RIP

So like everyone else in the world, I was totally shocked by the news of the death of Michael Jackson. Initially, it seemed surreal, that this pop icon who had been gone from our thoughts and our realities for so long was now also gone from this earth. And then came the barrage of media stories, of extended Michael Jackson playlists, of memories of the King of Pop. And although I was saddened by his death itself, it struck me that I was more melancholy about something else - his death, to me, represented the death of a part of my youth.

As a teenager of the 80's, Michael Jackson played a huge part of my life. The music, the fashion, Bubbles the chimp, the Jordan/Jackson video, watching "Friday Night Videos" waiting for the newest video from MJ... being appalled by the fact that we were expected to PAY to see the full-length "Thriller" video at the movie theaters. I had a friend who could mimic the moves on the "Billie Jean" video like a pro - and we all worshipped him. I myself practiced for hours in front of the tv, rewinding the "Thriller" video over and over again so I could practice the moves of the zombies at the end and be as cool as everyone else.

My vision of Michael Jackson wasn't of child molestation and shame, it was of a breathy-voiced man-child who built an amusement park in his backyard. Who had a petting zoo with llamas. Who hired actual gang members to dance in his "Beat It" video. And who, rumor had it, rehabilitated these gang-bangers, some of whom went on to become profession dancers or actors - or so they said.

My entire adolescence was played out with Michael's songs as the background music. From skating at the roller rink to "PYT" feeling like hot shit, to jamming to the the beat of "Smooth Criminal," there was something about his songs that always made you feel good. And the videos - there will never be anything like them. Ever. Almost every one told a story, in a sense, and always sucked you in with the amazing dance moves and irresistible beat. The morphing faces on "Black and White" showed us that were actually all the same person. And do I even need to get into "We Are the World?" Probably the most amazing song AND video of that era. Who back then didn't have fun trying to figure out who was singing what line, and then laughing with glee when you saw the video and found out you were right?

When I think about Michael Jackson, I think of those days, of my teenage years. I weep not so much for the passing of a talented, yet sick and lonely man, but for the loss of my youth. Because the memories that flood back in my mind are so bittersweet, of a time when I thought I knew everything but now realize I knew nothing. A time when my biggest concern was trying to figure out how to get my curfew extended. Or how to afford the designer jeans I wanted. Or whether or not the cute guy at the roller rink would ask me to skate couples only on Friday night.

I guess it's kind of ironic that the memories I have when I hear of Michael are so innocent, when he turned out to be anything but. It broke my heart to hear all the accusations, but I always knew deep down that they were true. I have no doubt that he did what he was accused of, but the sad part is, I also have no doubt that he truly did not feel it was wrong. Michael Jackson was a very sick person, one whose psyche was so damaged beyond repair that he chose to remain in his own world, where he had no way to differentiate between improper sexual contact and love. I never thought of him as gay, more as asexual - someone who truly had no concept of physical love between a man and a woman. He felt safe with children, he was more or less a child himself, so he saw nothing wrong with what he did.

Unfortunately for him, society did. And I did. And even though the world did too, he got acquitted. Which probably didn't help him so much as harm him, by allowing him to flee the country and the spotlight and never get the help he needed. I heard it said that Michael Jackson seemed to be a Benjamin Button-esque type person, having to be an adult and responsible at such a young age while in the "Jackson Five," then slowly regressing to regain a lost youth as he aged physically. He started as a man, and ended as a child. A lost, chemically dependent child who only wanted to help people and make people love him. He hated the paparazzi, but loved to be adored. And in his death, he is getting the adoration and love he craved so much in life.

His story is a sad and tragic one, and I am sure we are only beginning to hear all the details surrounding his sudden death and the last months of his life. He will always be remembered as an icon, the King of Pop, but there will also always be the stigma of what he eventually became in the later years.

To me, he will always be remembered as the soundtrack of my youth.

TWO IN THREE DAYS!!

