The Summer Job

 

Words and photo by F LoBuono

When I was a young boy of 11 or 12, I remember watching a movie that had a great impact on me then and continues to do so to this very day. The strange thing about it is that despite its enormous influence, I don’t remember the film’s title or who the main actors were. But I do recall that it was shot in black and white and the plot involved a race against time to rescue minors who were trapped inside a collapsed tunnel.

One scene had a particular impact on me that I have never forgotten. In an effort to save the tapped men, the owners of the mine bring in an engineering specialist to devise a plan to get to the men. He considers it too dangerous to use heavy earth-moving equipment. So, instead, they must dig by hand. He puts out a call for volunteers to help with the digging, and he makes it clear that only “men accustomed to jobs of a hard physical nature”, i.e. working men, need show up. And the foreman intends to verify this by asking each man who answers the call to show him the palm of their hands. If they were gnarly and calloused, he knew they were right for the job. Those with “soft hands” would be immediately rejected.

After clearing a few men to begin digging, another man steps up to show his palms. When the foreman sees that they lack the signs of having done any heavy work, he starts to raise his voice to remind the man that he said, “working men only!” But when the foreman looks up to see whom he is berating, he notices that the man is a priest. Realizing that the priest only came to help, he begins to apologize and thanks him for trying but also saying that the priest wouldn’t last but a few hours under those conditions.

Even at such a young age, that scene moved me deeply. It reached me from several perspectives that I’ve taken with me my entire life. As represented by the priest, it showed me that caring for our neighbors is THE key to a healthy society. Always be willing to help. But perhaps most importantly, it taught me the real value of working people, i.e., those among us who use their hands in the most physical sense to earn a living for themselves and their families while providing essential services to all of us. These include maids, maintenance workers, miners, steal workers, brick layers, mechanics, day laborers, farmers, ranchers, and a whole host of others who do the tasks that make ALL our lives livable.

With that in mind, one summer while I was still in college, I decided to take a job as a laborer at a large construction site in Tenafly, NJ. Perhaps as an honor student at Rutgers University, I should have sought out something more “academic.” One of my challenges was that I have a high IQ. I always did well in school and with that came certain expectations that weren’t necessarily MINE. It may have made my career path less circuitous if I had stayed in my lane. But that is not my way.

Well, I took the job mainly because I wanted to REALY know what it was like to be a “working man,” i.e. someone who could make a living by taking on a physical, tough job. On the superficial side, I figured I’d get a great tan by working outside and, since I was playing college football, I could keep myself in great shape. I may have been forward-thinking, but I was still just 20 years old!

My task was to help mix the mortar that would be used in lying the massive number of bricks that would comprise most of this office building. Then I would have to carry that mortar and those bricks to the masons who would then lay them in place, brick by brick, floor by floor. Eventually there would be 3 stories of brick and mortar that would be used to create that building. You can imagine how difficult it could be to carry a rack of 8-10 bricks up three flights of scaffolding – under a blazing summer sun. But I can proudly say that I had a hand (literally) in virtually all of it. On the rare occasion my partner Amanda and I drive past, I point to it and say, “I helped make that!”  Besides, I got a great tan, was in fantastic shape, AND had calloused palms!

I suppose that the point from the beginning was to prove to myself that I could do this type of work if I had too. And, more importantly, to emphasize that hard, physical work has value – real value. This is not to denigrate those who work with their minds. No, not at all. It’s rather to acknowledge that on this day, the 250^th Anniversary of our Nation’s founding, THESE are the people who have literally built America. And we stand together, hand-in-hand, rough or smooth and say We are Americans.

LOVE WINS - And so did the Knicks!

 

Words and Photo F LoBuono

The most common complaints against so-called awareness or recognition months are, “why are they even necessary? And “Don’t they separate people instead of unite them?” Well, a recent experience I just had clearly demonstrates the need.

