An old country man

If my father were here, he’d tell you his father was an old country man. He would say with a certain pride his father came here at a very young age, unable to read or write English. He would tell you that armed with a dollar pick and shovel he built a business that continues to shape lives three generations later. He would tell you his father eloped with the girl of his dreams, rebelling against every convention of his day.

He would also tell you my grandfather lost that girl during the depression, leaving him with nine children to rear. He would tell you his father managed to keep his family together and kept his business going during trying times. That he raised four sons who served their country honorably. He would tell you his father did his best under the most difficult circumstances. “Not bad for an old country man.” He would say.

It was through these stories my father taught me about family, loyalty, work ethic and honesty. I learned about honor and humility. I learned about giving back when he shared what his father had told him, “Do good and forget.” He taught me without my word I had nothing.

My father's stories were constant in my life.

There was one story my father told frequently, saying it as he heard his father, right down to the Italian accent. It sounded like, “Nonj you know? You no go looking for me. I go looking for you.” “Do you know what that means?” my father would ask. “It means no matter what you do, I will always be your father. Nothing you do can ever change that. It means you didn’t ask to be born, I invited you here.”   

When Sam first showed signs of differences, my father told me to believe in Sam. “Things have a way of working out,” he said. “He is a beautiful boy. You wait, he will surprise you.” As he watched Sam he would add, “Don’t forget what your grandfather said: 'Nonj you know? You no go looking for me, I go looking for you.’ Sam didn't ask to be born. We invited him here.” I heard those words many times over the years. They were among his final words to me regarding Sam.

Today on what would have been my father's 90^th birthday, I remember the words of my father and grandfather. Tonight I will say them to Sam, to honor my father’s memory, to keep his stories alive.  I think my father would like that. I hope Sam will find in them the security my father found and the security I was lucky enough to know all my life. 

Nonj you know?
Yes, Dad, I know. I finally know.

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Sleepless Nights and Facebook

Last night, I took a trip down memory lane via Facebook posts, thinking it might help me fall asleep. What I found instead was a storyline that only reinforces what I already know: we aren't your typical suburban neighbors. 

One of my very first posts reads, “There is nothing that passes for normal going on here.” Maybe not much that will pass for normal, but certainly some consistent trends and themes. Here are some excerpts from life at our house via Facebook.

On Late night parties and more:

The state of my kitchen counter this AM: An open, mostly consumed milk bottle, bread with slices strewn, some toasted, toaster, carton of eggs - some cracked, several butter knives, misc. items... yes, the night crawler has struck.

Sam's been drinking at night. Yup. Found him passed out on the couch in the wee hours of the morning with all the evidence: a half-empty bottle of chocolate syrup, an almost empty bottle of milk and a tall glass - 3/4 chocolate, 1/4 milk…

Sam threw another fun-filled party at our house last night about 2 AM... lots of lights, electronics, food and drink. It is really great the way he leaves the 'frig & freezer door open to keep the kitchen cool.

Another night of 2 AM partying. Found 4 bowls of melted chocolate ice cream and 4 spoons and assorted other foods, lots of lights and music. Guess he was expecting company. 

I am looking for a family of vampires to take Sam in. Since they are nocturnal, he should fit in just fine.

On answering machines, censorship and career choices:

New phone and answering machine installed last night; Sam is working on disassembling and cracking the code. He is making good headway. I think he has a future in crime.

Sam has been deleting some of my facebook posts. Apparently he does not subscribe to the First Amendment.

Some kids are proud of a good grade, others of their fancy footwork in a sport. Sam proud to be "a pest; a giant pest; the biggest pest in the world." While he is gifted here, arguably it is time to shift to a new goal.

If you've left me a message and I haven't called you back, don't be offended. Caught Sam deleting messages before I had a chance to hear them. Guessing he has been doing this for a while... On the bright side, I spend less time on the phone.

Sam's career as a kid is over. How do I know this? He told me.

I thought Sam was my only child – but apparently not:

Today I learned that Sam has 4 sisters (Kate, Alex, Marykate, and Jane) and 7 brothers (Jack, Joe, Tom, Jason, Zack, John, and Josh). My, I've been busy. Guess that could explain my current exhaustion.

Sam now keeps telling me he has 2 sisters and 2 brothers. Their names are Robin, Sister, Joe and Lazy. I am guessing Lazy is the one who keeps leaving dishes in my sink.

Dining out, vacations and other adventures:

Sam made it to the hostess at Bertucci's before me and informed her we are a party of 7. I looked around and only counted 4. He must be expecting company. Whoever you are, you're late.

Just back from the movies with my date Sam. Shrek Forever After, one of our favorite franchises. I bought the popcorn, beverages and movie tickets. I drove and held the door. What he lacks in chivalry, he makes up for in good looks.

According to Sam, we are going to see the Boston Red Sox play basketball tomorrow. Who says there aren't any surprises in baseball?

If people are staring at your car, you need to investigate. While waiting for Tony in the market lot today, Sam wiggled out of his bathing suit and had his butt stuck out the sunroof. No, I don't know how he did it or what he was thinking. 

If you happen to be at a restaurant and see one lonely flip-flop sitting under a table, it belongs to Sam.

Last night Sam told me, "I packed you an umbrella, an extra pair of boots and your angry eyes, just in case." Tools for my next life? A trip? Hard to say. To the first person that knows who said that and where you'll get... well, nothing.

Walking down the street yesterday Sam started singing (at the top of his lungs) a Sir Mix A Lot song with lyrics "I like big butts and I cannot lie..." As everyone turned to look at my butt I thought, OK, we need more work on blending.

If you find a big, shiny red apple at the super market with a giant bite missing, it was Sam. Memo to self, do not send Sam and Tony to the market unsupervised...

On life at home:

I asked Sam to get me a glass of water and watched in amazement as he listened, got up and walked to the 'frig. He even got ice and filled the glass with water. He headed toward me, paused for a moment... and drank my water. Then he gave me the empty glass.

Good news. No tomato throwing at my house this week... don’t ask.

I caught Sam heading for the garage holding a very long wooden matchstick, wearing a very large grin. While he didn't have a striker or reveal his plan, I highly doubt any good could possibly come of that combo.

OK, I know there are bigger issues like world peace and a down economy, but I was about to bake and someone ate ALL my raisins!

Found Sam in the driveway wearing underwear, a tee shirt, carrying a very large pitchfork. Oh did I mention he was wearing a very big smile?

Today I learned that if you leave a jar of peanut butter on the counter unattended when you return, it will be empty.

I bought a very cool Delonghi toaster. Nice sheen in a stainless way; a neat neon blue light that automatically lowers the bread. It toasts the same piece of bread over and over if you repeatedly touch the blue neon light and don’t bother to remove the toast. How quickly will your house fill with smoke when you do this? How very black can toast become? And how long your smoke detectors will screech? If you'd like the answer to this and more, call Sam.

Did you feel the earth shake tonight like an 8.2 on the Richter scale? Not to worry. It's just Sam, jumping on the bed again and adding a few more stress fractures to the ceiling.

We will execute Sam's plan today. Well, maybe only the legal parts.

On Halloween:

Ok, I probably shouldn't admit this, but I have someone here who thinks if he smells some feet, he'll get something good to eat.

In the neighborhood and other adventures:

Some mark Spring by the first daffodil or tulip. At our house, it is Sam's first run up the street in his underwear. In case you are wondering, it is officially Spring.

Another day in suburbia. Plants some flowers. Try not to scare the neighbors...

Caught Sam going up the sidewalk early this AM, barefoot, wearing underpants (on backward) and a tee. He had straddled his bike and was sort of walking it. I asked him where he was going and he responded, “Dunkin Donuts.” When asked what he wanted, he responded, “Chocolate Munchkins.” Since he doesn’t have any pockets in his underwear, I do wonder how he planned to pay.

Yes, Sam jumped out the window today. Thank you, Sponge Bob.

And defying categorization all together: 

Sam slipped and slid down the stairs on his butt. Kelsey (the sitter) asked if he was all right. Sam pointed to his butt, said "Hurt." Then walked up to her, stuck out his butt, pointed and said "Kiss." So what I got out of this is Sam wanted Kelsey to kiss his butt... Oy vey.


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Living in the Tower of Babel

Within our fairly traditional home in our typical suburban neighborhood lives a self-proclaimed nerd, a dreamer and an autistic or in more contemporary terms, a right brain, a left brain and a we're still figuring it out brain. Not surprisingly, we have very different conversational styles. 

And though time after time I have listed “English” as the language spoken in our home on surveys and physician’s forms, it occurred to me after an attempt at conversing with my family recently that I live a modern day Tower of Babel.

The biblical Tower of Babel

Tony speaks fluent geek. He lives in a very factual world of black and white. If I say the sky is blue, I’d better be able to back that statement up with detailed information on the atmospheric conditions, gas molecules and light waves. ‘Blue skying’ a concept might cause his head to blow up into a thousand pieces; talk of feelings or emotions makes his skin crawl.

Sam is an expert in echolalia. He contributes to conversations by quoting a random movie, video or book lines that oddly parallel our conversation. On rare occasions even punctuating conversations profoundly. He interprets to the very literal meaning of each word. No idioms for him. Use the expression "kick him out" and someone WILL get kicked. I promise.

As the out to lunch member of the house, I am a sucker for subtle nuances and metaphors and exploring multiple meanings of books or movies. I use liberal amounts of body language thinking you can express more with the raise of an eyebrow than a pile of words.

Only nuances, metaphors and body language aren't among the known languages of the Tower of Babel.

Say the words "Cape Cod" and Tony responds with weather and logistics. I discuss shopping and scenery and Sam hears cheeseburgers. Go to a movie and unless the bad guy is wearing a black hat, Tony is hopelessly lost. Give me numbers to crunch or directions to follow and my eyes glaze over.

Ask us to give the high points of any conversation and you are likely to get two very different interpretations. As for Sam, unless chocolate is involved, he won’t interpret at all. 

We greet each day babbling in a parallel sort of way, each of us hopeful that our words are understood well enough to muddle through the day without disaster. And some days do end well. Others are hopelessly communication challenged with conversations ending with a very quizzical, “Huh??” or worse yet, “Wow. I didn’t see THAT coming.” And still other days end in hysterical laughter.

Now and again I hear bragging of the solidarity of a particular household; where the mere utterance of the word "blue" results not only a complete understanding of the word blue but also the exact shade of blue. Where conversations are succinct and communication effective.  

I don’t happen to know that home.

Though our communication challenges may be a more extreme than some, I suspect we are not alone in our Tower of Babel. And I wouldn’t want to live any place else. I’d miss the elation of those rare occasions when we get it right.

Who’d want to live a place where everyone understands exactly the same thing, anyway? I mean really, where’s the fun in that? 

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