Wow - can this really be happening? TWO posts in three days?? Hasn't happened in like, forever, no? But there it is. I think it may have something to do with sue, a new reader who made me feel really good - but pretty guilty for neglecting "TBOTE." Not that the rest of you haven't of course. But the rest of you are like family, practically, who (no offense) I can kind of shrug off and tell "yeah, yeah, it's coming along" and I know you'll deal with it. But if there are new people out there... Oh, the pressure!!

And I also want to say how happy I am to see my old pals commenting still. Alice - I'm going out on a limb and saying yes, you will probably meet sullen teen this summer. Although you may wish you hadn't. (Just kidding, of course - she really is a great kid - just a typical teenager!) And Ranger Tom and Network Geek - so good to see you both!

Anyway, sue pointed out to me that it has been over a year since I have posted a chapter. And I am actually aware of that. And I know I have been promising and promising... I do have the best intentions - in all honesty, I can't really say why I am so stuck. I mean, hell, I lived it, right? It's not like I don't know what is going to happen next. In fact, I've always known exactly where this book would end - and how it would leave you hanging just enough to want to read the sequel. I know, I know - pretty arrogant to discuss a sequel when I can't even get through the first one, but that has always been my plan. Only one sequel, though, my life got pretty boring pretty quick after I had my daughter. But in a good way - trust me!

I've been really trying to figure out what has been keeping me from not just TBOTE, but from the blog in general. I mean, I used to LOVE to write. When I began this blog, I had to post every day. And I enjoyed it. A lot. I always managed to find the time while working for Satan. However, things have changed. At home, the computer has been hijacked by a tall blonde who says she's my daughter. I am lucky to sneak in for two minutes to check e-mail while she walks the dog. In fact, even now, I am only able to write freely since it is 9 am Saturday morning and she is still sleeping. So if I am struck with an idea, or feel the urge to write at home, I generally have to try to hold onto it until the computer is free. And inevitably, by the time it is, I have either forgotten or lost the impulse.

At work, it is a lot harder to find the time. I mean, I work for the government now, people. You can't slack off when your boss is the President of the United States. Ok, so there may be a number of people who can, but I am not one of them. I really do enjoy my job - collecting money owed to victims of federal crimes from criminal debtors. There is nothing more satisfying than finding a criminal who hasn't paid his restitution in YEARS and garnishing his wages. Or seizing his bank account. And finally giving back to the victim. Awesome stuff. Plus, since my position is within the office of the United States Attorney's office, it has some pretty cool perks - like getting to attend the sentencing hearings of Chicago mobsters James Marcello, Joseph Lombardo, and most recently (and notoriously) Nicholas Calabrese. I love my job. Never thought I'd say it, but I really do. And as such, I am usually too busy making sure to get things done to slack off and write on my blog.

Plus, and maybe I am being paranoid here, there is something else. Logically, it seems ridiculous, since it is still a free country and all... and really, it is probably just some random stranger and not big brother or anything, but still - this kind of freaks me out. I probably shouldn't even write about this in case they are reading this too, but I'm going to anyway. See, I've had statcounter for quite some time now on my blog. To see who's been visiting, what the numbers are - you know. And ever since I started the interview process for my job at the USAO right up to today, someone from Washington, DC has been checking my blog every single day. EVERY DAY. Weird, no? But I mean, really - if they were going to use this against me to get rid of me or anything, I would think there is already plenty of ammo that I've posted. Of course, I have never said anything about the government itself, or my job in detail, or about Obama - but really, I probably wouldn't anyway. I just can't help but wonder what would happen if I did. Would men with dark sunglasses suddenly appear at my desk and escort me into a little room and demand I disable my blog? Would I ever be seen again?? Scary stuff, I tell ya!

Finally, and I've said this before, I got kind of smacked in the face by a roadblock of my own doing regarding more chapters when I decided to contact Kevin. Yes, I haven't written him since I explained to his sister that I was glad he was doing well (despite being in the Illinois Dept of Corrections) but I realized that my curiosity about him was satisfied, and I really didn't think it would be healthy for me to continue communicating with him. Of course, he replied with a pretty nasty letter saying I couldn't just decide to stop writing, that I was just being a big baby and I should suck it up and give him a chance, and that when he got out in August (yes, THIS August) he was going to come find me and prove to me he had changed. Yikes! I asked my friend if I could borrow her husband (who is a big bear of a man) for the day when that happens. I mean, if that happens. Lord know if there's one thing Kevin has always been, it's inconsistent. Consistently inconsistent. Kind of funny, actually. But bringing your past back to the present in a way other than writing about it has a strange affect on a person.

I really think the only way I will get back to the story is if I sit down, re-read the whole thing myself again, and try to really force myself to churn it out. It's ridiculous, really, this shouldn't be such a chore. But it has become one, and I really don't like that feeling. It used to be a catharsis, and I really used to enjoy knowing that other people liked my writing. And it also made me really feel that my dream of being a published author was a possibility - not just a fantasy. I'm not going to sit here and make more promises, you all know me well enough by now to know that although I really mean every word of them, I just don't want to lead you all on. You know the reasons and what I want to do, just know that someday it will be done.

Oh, and? After my last post I had a nice chat with my cousin for an hour, the wine helped me sleep, and although I still do have those feelings, I felt MUCH better in the morning. A bit tired, perhaps, but emotionally better. In case you cared. About a drunken dasi, I mean. Ok, best get going so my darling has the computer warmed up and ready for her when she wakes up. Until later, then!

Fuzzy Observations

Wow - it's been a long time since I posted something while somewhat - er- "under the influence." And the funny thing is, it was only to watch the finale of "ER" and unwind. But somehow I found myself bawling like a baby at practically every scene -including the "pre-show" interview special.

But in my defense, there was really valid reason for my reactions. ER always has very moving storylines that hit home. Tonight was no exception. They had one that involved a 17-year old with alcohol poisoning. Who was playing "I Never." And won. First of all, I used to play "I Never." I usually didn't win, because by the time I would be able to drink at every statement, I was too old to really play the game anymore. But this girl won. And nearly died. I couldn't help but look at Lexie and say "PLEASE promise me..." to which she sneered, "MOM - I wouldn't!" Of course, if I were to go by her MySpace posts, I would know that she has already at least TRIED alcohol. Which scares the hell out of me because I always thought I would be the cool mom who knew everything, who my daughter would always talk to. And she isn't. Instead, I find things out by sneaking onto her MySpace web page. And I don't want her to wind up like me. I don't want her to drink to be cool, to do drugs because her boyfriend does, to escape because she is uncomfortable in her own skin. I always thought I would be the cool mom, the one who she told EVERYTHING to - but alas, it seems I was way off.

My daughter will ALWAYS think of me as the enemy, the "old" person, the one who "doesn't know anything." And GOD, I wish she knew. I wish she knew all the hell I went through in high school, the suicide attempt in college, the ridiculous number of guys I slept with in college and beyond to prove I was WORTH something.... the hopelessness I felt while using, the shame and fear I felt after being raped, the inadequacy I STILL feel on a daily basis, no matter how succcessful or mature or old I become.

I am TERRIFIED that no matter what I do, my daughter will wind up going down the same path I did - and all I will be able to do is watch helplessly. I have nightmares that my little girl will suffer and hurt and cry as much as I did for so many years - and that she will cut herself off from me and isolate herself as I did. I know she is only 13, I know I didn't get into anything until my 20's - but what if I did it?? What if I gave her the gene to make her like I was? What if it kicks in early? What then????

I am scared, and alone, and all I do is work my ass off and make money and be strict with my daughter and watch tv and sleep... I have no time for me, or for fun, or for a significant other... and you know what? It really sucks. I HATE being 40 and and alone and so damn tired. I hate that every waking minute I am either working or bitching at my daughter. I hate bitching at my daughter - but all that is, really, is a manifestation of my fear. My fear that I am not a good enough mother, that I am not there enough, that I am not involved enough to make a real difference in my daughter's life. That I will let her down, like I let down my father, and mother, and brother, and hell - everyone who has ever been close to me.

And then there was the backstory on ER about the couple who had been together for 72 years - and the wife was dying. One word - Poppops. I think I pretty much manage to convince myself that he's still around... it's only when I really think about it that it hits me - he's gone. Oh, shit, this sucks. Now I remember why I don't drink. Because it brings to light everything about my life that I try to ignore when I am sober.

Like that fact that I am a loser. And I do a pathetic job of pretending I am still young and hot and cool (see that? Is "cool" even an acceptable term nowadays?). And although I am desperately lonely - I would rather leave people guessing as to my sexualuty due to my lack of relationships that make any kind of effort to find the man of my dreams (yes, man, that part of my life is not in question). I don't know. I really don't. I wish I did - it would make thing so much easier.

All I do know is that I am probably one of the better actresses in this country - only I waste my talent working for the US Attorney's office. Because I have everyone convinced I am this amazing, strong woman who has this awesome life. Yeah. That's me.

How about we go out for a drink? After a few, you may take off those rose-colored glasses.

The Good Old Days

Remember when I used to write about my daughter...? Cute little anecdotes about a kid full of spunk and fun? Things that made you chuckle or smile? Remember the pictures of a sweet little girl with super blonde hair and an angelic smile? So do I. Which is why I am struggling to figure out -

WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED???

Where did my little darling go? Who is this sullen, attitude-filled punk who is now living in my house? Who is this tall, lanky teenager who spends hours - no, DAYS - at a time on the internet or cell phone, texting and IM'ing and living in a virtual world while ignoring the real one??

What happened to the sixth grader who got straight A's? Did this creature who consistently gets C's & D's because of late and/or missing assignments (but "don't WORRY about it, Mom!) take over her body?? Where did the child who used to listen to me and cry if I reprimanded her go? I really don't like this young woman who sneers and ignores me, and laughs when I threaten her.

Can it be possible that THIS is my daughter? This dishwater blonde creature with braces and eyeliner who "forgets" to do her chores, leaves pop cans and dishes all over the house, drops her clothes in the hallway, ignores the dog she begged for until the poor thing pees on the rug...?

No way. I raised MY daughter better than this. MY daughter has respect for her mother. MY daughter cares about school. And her dog. And her chores. MY daughter ENJOYS spending time with her mother.

Doesn't she??

You know, every once in a while I see a little glimpse of that blonde angel I used to know... during a talk in the car, or while watching tv... not often, but SOMETIMES. So I know there is still hope.

So I guess I'll just hang out here and wait for her to come back.

Deer Me

71 hours is too much work for any normal person in one week. But then again, I never claimed to be normal. And there I was this morning again, up at 3:30 am to exercise, shower and (hopefully) make the 4:41 train to get to work for some overtime. I stopped at the 7-11 to pick up a Mega Millions ticket - because how cool would THAT be? For ME to win $212 million? Great personal interest story, I must humbly admit - single working mom, busting her ass, picking up a lottery ticket at 4 am on her way to work... Anyway, I digress.

So obviously, I have been under a tad bit of stress lately, between working so many hours, and the usual financial bs, and raising a teenager and trying not to come down on her just because I am tired, and of course, last Friday was Poppops' birthday so he's been on my mind... But in the wee hours of the morning, I was blessed with a very calming, peaceful sign. At least, I think it was a sign. In any case, it was probably the most beautiful thing I have seen in a long time.

As I was parking my car in the empty train station parking lot, lit by soft streetlights, there was snow falling. Not the yukky slushy kind, either - the big, fluffy soft flakes. It looked really pretty in and of itself, but then I saw something moving.

It was a deer - and she was walking slowly toward the parking lot from a grassy area right in front of me. Not running, not walking apprehensively, just casually strolling through the quietly falling snow. I got out of my car and just watched her as she continued her walk across the lot to the woods on the other side. And it was the strangest thing - I really felt a sense of peace. Like everything I have been doing isn't for nothing. Like no matter how down or frustrated I got, there was still beauty in the world - I just had to slow down to look for it sometimes.

So now I am at work, sorting through the stacks of files and papers I need to get through - but I'm ok. I can only do so much, and I'll get done what I need to. And when I get home, I'll make dinner and sit with my daughter and just relax and enjoy being with her. And really, just enjoy being. Because even though life is short, sometimes you just need to stroll through the predawn snow and take it all in.

It Is What It Is

You know what? I AM A GOOD MOM. I may not be perfect, and therefore, neither is my daughter, but I do a damn good job. And I am sick and tired of judgmental people telling me everything I am doing wrong - mainly, "not being there enough."

Yes, I work two jobs. Do you want to know why?? Because I have these little things called bills. And a mortgage. And a car payment. All that I pay ON MY OWN. Without MY parents' help, without a husband, without public aid, and without child support. I spend as much time with my daughter as humanly possible, and we talk every day. But hello? SHE IS THIRTEEN, people. There are lots of times she doesn't want to talk to me or gets mad at me or does things she shouldn't. But I would be more concerned if none of this were true.

Lexie is a good kid. I have raised her to the best of my ability, and continue to keep the lines of communication open. She tells me things that I'm sure not many kids tell their parents, and I share the bulk of my life experience with her. She knows where I stand as far as boys, and drinking, and drugs. I am NOT the parent who will allow any of this "oh, she can drink as long as she is at HOME" or "sure, you can have people over when I am not home" bullshit. And lately, she has gotten caught doing the latter - and she paid for it dearly. Besides the basic grounding, we talked in depth about what a lack of trust does to any relationship - but especially the parent-child one. I know she gets it, but I also know SHE IS THIRTEEN. This is not an excuse, but guess what? If all she is doing is sneaking a friend into the house while I am gone and not doing drugs or drinking or breaking the law or sleeping around, then I feel a lot better.

Lord knows I wish I could be the June Cleaver mom, and have my precious child involved in every activity (and even join with her or be a damn scout troop leader), but guess what? I CAN'T. I suppose I could, if I quit my weekend job and started working only part-time during the week, and we lived in Section 8 housing and used food stamps to eat and I sold my car and bought a damn bus pass, but guess what? I choose to give her a better life than that. We aren't all so lucky that we can have someone else support us, be it a husband or the government, and I am proud of myself for making it ON MY OWN.

My daughter is a good kid and I am proud of her and love her more than life itself. But she will make mistakes, just like I have and still do. It happens to everyone. And I will either discipline her or hug her or maybe a little of both when those mistakes happen. I will stand by her side and support her through whatever road she chooses in life. I will love her unconditionally, will wipe away her tears when she cries, listen when she wants me to - and give her space when she doesn't.

Ours may not be the conventional life, and we may not be the "Gilmore Girls," but it works for us. We love each other, and I do what I have to to survive, and guess what? You can take your "helpful advice" about quitting my second job and spending more time with my daughter since she obviously is on the road to becoming a junkie/hellion by high school and shove it. Because you obviously don't really know me or my daughter at all.

Nonsensical Babble

When did I get so old? Why don't I really have fun any more when I go out drinking? Why do I always feel so insecure and worry that people really don't like me - even people who I shouldn't really care about?

Why are some people so filled with judgment and hate and bitterness? Why can't people just move forward in life without dwelling on the past - especially the past from ten or twenty years ago?

What is the real purpose in life? Am I really supposed to just keep busting my ass for 50 - 60 hours a week at work just to pay bills that keep on coming FOREVER? Why is it that my daughter doesn't seem to want to talk to me about anything anymore?

Why do I watch so damn much tv? And really enjoy it? