When we were kids and flying on an airplane, turning off all electronic devices for takeoff meant turning off your Walkman. Now it's cell phones, MP3 players, and laptops. Unless you have never been on an airplane, you know that when the plane door is shut, the electronics must be turned off.
Yet I am still amazed at the number of people who seem to think this doesn't apply to them. They keep texting on their smart phones, or browsing on their laptops. On a recent flight, the flight attendant had to walk down the aisle telling people to turn off their electronics. She had to personally tell ten people. And even then, they kept working. Some people had to be told two or three times, and in one instance, she had to reach over and close the laptop for the person.
The really annoying thing is that most of these people appeared to be businessmen who travel frequently. They board first with their frequent flier status. They get annoyed in security lines when they get stopped behind people who don't travel frequently, and are therefore not aware they need to remove their shoes or put their liquids in a bag. So they should know the drill. All electronics must be off for take off. It doesn't mean all unless you are a businessman. It means all. Teenagers, soccer moms, world travelers, and businessmen.
I didn't notice myself flying on Air Force One, and I didn't see the President on the commercial 100 passenger jet out of Albany. So nothing any of these people were doing was so important that they needed to disregard the safety of the other passengers. Yet these arrogant jerks continue to type away, or talk away, like the rules don't apply to them. Obviously they have such an over-inflated sense of self-worth that they think they are impressing the working people on the plane by having to take this call or finish this email. I've got news for you jerks- all email programs have a 'save draft' function. You can save it and pick up right where you left off. And the call you're on? Tell the person 'We're getting ready to take off. I'll call you later'. Seriously! I am unimpressed by your status. You're just a loser who cannot follow directions. So turn it off before I cram that cell phone down your throat!
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Halloween
I hate Halloween. I know that is strong, but it's the way I feel. I am fundamentally opposed to Halloween. It's not that my parents didn't believe in Halloween. We went trick-or-treating each year as children. Dad would take us around the neighborhood, and Mom would stay home to pass out candy to our own trick-or-treaters. We were only allowed to go to the houses of people we knew. We had a few houses we went to. Maybe 15 houses. Which was plenty.
As a teenager, I started noticing we didn't know all of the people coming to our house trick-or-treating. We grew up hearing that you should check your candy for razor blades or pins or drugs. Interestingly, recently I heard this is a myth. That destroys all the good memories of dumping out our candy for Mom & Dad to inspect. (Not sure if the sarcasm can be felt through the type). It was also as a teenager I started to really think about Halloween. See, I was one of those teenagers who not only knew everything, but I spent a lot of time thinking about things. So when I made my argument about why I was right, I presented it in a logical, well-thought out manner.
364 days a year, we tell our children to stay away from strangers. Don't talk to them. Don't take anything from them, especially candy. They could be poisoning you and trying to lure you away with them. (Back to that old fear from our childhood.) And then one day a year, we send our children out into the neighborhood to take candy from strangers. At our house, we get a couple hundred trick-or-treaters a year. I know we are strangers to all of them, because there are about 5 children on our street.
364 days a year, society looks down on begging. We see someone panhandling in the parking lot, and 99% of people look at this person with disgust. We think 'get a job!'. As if they chose this path. Yet one night a year, it is expected that all children will go begging. And strangers throw open their doors, ooh and ah over the disguises, and actually toss candy at the children.
What kind of a message does that send to our kids? It's okay on October 31 to talk to strangers and beg for candy, but on November 1 it's unacceptable.
As a hard-working adult, I dislike the destruction that accompanies Halloween. I don't know what purpose is served by smashing pumpkins in the road. I have never understood the urge to toilet paper a house or yard. And my heart breaks at the thought of black cats being tormented. I don't like cats, but I hate to see any animals abused.
