Punching and ‘Pop’ music
Well, went for my morning run to kick off Father’s Day and played from start to finish, “Elvis: Aloha From Hawaii.”
Yep, that was dad’s favorite in his extensive 12-case 8-track tape collection. That thing was worn to the metallic strips underneath the actual tape.
Dad hard at work
It’s become a tradition ever since you left us in September 2012 that I spend Father’s Day reflecting in some way while listening to EAP, doing some sort of physical work around the house and, most importantly, spending time with the family. Something I know you would want to see happen.
The more the days go by, the tougher it gets. But the memory gets better too, believe it or not. I can remember the little moments we spent together. The table hockey tournaments we held when you would carve out a standings table from a used piece of cardboard to keep track of the records and the only time you would give it 100 percent is when I represented the Flyers and you the Rangers.
The times you would sit in the stands watching me during basketball and soccer seasons; not saying a word but listening to what others around you would shout and then relay those comments to me.
“Hey, who is [so-and-so]? What a piece of shit he is; always yelling for someone to get his son the ball. When he finally gets the ball and missing wildly, he’s yelling the pass was too late.”
Yeah, no wonder I hate the obnoxious sports’ parent.
I remember going into the rec room and putting on the boxing gloves and you “allowing” me to take you out early in the opening few minutes of the first round. But then you would mount a comeback but only before saying, “Don’t tell your mother I’m doing this to you!”
Graceland
You would then hold me off with the right hand and throw continuous jabs with the left to my midsection. I’d go down from exhaustion and you’d say, “Get up”.
I’d pick myself off the orange carpet thinking I was doomed, but would ultimate make one last ditch effort with a wild right, which always seemed to miraculously connect. You’d stay down for the 10-count while I put my foot on your chest for emphasis on my tremendous victory.
Afterwards you’d yell to mom:
“Joan is lunch/dinner ready yet?”
“Good job Butch, let’s go eat.”
Those memories are vivid now. I don’t know why exactly, but they are. I think it’s something that “Jersey Boys: The Movie” will be released on your birthday, June 20. Looking forward to that since Frankie Valli’s greatest hits was also a part of that 8-track collection in that black box of yours.
There were a pair of songs I listened to on Father’s Day that took me back to those days, all those years ago. The first was during my jog in the morning from Elvis’ Aloha from Hawaii album – “It’s Over.”
I remember you whistling this tune and even today, it remains one of the classics in my collection. EAP just sounds awesome. I was so glad we had the chance to visit Graceland when we did; what a fabulous, fun time.
I don’t become sad when I hear these songs, it’s the opposite really. They just conjure up memories of the past, which was all good.
“When you walk away from me
There is no place to put my hand
Except to shade my eyes against the sun
That rises over the land
I watch you walk away
Somehow I have to let you go
Cause it’s over”
The other was from the great Roy Orbison played on 101.1 CBS-FM radio – “In Dreams.” This was the first Orbison song you instructed me to listen to after the topic of greatest song writers was being discussed. I remember you saying, listen to this one and tell me what you think.
Yep. A home run there for sure. Any Roy Orbison song I play reminds me of you and I like that. The one magical thing I took away from that 8-track collection was how inspiring a song could actually be when you need a pick-me-up. The words, the music, really make for something therapeutically magic.
“I close my eyes, Then I drift away
Into the magic night. I softly say
A silent prayer like dreamers do.
Then I fall asleep to dream My dreams of you.”
Happy Father’s Day in heaven, pop!
Family Focus 