As I public service I often “LIVE” stream events and make photographs from Nyack and the immediate area to be seen on Facebook. I also cover breaking news events like the recent “Tunnel Incident” in Nyack that are sometimes used by other local media outlets.

On a recent Sunday, I was particularly busy. There were 2 major parades in Nyack; the first being the annual Nyack Fireman’s Memorial and the second to follow, The Pride Celebration. I prepared my video gear to cover both. As they were staggered, it was possible to give each of them my full attention. And so, I did.

I have covered The Fireman’s Memorial Parade many times in the past and it is a solemn, respectful march through the streets of the village to honor those members who have gone before. This year’s was no exception. All the fire companies in the village had their best fire-fighting trucks shining like new dimes lined up on Broadway for pre-parade inspections. And not to be outdone, the volunteers who man those vehicles proudly posed beside them, glowing with pride in their impressive uniforms. One by one, the companies marched through the town, accepting the adulation from the crowds who lined the streets on their way to Oak Hill Cemetery for a ceremony at the Fireman’s Memorial located there. It was everything it was designed to be.

I streamed the parade LIVE and made some photographs that I shared on Facebook. Of course, the response was overwhelmingly positive. And rightly so. People have enormous respect for these brave volunteers and are always willing to show them.

After a reasonable period, the streets of downtown Nyack were converted for the Pride Celebration. Now, I call it a celebration because that is a more accurate description. Yes, there would be a parade but there would be so much more. There would be vendors and music, making the event a combination street fair/parade. And the mood was deliberately festive and celebratory because THAT’s what it was designed to be. The Gay community, as spearheaded by its organizer, The Rockland County Pride Center, constructed the event to welcome EVERYONE and to share in the openness that Gay Pride is all about. Where so much of that world had been reduced to “the closet” it was like a breath of fresh air to not only acknowledge their existence but to revel in it. And revel they did!

Again, as was fitting for the day and THIS event, there were some whose appearance and demeanor might have been seen as “outrageous” by more conservative observers. But I also witnessed MANY families with young children thoroughly enjoying themselves. Some young kids even wore Pride flags as capes. All in all, it was fun and safe. In other words, it was everything that it was meant to be open – tolerant – educational - fun.

So, I streamed my video and shared my photos again on Facebook. Overall, the response was very positive. Most people saw the event for what it was and enjoyed the freedom it represents. However, there was a significant minority who still found fault in it. Some were “shocked” that parents would subject their children to such “debauchery.” Words like disdain and disgust are not too strong to describe their feelings. There was also a fair share of religious fanatics who objected in the name of Jesus, too. Personally, I find that sad and counter to true Christian teachings.

 In a separate but connected and equally disturbing incident, one Facebook commentator objected that on my podcast, BEING FRANK, I should have a local fireman talking about volunteerism featured on the same program with someone from the gay community sharing his experiences! The message was clear.

This eventually inspired me to create a separate Facebook post stating my position that I approached each event with equal enthusiasm. I did this because they ARE both equal in every sense of the word. All these people are members of the same community and contribute, each in their own way. Not everyone can be a firefighter. I am not. And they deserve our great respect. But I contribute to my community in every way that I can. And why would the gay community be any different? Are there NO gay firefighters in Rockland County? Really? If a gay person came to save you (as they DO), would you still object to their existence?

Yet, there are still those who cling to fear through misunderstanding. I challenge anyone with any doubts about that to observe those posts on my Facebook page. It’s public. You will find them if you look. And that, my friends, is why we still need Pride Month. The fight is not over. But remember the Pride slogan: Love Wins. Always.

 

 

 

 

BEWARE THE ALGORITHM

 

F LoBuno

THE ALGORITHM. You have heard the term (it is ubiquitous these days) but do you truly understand it and ALL the ramifications associated with it?

