On Her Birthday

A few weekends ago, I drove to Maine for a family/friend reunion.  Parents and kids, all adults now, hiking and swimming and eating and drinking.  A few of the parents had August birthdays and I was asked to say a few words about my mother.  As happens with parties, when the time came for speeches the focus was on the group and not individuals.  It would have been inappropriate to have everyone listen to me talk about my mom, especially given the level of sentimentality I was going for.  Anyway, I was listening to the voice memos on my phone just now and came across a recording of me practicing my spiel!  Crickets in the background as I walked along Sunday River Road talking to myself, here is what I planned to say...

When I was eighteen, I told my mother, "I'm off to College and I'm going to be a doctor."  And she said "Jake that's great - you're going to reach your full potential and someday you can take care of me."  Four years later, music degree in hand, I was a bartender and she said "Jimmy, pour me a cocktail."

There is a possibility that as I changed my mind, she lost hers.  But that's not the case.  See I don't know what it's like to watch your children in their twenties and thirties pretend to be adults and change their minds just as you probably pretended to be adults and changed your minds.  But I do know that the most supportive human being I've ever known is that woman right there.

While my father is the source of my passion and my drive, my mother is the source of my compassion and my love.  I wouldn't trade a single late night conversation with her for all the money, fame and glory in the world.  And I know I speak for Cate and Jen and dad when I simply ask on her 66th birthday: stick around; we need you.  Happy Birthday Mom.

The 30th Toast

There were thirty; one for each year of Greg's (ongoing) life.  Imagine the fourth when you realize Drew was serious about having thirty of them.  Are we really going to do this twenty-six more times?  Somebody please make it stop.  But anger and denial quickly gave way to acceptance as I grieved for the bar experience I had pictured on our mile-long walk to the Commonwealth bar in Park Slope.  The beer no doubt helped me embrace the activity.  And no, we did not match a drink to each toast, we merely sipped (occasionally gulped) from our pint glasses.

The toasts ran the expected gamut of things twenty-somethings say.  “To Greg because at the beginning of Sophomore year, I went from class to class where none of my friends were until I got to Latin and there you were – a beacon of hope that at least one class wouldn’t suck.”  “To Greg for all those Friday afternoons playing music in my parents’ basement.”  “To Greg because he has long hair.”

Like the hours in a party, the first few toasts took forever where the last few went by in a heartbeat.  And then it was on us, the final toast!  We probably should have known he was going to do it.  He hadn’t done one yet.  He’s so soft spoken it wouldn’t have been a shock if he had just sat there quietly laughing at us as we grew more and more boisterous.  When he spoke, the weight of his words had the quieting effect that you usually only see in movies.  I think a big part of why I liked it so much is because anyone who has someone to share a beer with can relate to what he said.  His toast was a much-needed life-raft in a sea of struggle trying to find balance and happiness.  I'll try to reconstruct it, so imagine a shy thirty-year-old mischievously half-smiling as he raises his glass...

“We work.  And we do fun things together.  It’s been a bit of a journey.  But you know, with work, and life… it’s just… things are pretty horrible a lot of the time.  Most of the time.  You know, it’s hard.
pause
But you guys, having you guys, it’s okay.
big smile
It's all great.
ahem
Thank you.”