Tracing Roots

I thought I was a genealogist, amateur at best, but nonetheless, I thought I was doing pretty well keeping up with my father’s side of the family. I swear, they drop kids (on Facebook) faster than Italians change governments … which is rather often! (LOL!)

Unfortunately, my father’s family records only go back to when his parents arrived in the United States from Italy (still single, but married soon after arrival) in the early 1900s. Now that’s not to say that we don’t have a lot of records moving forward! 503 family members (including spouses, children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren) have come forth from my paternal grandparents — and I know who all of them are, and who is related to whom. That’s a rather big feat. I do, however, need to make a trip to Italy in one of my spare lives to do some more research.

As I began this post, I *thought* that I was doing pretty well, until…
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The Legacy of Resilience

Today, March 4, marks the date when my father was born — 101 years ago. Wow… while his brothers and sisters were known for living long, extraordinary lives, my Dad had to pack an extraordinary life into 58 years. He passed away almost 42 years ago, when I was a little guy of 11 years.

Of the memories that I have of him, the strongest is how resilient he was. Let me explain, and how his legacy of resiliency carries me forward today.

The dictionary defines resilience as:

…that ineffable quality that allows some people to be knocked down by life and come back stronger than ever.

I think of my father’s history. He was the third of 22 children. He had to start working to make money for the family when he was 11 or 12 years old. He went to school, worked in his father’s store, and when he got older, he worked a second job — all to support the family. (His brothers worked, too. He wasn’t the only one who did what had to be done to support his family.)

When he grew up, he got a job that today would require a college degree. But he didn’t have one — he didn’t have the time nor the money to go to college.

He worked and worked and worked, and while working he learned at least four or five languages besides English and Italian, which he spoke at home with his parents. He had a natural ear for languages and also a natural ability with mathematics.

His first employer discovered that he didn’t have a degree and hired someone else who had a degree and gave my father the boot. Rather than dwell in despair, my Dad found another job, quickly, where he was able to employ the use of his language skills and mathematics. He got tutoring from two professors at Columbia University, even though he was not a student. He became quite knowledgeable about applied mathematics in the field of economics.

His job transferred him to Washington, DC, in the late ’30s. He bumped into my mother on the steps of the U.S. Capitol, dated and married a year later. They got busy having children — my oldest brother and sisters.

Then World War II broke out. Dad, and eight of his brothers, went to war. He served our country with distinction and honor, and came back home alive.

Upon his return, his employer assigned him “temporarily” to work with a new organization created as a result of WWII where he was again able to employ his language skills — which increased while serving in the Army — and his newly-acquired skills in applied economics.

However, that organization told him point-blank that if he didn’t have a college degree, that he would not be able to continue working after the initial short-term assignment.

My Dad picked himself up and enrolled in night school. Long before on-line college courses, the way for an “older” student to get a degree was to go to class at night. My Dad took a double-load, worked full time, raised 5, 6, 7, children, and earned his degree.

The organization promoted him, and he took an assignment that placed him in Europe for six months each year, and six months at home. He became a diplomat, and a great one at that.

My Dad serves as an example and legacy to us all — and for his resilience, dedication and commitment, we have benefited.

I observed those behaviors and actions — even as young as I was — and listened to the stories about my Dad as told by my mother and siblings. He was a marvelous example of leadership, commitment, and of love.

Currently, I am facing some huge challenges both personally and with my partner’s health. But if anything, I am resilient. I will survive. I have faith, and I believe. All for the legacy of my Dad.

Happy 101, Dad.

Life is short: live the legacy of resilience.

Happy Leap Day

A quick note and update for my regular blog visitors.

First: Happy Leap Day! Read on to understand why I am celebrating today.

Well, we have to find some reason to celebrate an extra day in this cold, dreary month of non-motorcycle-riding.

I have a friend who was born 84 years ago today, so she celebrates her 21st birthday today! Woo-hoo! She is finally of legal age! (giggle)

I am also a bit buoyed that my partner has a bit brighter outlook. He is still dealing with that awful monster as a result of a tick that bit him, but apparently his treatment is working somewhat. His pain is not as severe — it’s there, but not as bad as it was last week and weeks before. He also has some help with sleeping, and has been sleeping better — not perfect, but at least longer than an hour at a time.

He is doing better enough that he has returned to work. He is gathering materials to work on from home. His boss will let him telecommute more often, which relieves the pressure of having to commute on public transit and get exposed to everyone else’s germs while his immune system is still in overdrive fighting that monster and co-infecting relatives.

I continue my advocacy on his behalf, working to get him seen by the most prominent researcher and physician in the field related to study of the monstrous disease that he has. It hasn’t been easy — this doc has more gatekeepers than the President of the United States.

Another reason to celebrate is that my sister found a link to more information about my mother’s side of our family. We found someone who has records that show ancestral lineage to a German man who arrived in the U.S. in 1746. Turns out that this man is my Great Great Great Great Grandfather. Wow!

We are now tracing the lines to see how my GGGGGrandfather’s descendent, my Grandfather, came to Oklahoma on the Trail of Tears during the times when Oklahoma was “Indian Territory” and lived among the Choctaw Tribe. Interesting stuff!

All-in-all, today will be a great day! Happy Leap Day!

Family Wedding Without Reception

For the past two days, I have had the pleasure of visiting with family who have come to town to attend a niece’s wedding. Because my partner is not feeling well, we did not have anyone stay with us as a houseguest. (My twin brother wasn’t able to come, either. Bummer.)

The wedding is today. I will (reluctantly) put on a pair of dress pants, shirt & tie, dress cowboy boots, and a sport coat, then drive to my sister’s home for a pre-wedding brunch. This sister is the bride’s aunt and Godmother. Then I will drive to the church, 15 miles away, to be there for the wedding ceremony.

When the wedding is over, I will politely make my exit and come home.

Why?

I seriously dislike wedding receptions. There is some thinking among those who believe stereotypes that all gay men go a-flutter over weddings, particularly the reception. I am here to disabuse that notion. I dislike so many parts about it: dressing up, driving all over the place (great distances between the brunch, the church, and the venue for the reception), drinking (alcohol), noise, pretentiousness among many of the guests, dancing, staying up late into the night. Nope, not me. Bleccchhh…

As is typical, my partner has not joined me in visits with the family earlier this week nor will he attend the church service with me. Even if he were feeling well, he dislikes the noise, crowds, and overwhelming nature of my large, raucous, and rambunctious family. I can take it; heck, I’ve been managing it since I was born! (LOL!)

I have plenty of work to do around our house, anyway. So when I get home from the church service, I will quickly remove the dress clothes and boots, and put them away. Then I will change into work clothes, including work boots, and get busy with some overdue home repairs and housecleaning.

As for the wedding, I will just look for photos on Facebook. I’m sure there will be many. These days, that’s how we see these things, as all other forms of photo sharing is so last century (giggle.)

Life is short: maintain your limits.

One Year Ago Today

I can hardly believe it has been a whole year. One year ago today, I held the hand of my 96-year-old aunt as she lay bewildered, uncomfortable, and miserable in a hospital bed. She briefly opened her eyes, and asked where she was and what happened.

… a brief interlude of lucidity among the deep clouds that Alzheimer’s Disease wrought on her brain.

I explained that she had a heart attack, and that she was being treated in a hospital.

“A hospital? I don’t want to be here…”.

Gosh that hurt. “Of course, sweet aunt, I know you don’t want to be here, but you’re not well enough to be home right now.”

Then she closed her eyes, and I thought she was going to sleep. Suddenly, she opened her eyes wide and reached for my hand again. With strength I didn’t think she had, she pulled me close. She kissed me, and said the last words that I would ever hear from her,

“Thank you, thank you. I love you.”

… then she closed her eyes, dropped her hand, and stopped breathing.

The alarms on her monitors started bleeping and screeching and making quite a cacophony. I just sat there with her, and two of her caregivers who were there with us.

Nurses ran in, but honored our previous discussions — my aunt had a “DNR — Do Not Resuscitate” order — so they silenced the alarms and left the room.

I had made my peace, knowing that I had done everything possible that I could do to ensure that she was happy and safe in the last years of her life, up until her dying day. I have many fond memories of this memorable time in my life.