It may be fair to say that everyone uses some form of social media whether it be Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, or any other internet service. Of course this means scrolling through the information provided by those platforms. Occasionally we spot something that we think is worthy of more attention. So, we stop to look more closely. And when we do, “The Algorithm” strikes. It is one of the more important and controversial applications of Artificial Intelligence (AI). Most simply put, it uses mathematic formulas to determine where your preferences lie and then, going forward, precedes to flood your flow of information with like-themed content. In other words, Big Brother Is Watching – and they want your attention.

But “Beware of what you wish for, because sometimes you get it.” Allow me to elaborate. I love history – all kinds of it. So as a scroll through my Facebook feed, if I see something that is related to history, I tend to stop and investigate further. Now, this aspect has been wonderful. I have learned so much about the world and how we have functioned within it through the centuries. And I will continue to investigate and learn in this manner.

Now, here is where the “good thing – bad thing” comes into play. I also fancy myself as a student of human nature. With that in mind, I found myself interested in police bodycam footage, particularly of DUI (Driving Under the Influence) traffic stops. One of the things that was most fascinating to me was how the excessive use of alcohol can transform normal, intelligent human beings into raging, irrational, insufferable lunatics.

Consistent with “The Algorithm” my feed is now barraged with police bodycam DUI videos of screaming maniacs. And I must be honest; I must fight at not becoming obsessed with them. The power of The Algorithm is strong. Now this has a two-fold negative effect. First, it takes me away from other, more valuable information that if you take a little time to find, can still be rewarding. Second, it constantly reinforces the worst side of human nature. At some point I must quell a building rage at people that I do not even know! That is bizarre. My partner, Amanda, even warns me not to get too caught up with it because it changes me when I do. And she is right. I feel myself actually getting angry at these boorish people!

This is the challenge of social media – the Yin Yang of it all. We can learn so much from the Internet and it can bring us to new heights of communication. But it can also be a deep rabbit hole where hatred, bigotry, and racism flourish will equal vigor. It seems to me that the value of social media comes from its ability to connect and inspire. But I suppose like all things in life (here’s that Yin Yang thing again), it has a dark side, too.

Recently an incident in Nyack highlighted this dichotomy. During a school trip to Nyack’s Memorial Park, a group of schoolgirls from Monsey somehow (EXACTLY how remains to be determined) managed to find their way into a large drainage tunnel that is connected to the park. At some point, they went too far and had to be extricated by emergency personnel. No one was seriously injured and, miraculously, all of the girls (estimated at be about 40) emerged unharmed and smiling.

Now, I know this because I was there recording with my cellphone when they were rescued by EMT’s, the police, and others from an emergency exit nearly a half-mile away from where their journey began. Without judgement except to ask HOW this might have happened and acknowledging the success of the rescue, I posted the video to my Facebook page. As of this writing, that video has been viewed nearly 70,000 times! There have also been hundreds of comments on the thread that was created. And in keeping with the theme of this article, many of the comments have expressed, despite the strange circumstances, relief at the successful outcome of the whole affair. First responders were also rightly lauded. However, there was also a shocking amount of negative responses that were hurtful, ugly, bigoted, and mean-spirited.

It leaves one asking, “how could anyone produce that kind of vitriol from a situation whose outcome could have been so much worse?” Well, one just needs to look at my video to discover why. It seems by appearance (and later confirmed) that the girls were from religious school in the ultra-orthodox community of Monsey, NY. This very fact seemed to outrage people before virtually any of the facts behind the incident were even fully known! One can only assume that these people harbor a deep bigotry that simmers between the surface and “The Algorithm” allows to be expressed. The fact that rage, yes rage, was heaped on teenage schoolgirls is not only deplorable, it’s cowardly.

Now, I live in Nyack and Rockland. I am fully aware of the increasing tension between the growing, insular, ultra-orthodox community and the rest of the County. I am concerned about that for many reasons, one of the biggest of which is the use of The Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act (RLUIPA) as a cudgel by that community. And I have voiced that opinion in many forms. However, THAT is a completely different issue. THIS is about the safety of CHILDREN. Judging from some the comments posted, it’s fair to ask would the response have been as vicious, this “targeted”, if it had been a bunch of Catholic school boys? I suppose some even thought they were being “funny.” They were not.

