - well, Richard Gere.Yet nonetheless, I get it: lonely yet insanely rich business man falls for an unlikely woman. Very cute.

But there had to be more. Had the fairy tale plot been enough to turn women into blushing goo, they'd simply sit home and watch Disney movies every night. What, then, sets this apart? The answer, for lack of a more scientific term, is quite simple: the sex.

I've never read one of those cheesy romance novels, but I've always envisioned them reading something like the more lurid passages in Fifty Shades of Grey. Christian (the rich sadist) often touches Ana (the virginal protagonist) "there." Then she "writhes and moans" as he "finds his release." Its suggestively comical. Kinky, too. In fact there was quite a bit of that S&M bondage stuff; and although I personally don't participate in that - ehem - "lifestyle," I'm not so naive as to deny it exists. For fans of that particular fetish, Fifty Shades must have been a dream come true; for the rest of us, it was a mere nuisance that had to be overlooked and overcome.

Whips and chains notwithstanding, I still admire any book that brings sex into the conscious mainstream of the middle-aged female soccer mom. Sure its a little unnerving to know that my mother-in-law, sisters-in-law and countless other female relatives have read, but I think most of us men are willing to take one for the team in the name of a greater societal good. As a man reading this book, though, three tenets come to mind - none of which are relatively new or far-fetched: first, women love powerful men; second, at some primal level they yearn to be controlled; and third, women love the challenge of a truly effed-up guy.

What I truly didn't expect, though, was the wildly contrarian nature of Ana.

She wasn't a pushover. She held her ground, wouldn't give in. She wouldn't even sign his silly sex contract - which made her more desirable to Christian, to me and, I suspect, to any other guy out there brave enough to read these books. As a friend of mine once famously said "I could never be with a girl who likes me that much." A tad hyperbolic, but I understood his point: even the most powerful of men like to be challenged. Sure we like to joke that in a perfect world we'd all have wives/girlfriends/live-in nannies that just did whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted, however we wanted, et cetera. And while such a relationship might be fun in theory, most of the men that I know (myself included) could never last with a woman who invariably kiss their ass.

Ana had nerve, she had spunk... she had self-esteem - and to me, that was the best part of Fifty Shades of Grey.

My wife has encouraged me to read the second two novels in the trilogy, but I imagine I'll pass. Not that there's anything wrong with them, per se... I just think I need a break. I'll ask her for the thirty second version of how it all ends and then finally turn my attention to the new John Grisham book about baseball that's been burning a hole in my nightstand for weeks.

As for E.L. James and her Fifty Shades of success? On behalf of every soccer dad in America I guess I should simply say "thanks"... but that sounds far too corny and is patently not me. Instead, I'll close with the soft, seductive words of Christian Grey.

"Laters, baby"... (though I still don't know what that means).