The rest of that day was a blur. I talked to her sons who live out-of-state, and who made arrangements to come as soon as they could. My siblings offered to come look after me, but there really wasn’t anything that they could do. I just wanted to go home and be held by my partner.

Soon enough, I regained my composure and strength, and moved on to do what needed to be done, to honor my aunt and observe her final wishes.

Dealing with death is never easy, but when you know in your heart that the loved-one you cared for was happy and that you had fulfilled all promises and moreso, then the grief is not as painful. Sure, I cried, but I slept well that night, too, knowing in my heart that my aunt was finally at peace.

Life is short: show those you love how you love them, each and every day.

Family Christmas

Okay, I know I said the other day that I wouldn’t be back until after Christmas, but I had to post this photo that was taken yesterday. Great Uncle BHD with his twin great nephews….

I rode my Harley on Friday to visit them. 100 mile round-trip in 48F (9C) temperatures. The sun was supposed to come out, but it didn’t. Kinda chilly, but manageable in full leathers and tall boots which kept me warm.

The ride home wasn’t nearly as cold as the ride on the way there due to the warmth in my heart from time spent with my family. I am so lucky to have the family that I have. Warm, generous, loving, thoughtful, and caring people who warm my heart every minute of every day.

Fortunately, my partner is stable, but still not well… but he was able to rest at home and I felt secure enough that I could leave for a half-day to visit family and that he would be okay (and that his mother would keep an eye on him.)

Merry Christmas to all… see you after the holiday!

Life is short: show those you love that you love them.

Not Going to the Wedding Reception

One of my nieces is getting married to a sweet guy. I am delighted for them. They have been dating since high school and throughout their college years. After college, they went their separate ways, but reunited a couple years ago when their respective jobs placed them back in the same town, and realized that their love for each other was meant to be. Now they plan to take the next step and get married.

The wedding invitation arrived the other day. I looked at it, sighed, and told my partner….

Yep, another family wedding. It will be good to have a positive reason for all of us to get together. But I don’t want to go to the reception.

My partner understands. He knows that I just can’t stand dressing up and going to wedding receptions. I can’t dance and hate to be in a situation to turn down requests to dance. I also don’t drink alcohol, which flows freely at these events. Plus, the wedding is in one town, and the reception is 30 miles away in another, and will run late into the night. Nope, I just don’t want to go.

This is a difficult conundrum for me. Most people look forward to weddings as a reason to dress up and call it fun to drink, dance, and socialize like that. I never got those genes. Blecchhh…

Not that I don’t love my family. I do, very much. I just don’t like wedding receptions.

So as I have done before, I will show up for the church service and say hello to the family before the service. Then after the service is over, I will go home while the others take off for the reception.

Fortunately, some of my out-of-town family will arrive a few days early, so I will visit with them casually in the days ahead. I will bring my gift to my niece beforehand, as well. I will let them know that I will not attend the reception. They would prefer that I suck it up and go, but I know in my heart that I’ll be miserable and do not want to be in that situation. I’m no fun when I feel that way.

This is a bit of a bust of another gay stereotype. Many think that all gay men love weddings. I’m not one of them.

Life is short: draw your bounds and stick to ’em.

What Thanksgiving Means To Me

Tomorrow is the date when we celebrate Thanksgiving in the United States, and by those who serve our country in distant lands across the world. Whether we agree or disagree with the politics of what places U.S. Service Members overseas, we must remember that they are separated from family and friends during a time of traditional reunion. I extend my thanks to them for their sacrifice and service.

What does Thanksgiving mean to me? Turkey, all the trimmings, football games on television, seeing Uncle Whazzisname but once a year? Nope….

Thanksgiving was created in America to give thanks for the fall harvest and to share the bounty with family, friends, and neighbors. There is quite a history of this major national holiday (see it here). Feeding neighbors is the foundation of American Thanksgiving, as the first Thanksgiving was in 1621 when the Pilgrims held the first feast for themselves and their Native American neighbors.

Flash forward to 2011… here we are, feeding neighbors with the bountiful delights of a pot-luck harvest with and for my senior pals.

Customarily, most families try to reunite with each other on this holiday. However, such reunions are also a focus for Christmas, just one month away. Most of my senior pals who live alone cannot afford to travel to visit children who live far away on both holidays so close together on the calendar. The reverse is true, as well — children have trouble getting time off work and/or school to come home for Thanksgiving.

That leaves a situation of many seniors being alone on Thanksgiving. I just can’t abide that. To make a sad situation much more happy, we invite friends (and friends-of-friends and friends-of-friends-of-friends) who otherwise would be alone on this holiday to join us. Over four three-hour “shifts” throughout the day, about 100 of our friends come by, bearing some of the harvest — a dish for four. Their contribution may include vegetables, breads, appetizers, and — of course — pies, pies, pies. What would Thanksgiving be without apple and pumpkin pie? And don’t forget the cranberry sauce (though hardly anyone eats the stuff LOL!)

All I do is cook four farm-raised fresh turkeys (two ovens, two days.) Ten of my sisters, brothers, nieces, and nephews set out a grand buffet and we all munch, graze, or otherwise “partake.” We sing silly songs around the piano, root for whatever team is playing football (if one cares to watch the TV in the media room), or chat with each other in more quiet areas of the house (or weather-permitting, out on one of the decks.)

What does Thanksgiving mean to me? It is a time to share the joy of bonds of long-term friendship and love with great people who form the net who sustain my soul. It is a time for me to thank my family and friends for their caring concern and love extended throughout the year. It is a time to remember happy memories of times gone by, people we love, and things we have done with and for each other. It truly is… a time of smiles and great joy in sharing God’s blessings.

Personally, I have one more important thing that Thanksgiving means to me: it is a time when I give many thanks to my partner for his steadfast support, love, strength, determination, and for being my “best half, partner through life.”

So while my partner will work behind the scenes tomorrow, doing what he does best — listening to stories that seniors wish to share — I’ll be circulating among all, sitting with each one, taking a moment to hold his or her hand, look into her or his eyes, and say with sincerity, “thank you — for your love, support, and caring.”

This is what Thanksgiving means to me. A time to extend my sincere thanks to my family, my friends, and to you, my loyal blog followers. Thank you for caring enough to read my daily ramblings. And for those of you with whom I have built a friendship, thanks for your kindness, warmth-of-heart, and humor. I appreciate it!

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Life is short: show those you love how you love them.

Heroes

Today, November 11, is known as Veteran’s Day in the U.S., Remembrance Day in Canada and the Commonwealth Nations, and Armistice Day in other countries. It recognizes the cessation of hostilities on the Western Front of World War I, which took effect at eleven o’clock in the morning—the “eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month” of 1918.

Today is a holiday, and in the U.S., it is used to recognize veterans of military service. I also use it as a day to recognize the heroes in my life, who protect and serve me, my neighbors, and residents of the community, county, state, and country where I live.

My heroes are…

… many who have served or currently serve with honor:

  • My father, who served valiantly in World War II in the U.S. Army in the European Theater.
  • My mother, who braved the home front. At the time my Dad was serving in the U.S. Army during WWII, she was raising five children. My mother has even more “hero honors” for raising 15 children in total, particularly as difficult as it was after my father died when I was 12 years old.
  • Nine uncles who also served in World War II. Thankfully, they all survived and returned home.
  • Four brothers who served in the U.S. Navy, Marines, Army, and Air Force, respectively.
  • My twin brother, J, who served our country with honor and distinction for 30 years.
  • Dozens of cousins who have also served in the U.S. Armed Forces, including two cousins serving in Afghanistan today. May they also return home safely to their wives and children.
  • One of my best friends who is a leader in our county’s Fire Department, and with whom I work closely on life-safety issues to keep our community and its residents — particularly seniors — safe.
  • Two cops with whom I serve on a community task force to deal with alternatives to gangs and gang violence and malicious destruction.
  • My partner, who in my eyes is a hero in how he cares for his aging mother, and me, too. What a trooper!
  • Many more, unnammed and not yet met, who through their public service, make our lives better, brighter, and safer each and every day.

I give a salute to my heroes, and to all who give their best to do their duty to serve, protect, and defend the freedoms we enjoy. Freedom isn’t free, and the costs paid to protect our freedoms are dear. Bless you for your service.

Life is short: pay tribute to those who have served or are serving through selfless spirit, commitment, and dedication.