It is certainly reasonable to question how this happened and who should ultimately shoulder the responsibility. No one should be “laughing” this off or simple dismiss it out of hand. However, remember, Beware The Algorithm: if you put hate in, you will get hate back. If you look for the worst in people, you will easily find it.  And haven’t we all had just about enough of that?

 

For Stella

 

It’s probably safe to say that a fair number of people who follow this blog are old enough to have lost their mothers before Mother’s Day this year. My situation is particularly unique. I don’t have children; my brother and sister don’t either. So it could be a lonely holiday if I let it be, but I choose not to. Instead, I’ll remember the powerful personality my mother had and the legacy she left behind.

Legend has it (I have never seen her birth certificate) that she was born with the name Stella Maris Vitanza in 1924, the first child of Sicilian immigrants. In the Sicilian language, her name means “star of the sea.” And since Sicily is an island in the heart of the Mediterranean, her name suited her and her personality perfectly. Also, according to Sicilian tradition, she grew up with enormous respect for her parents. She worshipped both of them, particularly her father, Frank, for whom I’m named. But in most ways, she was very like her mother, Theresa. And that was, shall we say, feisty.

Born and raised in Brooklyn, my mother was, in many ways, a contradiction. She was not highly educated, but she was very intelligent. She had a strong, highly personalized faith, but virtually never stepped inside of a church. She had a powerful sense of family, but could also be fiercely independent. Stella (as I almost always called her) raised three children while working full time during an era when most woman stayed at home. She respected authority while at the same time encouraged us to always speak truth to power. And she was passionate, with a capital P. In other words, she could love you so intensely and then destroy you with equal vigor. I’ve been told that’s a trait of Sicilian women. She had it in spades. But, in reality, it’s not just Sicilian women. I think that of all the traits she left me, this is the one I identify with most.

Stella also had these quirky sayings that I believe all families have, too. In many ways, they can only make sense to those who lived them. I also think that those of my parents’ generation, the so-called Greatest Generation, this quirkiness is particularly interesting and intense. Let’s call mine Stellaisms. Here are just a few examples.

Whenever my mother wanted to encourage us to try and taste something new, she would say: “Try it. It’s sweet as sugar.” No matter what food it was, she always said it was sweet as sugar. Sometimes it was, often it was not. Getting into the car for any long journey always required a last-minute trip to the bathroom, in Stella’s words, to “tinkle.” Whenever my brother and I would want to get a rise out of her, we would respond: “You mean take a leak.” She would get agitated and counter with: “Don’t you two get vulgar with me!” Then, there was the great medical cure that could remedy virtually any malady — maybe even cancer — A+D Ointment, a salve made mostly of vitamins A and D extract. Stella used it on everything: burns, scrapes, cuts, gashes and rashes, everything could be made better, she believed, by using it.

She also had a wickedly dry and sarcastic sense of humor. For example, whenever someone found out her name and went into the Marlin Brando “A Street Car Named Desire” STELLA! routine, she would respond by looking that person in the eye and saying in a very exaggerated voice, “Gee, I’ve never heard that before!”

Of course, these are fun things to remember and there are many more. We should certainly celebrate them for what they are.

But Stella was also loved intensely and was a fierce defender of her family. Because of her passion, she could sometimes be cruel and demanding at the same time, especially with my sister. I suppose that’s what made her such a memorable human being. She was the whole package and lived just short of 100 years. She was not famous. She was Stella – and that was enough.

So celebrate your moms, in person or for the memories they gave you over the course of a lifetime. It’s all good — if you let it be. Happy Mother’s Day, everyone.

Frank LoBuono is a Nyack resident, photographer, blogger and retired CBS News journalist.