As a dog Mommy, Halloween is a very stressful night. Here in Ohio, the various cities set trick-or-treat times. Sometimes they are on different nights, and other years most of the cities do it on the same night. Middletown's is always an hour and a half: from 5:30pm-7pm. Many cities do two hours, so the shorter time in Middletown is wonderful for those of us with dogs. If it were up to me, we would not pass out candy at our house. I wouldn't participate. Erich loves Halloween though. So he buys the candy and passes it out. I get the joy of sitting with the dogs. After the first year, we learned they cannot be near the door. They do not like people coming to our door, and people wearing costumes was even worse. Add to this all the people asking for 'treats' (the dogs know the word treat, and were very distraught that they weren't getting any); and it made for a very stressful night. Now we block them in the dining room (which is away from the front door). They sit in there with toys and food, and sometimes I still have to sit with them to keep them calm. It is the longest hour and a half of the year!
I know I'm in the minority. Some people love Halloween, and most people at least enjoy it. I hate it. I'm the Halloween Scrooge. For me, the only good thing about Halloween is that once it's over, we're that much closer to Christmas. That's my Holiday! I put a lot of energy into Christmas. So come back to my house in a few weeks, and you'll find a very cheerful, festive environment. And maybe even some cookies or homemade fudge!
As a teenager, I started noticing we didn't know all of the people coming to our house trick-or-treating. We grew up hearing that you should check your candy for razor blades or pins or drugs. Interestingly, recently I heard this is a myth. That destroys all the good memories of dumping out our candy for Mom & Dad to inspect. (Not sure if the sarcasm can be felt through the type). It was also as a teenager I started to really think about Halloween. See, I was one of those teenagers who not only knew everything, but I spent a lot of time thinking about things. So when I made my argument about why I was right, I presented it in a logical, well-thought out manner.
364 days a year, we tell our children to stay away from strangers. Don't talk to them. Don't take anything from them, especially candy. They could be poisoning you and trying to lure you away with them. (Back to that old fear from our childhood.) And then one day a year, we send our children out into the neighborhood to take candy from strangers. At our house, we get a couple hundred trick-or-treaters a year. I know we are strangers to all of them, because there are about 5 children on our street.
364 days a year, society looks down on begging. We see someone panhandling in the parking lot, and 99% of people look at this person with disgust. We think 'get a job!'. As if they chose this path. Yet one night a year, it is expected that all children will go begging. And strangers throw open their doors, ooh and ah over the disguises, and actually toss candy at the children.
What kind of a message does that send to our kids? It's okay on October 31 to talk to strangers and beg for candy, but on November 1 it's unacceptable.
As a hard-working adult, I dislike the destruction that accompanies Halloween. I don't know what purpose is served by smashing pumpkins in the road. I have never understood the urge to toilet paper a house or yard. And my heart breaks at the thought of black cats being tormented. I don't like cats, but I hate to see any animals abused.
As a dog Mommy, Halloween is a very stressful night. Here in Ohio, the various cities set trick-or-treat times. Sometimes they are on different nights, and other years most of the cities do it on the same night. Middletown's is always an hour and a half: from 5:30pm-7pm. Many cities do two hours, so the shorter time in Middletown is wonderful for those of us with dogs. If it were up to me, we would not pass out candy at our house. I wouldn't participate. Erich loves Halloween though. So he buys the candy and passes it out. I get the joy of sitting with the dogs. After the first year, we learned they cannot be near the door. They do not like people coming to our door, and people wearing costumes was even worse. Add to this all the people asking for 'treats' (the dogs know the word treat, and were very distraught that they weren't getting any); and it made for a very stressful night. Now we block them in the dining room (which is away from the front door). They sit in there with toys and food, and sometimes I still have to sit with them to keep them calm. It is the longest hour and a half of the year!
I know I'm in the minority. Some people love Halloween, and most people at least enjoy it. I hate it. I'm the Halloween Scrooge. For me, the only good thing about Halloween is that once it's over, we're that much closer to Christmas. That's my Holiday! I put a lot of energy into Christmas. So come back to my house in a few weeks, and you'll find a very cheerful, festive environment. And maybe even some cookies or homemade fudge!