NEVER OBSOLETE

 

As I approach my 71^st trip around the sun (4/26), I have much to reflect on. I suppose that’s natural for someone whose life is now mostly behind them. Don’t get me wrong, I intend to live a lot longer. Apparently, it’s in my Sicilian genes; my mother lived to 99+ as HER mother did. Be that as it may, it’s safe to say there’s more highway behind me than in front.

One of the thoughts I keep returning to is the value in “old things,” including people. And I keep coming up with the terms “expiration date” and “planned obsolescence.” They are certainly related but not the same. EVERYTHING has an end date, i.e. a time when something will no longer exist. It just wears out. Even the universe itself will someday collapse in on itself and simply expire. This is the natural way of things.

However, planned obsolescence is something completely different. Rather than naturally occurring, as its name suggests, it is something manufactured in the minds of men. It’s a willful application rather than a natural one. And it applies to virtually everything made by the hand of man with rare exception. In our society few things besides good whiskey, rare coins, and great art, are created to last forever. We COULD make things that consider a more natural end (i.e. worn out), but we don’t. That doesn’t make good business sense. Manufacturers need things to fail deliberately so they can sell you more. Fair enough, but where do we draw the line? I understand technology changes – rapidly. I will not/cannot stand in the way. But his is PLANNED. Landfills can only handle so much more discarded junk.

Speaking for myself, I get great joy in making something – anything – last for as long as they possibly can. These include shoes, clothing, machines, pottery, furniture, and cars among other things I can cobble together. I love innovating repair methods to things that probably should have been thrown away a long time ago – at least according to my partner Amanda. I will use glue, staples, wire, cable ties, paint, screws and/or nails to accomplish my goals. Once my sneakers wear out, I will glue them back together (if necessary) and then recycle them as garden shoes. I’ve been known to use tape to repair a favorite pair of pants. If they get too bad, they don’t get thrown away. They also get recycled as work pants. I may still have clothes older than some of my readers. And, yes, that drives Amanda crazy too. I’ll try to save a virtually dead plant, simply because it has one pathetic leaf left on it. In my mind, EVERYTHING deserves to last as long as they possibly can.

It’s not that I can’t afford new things. I am very fortunate and grateful to have had a successful career that allows me a certain level of comfort and choice in my “old age.” And I’m not cheap. Frugal, yes. Cheap no. It’s more of a mindset. And it should be applied to people above all else. We should look to find value in everything, especially since I have often found it long after their so-called “planned” expiration dates. If I can find it in an old pair of sneakers, I must certainly be able to discover it in an older person! Yes, things get repurposed (like my sneakers). I can no longer physically do the things I could when I was 25. And I don’t have to because I continually repurpose myself to be productive and ALIVE. I have a lot left to give and intend to do so until no nail, glue, staple, screw, rope, adhesive or foreign substance can put me back together again. Then I’ll have reached my expiration date. But I’ll never be “obsolete.”

 

THE VILLAGE SQUARE

Hezekiah Easter Square, Nyack, NY

If you have ever traveled to Italy, then you know that every town, village, and city, large and small, have a piazza or town square. The fact that they are located at the very heart of any village or city is not by accident. They are not only the physical center of the place but are also a cultural/political hub and have been for centuries. In essence, piazze are places where citizens still go to mingle, talk, listen, exchange ideas, debate politics, get important information and be entertained. Perhaps the most famous example of this is The Piazza della Signoria in Florence, Italy. Since the time of the Renaissance, the residents of Firenze have used the piazza as a place to hear official announcements, debate and discuss legislation and news as well as view great art. A replica of Michelangelo’s masterpiece, The David, now stands in the spot in the piazza where it originally stood centuries ago. It has become a tourist mecca.

Interestingly, it’s a concept that even exists in America today. Many municipalities, both great and small, have town squares at their heart. They basically serve the same purpose as the ones I described in Italy. And the Village of Nyack, NY, is no exception. Known as Hezekiah Easter Square it is named in honor of the first Black man elected to the Rockland County legislature.  He was a WWII veteran, Civil Rights Icon, and a champion of preserving local Black history like Mount Moore Cemetery. I couldn’t think of a more worthy recipient of that honor.