Blessings
It would be so easy to feel sorry for myself. Every day I battle pain. Some days it is an all over ache-like the flu. Other days it is random stabbing pain that comes and goes. It might be in my hands one day, and my legs the next. When I feel the stab of pain, it makes me stop what I'm doing briefly. Some days the pain gets the best of me and I give up. It feels like that happens a lot, but when I look at a year full of days, the pain only wins 20-25% of the time. So 75-80% of the time I just keep pressing on.
Many people with Fibromyalgia also battle depression. I am fortunate that my bouts of depression are very rare. When they occur, it is more feeling sorry for myself rather than being outright depressed.
I try not to ask questions like 'Why me?'. Ok, I was diagnosed at age 30 with a chronic condition that will plague me the rest of my life. A college friend died at the age of 32 from cancer. She left a husband and young family. When I think of that, the chronic condition doesn't seem so bad.
To keep my focus, I try to remind myself daily how lucky I am. I have been blessed in my life. I have a wonderful family. My parents are very loving and supportive, and we enjoy spending time together. My sister and I are great friends. I have a niece who adores me, and hopefully her brother will, too. My job may not be the greatest, but it does pay the bills. I can wear jeans to work, which is quite nice. Especially on the days that I feel lousy. I feel lucky to still have a job in this economy. So I try to remind myself it is better to have one than not. Sometimes I have to tell myself this several times a day.... *grin*
Perhaps my greatest blessing is Erich. He came into my life a few weeks before my Grandpa Wager passed away. I believe Grandpa sent him to me. I say this because he is a lot like my Grandpa. He is a very smart man. While Grandpa never went to college, he wanted to. He wanted to be a lawyer. Erich seems to be the perpetual student. He has five degrees so far, and plans to start his Bachelors of Nursing soon. Both Grandpa and Erich love to read. And Erich has a very dry humor, just like my Grandfather.
At least once a week, Erich does something to remind me how blessed I am. Three weeks ago I was rear-ended on my way home for lunch. Accidents are stressful times. I was at home, on the phone with my mom, and Erich came through the door with a bouquet of pink carnations. He had no idea what had happened, he just picked up the flowers. I started crying all over again when he came through the door, but those tears were more of a happy tear.
Sometimes the blessings are more subtle. It might just be seeing an amazing sunset. Then I think how lucky I am to have the vision to see it. Fall is a time of year that leaves me in wonder. Tucked around the bend can be another beautiful display of reds, oranges, and yellows. I love to drive around and see the color. It is a terrific time to reflect on the blessing of living in a climate where I can see this.
I probably sound a bit like Pollyanna. I guess I am. I don't run around telling people to look for the positive in things. It is more of a mental game I play with myself. It helps me keep things in perspective. Yes, the Fibro is annoying and sometimes it interferes in my life. But other people deal with far worse things. When I look at the big picture, my life is great. Sure, it could be better. Couldn't every one's? I am blessed, and so grateful for the good in my life.
Many people with Fibromyalgia also battle depression. I am fortunate that my bouts of depression are very rare. When they occur, it is more feeling sorry for myself rather than being outright depressed.
I try not to ask questions like 'Why me?'. Ok, I was diagnosed at age 30 with a chronic condition that will plague me the rest of my life. A college friend died at the age of 32 from cancer. She left a husband and young family. When I think of that, the chronic condition doesn't seem so bad.
To keep my focus, I try to remind myself daily how lucky I am. I have been blessed in my life. I have a wonderful family. My parents are very loving and supportive, and we enjoy spending time together. My sister and I are great friends. I have a niece who adores me, and hopefully her brother will, too. My job may not be the greatest, but it does pay the bills. I can wear jeans to work, which is quite nice. Especially on the days that I feel lousy. I feel lucky to still have a job in this economy. So I try to remind myself it is better to have one than not. Sometimes I have to tell myself this several times a day.... *grin*
Perhaps my greatest blessing is Erich. He came into my life a few weeks before my Grandpa Wager passed away. I believe Grandpa sent him to me. I say this because he is a lot like my Grandpa. He is a very smart man. While Grandpa never went to college, he wanted to. He wanted to be a lawyer. Erich seems to be the perpetual student. He has five degrees so far, and plans to start his Bachelors of Nursing soon. Both Grandpa and Erich love to read. And Erich has a very dry humor, just like my Grandfather.
At least once a week, Erich does something to remind me how blessed I am. Three weeks ago I was rear-ended on my way home for lunch. Accidents are stressful times. I was at home, on the phone with my mom, and Erich came through the door with a bouquet of pink carnations. He had no idea what had happened, he just picked up the flowers. I started crying all over again when he came through the door, but those tears were more of a happy tear.
Sometimes the blessings are more subtle. It might just be seeing an amazing sunset. Then I think how lucky I am to have the vision to see it. Fall is a time of year that leaves me in wonder. Tucked around the bend can be another beautiful display of reds, oranges, and yellows. I love to drive around and see the color. It is a terrific time to reflect on the blessing of living in a climate where I can see this.
I probably sound a bit like Pollyanna. I guess I am. I don't run around telling people to look for the positive in things. It is more of a mental game I play with myself. It helps me keep things in perspective. Yes, the Fibro is annoying and sometimes it interferes in my life. But other people deal with far worse things. When I look at the big picture, my life is great. Sure, it could be better. Couldn't every one's? I am blessed, and so grateful for the good in my life.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Frozen Treats in the Middle of Nowhere
My parents live in the country. Well, kind of. They live in a small village- in the country. It is a very rural area that remains a bit isolated. The town did not get cable until 1995. I was in college when they got cable. When we were young children, we only got one channel-WRGB Channel 6. It was CBS. One of our other neighbors only got Channel 10 (ABC) and a third neighbor had Channel 13 (NBC). If you wanted to watch something on the channel you didn't get, you went to your neighbor's house.My parents were married 30 years before they had pizza delivered. And then it was here in Ohio. They were visiting me and we decided to order pizza for dinner. I called the pizza place, placed the order, and hung up the phone. I told them it would be half an hour, and Mom picked up her purse while Dad got the car keys. They wanted to know how far away the restaurant was. I explained to them that they have delivery drivers, and the driver would bring it to our house. My parents wondered how they knew where we lived. I told them we have ordered from this chain before, so they have our information on file (but I didn't tell them HOW often we order). When the pizza arrived, my parents were stunned that it was still hot. Where they live, if you pick up a hot pizza on the way home, it is cold when you get home and needs to be reheated. Not that my parents are stupid- it was just a new experience for them.
So imagine my surprise when Mom called one night this summer to tell me they now have an ice cream truck that comes to town. I honestly wondered if Mom had had a really rough day and maybe drank one of Dad's beers. I never imagined I'd experience this phenomenon in late October when I went to visit.
On Tuesday night, 10/19, I was sitting in the living room with Dad after dinner. The windows were all closed, yet around 6pm I heard the distinct music of an ice cream truck. We have ice cream trucks in Middletown, so I'm used to hearing them go up and down the street. But I wasn't prepared for the excitement of the ice cream truck coming to Berlin. I looked around, puzzled. Dad asked what was wrong, and I told him I heard an ice cream truck. My father, who is 6'3" and has one very bad knee and one that is a little better, jumped out of his chair like he had been sitting on an ejection spring. He shouted excitedly, "Mr. Ding a Ling is coming! Dear, get your wallet, come on!" (Dear is my mother). My mother was washing dishes and she immediately stopped, and ran to her purse. She grabbed her wallet and said, "What do you want?" but started rushing out the door before Dad could answer. I thought they were doing this for me, and told her "oh, I don't need anything." Dad said, "No, you have to buy from her and support her so she keeps coming back."
My parents then practically tripped over each other trying to get out the door. They were bouncing up and down with excitement as we waited in the driveway. They kept looking up and down their road, trying to see where she went. I listened to the sounds of the music, and could tell the truck was still on Main Street, and had not yet turned up Mom & Dad's road. It was only about 40* outside, and dark already, so it was a bit brisk. Dad went back inside to watch the news, telling Mom to just get him 'something'. Dad has a sweet tooth, especially when it comes to ice cream. There are few ice cream products he doesn't like. Mom stepped inside to get coats for us.
As we stood there, watching the truck slowly make its way up Mom & Dad's road, stopping at other houses along the way, Mom told me that the one neighbors are like 'little kids' when the ice cream truck comes along. I asked her how she & Dad had acted, because to me, they acted like little kids. She said, "Well, yes, but they get enough to last the whole week". The ice cream truck made several stops on Mom & Dad's road which is great. There are 11 houses on Mom & Dad's road, and a couple of them are second homes for people who live in the city. There are no little kids on the road, just a couple of teenagers. When we were growing up, almost every house had kids in it, but we've all grown up and moved on. However, our parents are thrilled by the ice cream truck and eagerly run out each week to get their fix.
Finally, the truck pulled into Mom & Dad's driveway. They have a big round driveway which makes turning trucks around very easy. The ice cream truck lady parked the truck, and we went over to make our purchase. I asked her if I could take a picture of her & the truck, because it was such a neat experience. I just knew I'd have to blog about it! But I didn't get her name. She said she comes every Tuesday night. I don't know if she'll keep coming in the winter, but if she doesn't, there are going to be some very disappointed adults on Maple Avenue and Walnut Lane. These adults will have to revert to their previous method of buying ice cream- at the store!
Mom had us each get two things. The ice cream lady was very nice, and it was a lot of fun. I have to say, all the times the ice cream truck has gone past my house in Middletown, I've never gone out to it. Maybe I'm embarrassed because I always thought it was a thing for children. When we went back inside, I wouldn't let my parents eat their ice cream until I took a picture of our loot for my blog.
Berlin still doesn't have pizza delivery, and the nearest grocery store is 20 minutes away. But they have an ice cream truck, which is much cooler than a Papa Johns!
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Thanks, Mom
I took my knitting home to New York. I am working on a Christmas present, and am a bit behind schedule. I have two more full size blankets that I hope to get done after the one I'm working on. I'm not sure I'm going to make it. I might get two done, but not three. The 'good news' is that the third one is for Erich, and if I don't get it done for his Christmas, I can give it to him for his birthday in February. But that means I will have to buy him something else for Christmas-and I don't have any ideas!
I knew I would not have a lot of time at home to knit, but wanted to make the best use of any free time I might have. As it turned out, I was able to knit only about 4 or 5 days. That still put me further ahead than if I had left it in Ohio.
While I was knitting one night, I showed mom the picture of what I was working on. She looked at it, then looked at me and just kept shaking her head. When I finished the row, I asked her if she didn't like the pattern. She said no, it was beautiful and she liked the colors I'd chosen. She said she was amazed at my talent. She said she looks at yarn in the store and sees yarn. She thought it was great that I look at the yarn and see projects for people. Mom told me what a gift I have, and how wonderful my presents are, because they are made with love. She said she didn't know where I got this talent, and sometimes she found herself amazed that I'm her daughter.
That made me feel incredible. My mother had a big hand in the woman I have become. Sometimes I feel completely ordinary. To leave her in awe was a nice feeling. Thanks, Mom!
I knew I would not have a lot of time at home to knit, but wanted to make the best use of any free time I might have. As it turned out, I was able to knit only about 4 or 5 days. That still put me further ahead than if I had left it in Ohio.
While I was knitting one night, I showed mom the picture of what I was working on. She looked at it, then looked at me and just kept shaking her head. When I finished the row, I asked her if she didn't like the pattern. She said no, it was beautiful and she liked the colors I'd chosen. She said she was amazed at my talent. She said she looks at yarn in the store and sees yarn. She thought it was great that I look at the yarn and see projects for people. Mom told me what a gift I have, and how wonderful my presents are, because they are made with love. She said she didn't know where I got this talent, and sometimes she found herself amazed that I'm her daughter.
That made me feel incredible. My mother had a big hand in the woman I have become. Sometimes I feel completely ordinary. To leave her in awe was a nice feeling. Thanks, Mom!
It Makes No Difference
I was away for a few days. Ok, a week and a half. I went home to NY to visit my family and meet my new nephew, Drew. One night, while we were out to dinner, we ran into a family member. As we talked, this family member asked if Dad was thrilled to have a Grandson. Mom told this family member that he was, but it wouldn't have mattered if my sister had two girls- he loved his grandchildren equally. Our relative could not believe that, they were certain Dad must be partial to Drew.
I suppose people who don't really know my parents, or my Dad in particular, might assume that he is partial to Drew. After all, Dad only had girls. What man doesn't want a son? The answer is My Dad. We know plenty of people who are disappointed to only have two girls. And people who are disappointed to have two boys. We know several families who had two or three boys, and tried again to have a girl. Sometimes it worked out, sometimes it didn't. My parents lost a baby 13 months before I was born, a girl. They were thankful to have two healthy children after that, and it made no difference to them if we wore pink or blue.
My father's family is very patriarchal. The men rule the family. The females are second class citizens, put here primarily to wait on the men. I know, it's a bit archaic, but that's how they are. My mother's family on the other hand, tends to be more matriarchal. My Grandmother Wager was a very strong personality. According to the stories I've heard, her mother was as well. My mother is a strong woman, and she raised my sister and I the same. It was always a clash with the values of Dad's side of the family. Mom and Grandpa Primeau got into it many times over the way he treated the girls of the family. I remember my mother telling him her girls were not servants. I wouldn't call my mom a feminist-but she did believe women are equal to men, not beneath them.
So in Dad's family, of course people would expect you to favor the boy. My father never treated us like second best. He was proud to have two daughters. Maybe when it was time to pay for weddings, he wished he had boys. But that would have been the only time. Dad was there for our school concerts, our track meets, our birthdays. My sister joined several sports over the years, and each time, Dad was there cheering her on. There were some things he taught us that many girls might not have known. When we learned how to drive, he made us show him that we knew how to check the oil and where the spare tire and jack were located. He taught us to listen to our cars, and if something was wrong, we needed to be able to explain the sound. He didn't want us just walking into the garage and saying 'it's making a noise'. There have been many mechanics over the years who saw either my sister or I walk in and thought 'ah. Here comes a woman'. And those mechanics were given an education by the time we left. I still take offense to a mechanic treating me like a stupid woman.
If anyone thought Dad would favor Drew over Sydney, they only have to spend an afternoon with Dad as he plays with his grandchildren. His face lights up when he sees either of them. He loves pushing Sydney on her swings or watching her drive her mustang. But he also loves holding Drew, or watching him sleep. I know he is looking forward to Drew getting older, so that he can play with him like he does Sydney. He has plans to take both children to the races and to Yankee Stadium. He's just waiting for my sister to give him the okay. He tells me the funny things Sydney says, and how cute Drew looked. He is Poppop to Sydney and Drew. His love is not based on their sex. I know when he puts their pictures in his wallet, he doesn't know who to put first. When we were kids, he solved this dilemma by putting Mom's picture first. He might still do this. When Drew is old enough to draw pictures, his will hang on the refrigerator next to Sydney's; not above them and not below them. He will spend Saturday mornings going between Sydney's dance practice and Drew's hockey practice (or football. But I'd like to think he's going to play hockey!) He already shops for both kids. He will continue to fill the cart in the girls' section, and then get another cart and fill it in the boy's section. He will beam proudly and wipe his eyes as Sydney graduates with the class of 2024, and he will react the same four years later when Drew graduates.
My dad is the most fair person I know. He loves and will love both grandchildren equally. It doesn't matter that one wants to play with dolls and the other with trucks. Of course, if the grandchildren are like Laura & I; they'll both have dolls and trucks. But they will both be very fortunate to have my Dad as their Poppop.
I suppose people who don't really know my parents, or my Dad in particular, might assume that he is partial to Drew. After all, Dad only had girls. What man doesn't want a son? The answer is My Dad. We know plenty of people who are disappointed to only have two girls. And people who are disappointed to have two boys. We know several families who had two or three boys, and tried again to have a girl. Sometimes it worked out, sometimes it didn't. My parents lost a baby 13 months before I was born, a girl. They were thankful to have two healthy children after that, and it made no difference to them if we wore pink or blue.
My father's family is very patriarchal. The men rule the family. The females are second class citizens, put here primarily to wait on the men. I know, it's a bit archaic, but that's how they are. My mother's family on the other hand, tends to be more matriarchal. My Grandmother Wager was a very strong personality. According to the stories I've heard, her mother was as well. My mother is a strong woman, and she raised my sister and I the same. It was always a clash with the values of Dad's side of the family. Mom and Grandpa Primeau got into it many times over the way he treated the girls of the family. I remember my mother telling him her girls were not servants. I wouldn't call my mom a feminist-but she did believe women are equal to men, not beneath them.
So in Dad's family, of course people would expect you to favor the boy. My father never treated us like second best. He was proud to have two daughters. Maybe when it was time to pay for weddings, he wished he had boys. But that would have been the only time. Dad was there for our school concerts, our track meets, our birthdays. My sister joined several sports over the years, and each time, Dad was there cheering her on. There were some things he taught us that many girls might not have known. When we learned how to drive, he made us show him that we knew how to check the oil and where the spare tire and jack were located. He taught us to listen to our cars, and if something was wrong, we needed to be able to explain the sound. He didn't want us just walking into the garage and saying 'it's making a noise'. There have been many mechanics over the years who saw either my sister or I walk in and thought 'ah. Here comes a woman'. And those mechanics were given an education by the time we left. I still take offense to a mechanic treating me like a stupid woman.
If anyone thought Dad would favor Drew over Sydney, they only have to spend an afternoon with Dad as he plays with his grandchildren. His face lights up when he sees either of them. He loves pushing Sydney on her swings or watching her drive her mustang. But he also loves holding Drew, or watching him sleep. I know he is looking forward to Drew getting older, so that he can play with him like he does Sydney. He has plans to take both children to the races and to Yankee Stadium. He's just waiting for my sister to give him the okay. He tells me the funny things Sydney says, and how cute Drew looked. He is Poppop to Sydney and Drew. His love is not based on their sex. I know when he puts their pictures in his wallet, he doesn't know who to put first. When we were kids, he solved this dilemma by putting Mom's picture first. He might still do this. When Drew is old enough to draw pictures, his will hang on the refrigerator next to Sydney's; not above them and not below them. He will spend Saturday mornings going between Sydney's dance practice and Drew's hockey practice (or football. But I'd like to think he's going to play hockey!) He already shops for both kids. He will continue to fill the cart in the girls' section, and then get another cart and fill it in the boy's section. He will beam proudly and wipe his eyes as Sydney graduates with the class of 2024, and he will react the same four years later when Drew graduates.
My dad is the most fair person I know. He loves and will love both grandchildren equally. It doesn't matter that one wants to play with dolls and the other with trucks. Of course, if the grandchildren are like Laura & I; they'll both have dolls and trucks. But they will both be very fortunate to have my Dad as their Poppop.
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