Through the years, it has been the site of numerous community activities from Holiday celebrations to concerts, a seasonal flower market, important announcements, pollical speeches, and activities of ALL kinds. Lately it has been a hotbed for political demonstrations, particularly protesting the current Trump Administration’s policies. A few weeks ago, I witnessed a large, peaceful gathering organized by local Nyack High School students to protest ICE policies and procedures. The protest was largely supported by most but, of course, there were detractors who could not see the value in students exercising their 1^st Amendment rights.

Recently, another rally was held there. It was organized as a “sing-along” where people would gather to share songs of peace and love. Organizers said it was in response to the ongoing war with Iraq. I was not there but it was described as very well-attended and peaceful. However, on social media I did see a video recorded that afternoon that was disturbing. An outraged women was basically screaming in the face of one of the attendees. Later identified as a Nyack resident (no need to identify her), she was obviously a supporter of the President, his policies, Israel, and therefore the war with Iraq. A voice from behind the camera urged her to calm down by emphasizing that the singing and the demonstration were peaceful.  Instead of soothing the woman, it just seemed to enrage her more. She said many things like her threats to “bring 50 Trump supporters to teach them a lesson” but perhaps the most egregious was, “you should all die.”

Now, it is on record that I am huge proponent of the 1^st Amendment. And, yes, that includes so-called “hate speech.” In fact, the amendment was written with that in mind. However, that does not include the threat of violence against any individual or group. But this is beyond just a legal or constitutional issue. It’s about morality and civility. It seems that we have entered an era where kindness is equated with weakness, willful ignorance with proof, arrogance with respect, and volume with intelligence. It’s beneath the legacy of the man this bastion of community activity is named for: Hezekiah Easter.

 

THE REAL TDS

 

Words and Photo by F LoBuono

The examples of the irony found in the current Administration are numerous, egregious and ever-expanding. The list is too long to elaborate on all the transgressions, so I’ve decided to concentrate on perhaps the most galling, i.e. TDS or TRUMP DERANGEMENT SYNDROM. It’s the pejorative term the President’s supporters and sycophants use to disparage those of us who find constant fault in not only Mr. Trump’s policies but his personal behavior itself.

The irony is found in the fact that anyone who defends his abhorrent behavior as his minions CONSTANTLY do, are the truly deranged ones not us! Again, the examples are many. There are the excuses for his mocking of a disabled reporter, the Billy Bush sexual comments tape, the Epstein files, and now the war with Iran (remember the NO MORE WAR candidate?) to name but a few. Finding ANYTHING positive in any of those scenarios takes a deliberate kind of ignorance to the point of, yes, derangement. Some will say that my language here is incendiary and divisive. But there seems to be no other explanation, unless it’s the type of behavior you accept in your own lives. I do not.

I could go on. But not because I want to. I have too! I’d rather be writing about the imminent return of baseball, barbecues, and the other rights of Spring. And I’ve tried. However, I simply cannot look away from the damage being done by a man who has vowed to “Make America Great Again.” Yet to the majority of Americans, he is doing the opposite, i.e. making us weaker, more cruel, uglier. THIS is the very height of irony! The real “derangement” here belongs to the people who simply refuse to see the obvious signs that right now in this Country we are being run by a megalomanic supported by his cadre of ill-informed, underqualified, mafiosi who form the most incompetent Cabinet in American history.

Unfortunately, this column will not change the minds of those determined to support an obviously diminished President (by the way, more irony here – think of what he and his minions say about former President Biden). But I will not remain silent while we in danger of losing the very principals that REALLY make America great. Now, THAT would be deranged.

 

Nostalgia

 The weather had finally broken so I decided to extend my daily walk. For me, walking is more than just mere exercise. And days like that one affords me an opportunity to make my outing a sojourn or what the Italians like to call a passiggiata or “formal walk.” It was an opportunity to tarry long enough to see, smell, and FEEL the world around me.

As I reached the end of my driveway, I hesitated for a second to contemplate in which direction I should head. Since I hadn’t checked on my motorcycle in the garage space I had rented about a half mile away in some time, I decided that it might be a suitable destination. South it was.

My route would take me past my old neighborhood, the one I came to when I first arrived in South Nyack over 40 years ago. On the way I would pass my original apartment, the first house I ever owned, and the apartment I lived in for many years after. Now, this was not deliberate. They just happened to be on the way. It wasn’t as if it had been a conscious decision to pass by them. I’m not overly nostalgic. Still, nostalgia cannot and should not be ignored. It comes from the many paths we have traveled in our lives to be where we are today. However, if we become overly nostalgic, we can become stuck in the past and less capable of moving into the future. So, my approach was pragmatic: I would cross those emotional bridges when I came to them. But I didn’t expect all that much.

The first I encountered was my former home. It’s a wonderful, small house that I bought many years ago. Strangely, it was just up the street from the first apartment I came to live in here. It was the easiest move I ever made. I never rented a truck. I just rolled everything up the street. Anyway, I lived there for about 10 years, part of that time with my then wife and stepsons. The place had been well-kept and had a bright new coat of paint.  It looked good. But what happened next surprised me. As I stood directly in front of the place for the first time in a long while, I was overwhelmed by my feelings. So much of my life had happened there. There were so many memories that seemed to flood into my head and heart that I thought they would burst!

Although that feeling still lingers even days later, the intensity of it faded after a few minutes. It was time to move on, physically and emotionally. After pausing for a few moments, I continued to my final destination. Along the way I passed the two apartments I also lived in for many years, each with their own rich history. Although not quite as intense as they were for my experience at the house, the memories still washed over me like a warm summer wave. I did not resist. And why should I? Just like every gray hair in my beard and wrinkle on my face, I earned each and every one of those memories they represent. In a sense, they provide a road map to my life. And like all maps, they offer a view of where we’ve been but also a plan for where we are going. Keep on moving. I did. It’s the only way to make new memories.

 

 

HANG IN THERE!

 It’s subtle, but it’s there – that feeling of change in the air. Finally! You see, it’s been a long, cold, dark, and hard winter. The kind we used to have when I was a kid and before Global Warming became a “thing.” However, I think it is important to note that this particularly frigid, and lately atypical, winter does not mean the end of the threat caused by a warming planet. In fact, it is a consequence of it.

Nevertheless, it’s been a challenge for most of us, especially me. I am a byproduct of Sicilian ancestry, dark-skinned and highly tolerant of the sun and heat. So, Summer is my season. Although no one, including me, enjoys those “dog days” of 95% humidity in New York, I can at least tolerate them. But in Winter there are those days when it’s so cold that it can actually be painful to even try to go outside. Heat and humidity can be uncomfortable, but freezing is downright excruciating! And on really cold days I wear so many layers of clothing that my partner Amanda calls me “Frankie Five Shirts!”

But there is more to “The Winter Blues” than just the frigid temperatures. There are the long, dark days of isolation when the weather conditions make it more difficult to socialize. We live in a friendly neighborhood and have excellent relationships with virtually everyone on our block. And we support those relationships by seeing and greeting one another when we are working on our yards/gardens/homes or simply returning from a stroll through town. It becomes more difficult when frostbite can strike within 10 or 15 minutes! These simple pleasures are, at least for me, what makes life worth living. We do our best to find alternatives during the Winter, but the challenges are still daunting. So, depression and melancholy can take hold.

That’s why these very subtle changes we feel in the weather may seem rather insignificant but are instead vitally important. These signs include the robins I have recently seen returning to feast on the seeds we leave for them in our yard. Among the many other harbingers of the return of Spring, I have noticed for the first time in weeks the snow pack has receded and I can see patches of new, green grass in my yard. I’ve noticed small buds on some trees and delicate flowers poking through the defrosting soil. Life is returning. And it couldn’t have come sooner!

They say there is a lesson to be learned from every season. Perhaps the best metaphor for it is from the movie “Being There” when the gardener, Chance, brilliantly played by Peter Sellers, uses his experience tending to his benefactor’s garden to explain that each season has its own purpose. And if we live within that purpose, our garden will continue to grow and all will be well.

We’re almost there folks. Hang in and soon all will be well in the garden. Literally.

 

REAL MEN

When I was a young man still living at home and reached dating age, my mother had the same routine for me whenever I was trying to leave the house to meet a young lady. As I approached the front door, she would stop me and say, “Frankie, remember you have a mother and a sister.” I always responded the same way: “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You know exactly what that means” was her consistent reply. Feigning exasperation, I made my way out the door and on my way.

But you know what? She was right. I did know exactly what she meant. It’s called respect, respect for women. And she was not alone in her demand. My father was right there with her.

I remember another incident that reinforced that lesson. I had reached an age when I became increasingly aware of girls in a way that I never had before. I suppose that’s called puberty. Whatever the scientific term is, the feelings of curiosity about the opposite sex became increasingly intense. And with that curiosity came other feelings that I didn’t quite understand but needed to explore. Of course, that meant nascent experiences with sexual urges. I was just fascinated by the differences in the female body.

One day while I was hiking in a small patch of woods near our house, I found a discarded mailbag. When I opened it, I was amazed (and delighted) to find it was filled with so-called “girlie” magazines! Some of them were relatively benign, but others featured graphic nudity. I had never seen anything like it. I was awestruck! After thoroughly going through the stack for some time, I put all but one back into the sack. That one was coming with me for further inspection.

When I got home, I immediately stashed the magazine in what I thought would be a safe hiding spot where I could occasionally return for further investigation. I suppose that I went there often in the beginning, but over the course of time I think that I may have forgotten that it was there. That is, until my mother found it when she was cleaning. I remember hearing her say, “Frank, what’s this?” while she was thumbing through the magazine’s pages. I knew the jig was up and I had no adequate response. That’s when she said the line I dreaded: “Just wait until your father gets home. He can deal with this.” I retreated to my room for the agonizing wait, expecting the terrible punishment my father would visit upon me when he returned.

After what felt like an eternity, I heard my father’s car pull into the driveway, the front door open, and his footsteps methodically working their way up the stairs to my bedroom. The door opened. I resigned myself to my fate and waited to receive my punishment.

But instead of anger, my father began to speak to me softly and with great empathy and understanding. He said, “Frankie, I understand those feelings. As men, we all do. And I get the attraction. But you must understand those magazines exploit women and have no place here in our home.” It was as if a great burden had been lifted off my shoulders. I wasn’t worried so much about any physical consequences of my actions, but the psychological ones. I was already embarrassed. I was also feeling so guilty and ashamed.

However, my father didn’t use any of those emotions to make his point. Instead, his use of calm compassion and deep understanding of the real innocence of it all turned it into a lesson I have never forgotten. He turned something potentially ugly into a beautiful lesson. I know my younger brother received the same kind of guidance in his life.

I want to stress that children do not raise themselves. I understand the enormous challenges involved. This can be particularly true of young men, especially at the onset of puberty and sexual awareness. It made me think of Jeffrey Epstein. Without proper guidance, the world is bound to create more men like him.

It’s not easy being a man — a real man. It takes a lifetime and guidance, lots of guidance. Even the strongest of us can’t do it alone. Teach your children and they will learn.

Perhaps that’s why I feel this entire Jeffrey Epstein affair is not only vile and disgusting, but also inconceivable in my life. I simply was not brought up that way. This is well beyond politics. Any man accused of the behavior attributed to Epstein is not a man. There is no excuse. Release the files and let those responsible be punished to the fullest extent of the law – whoever they may be. It’s what men, real men, do. This is what I was taught. This is what I know.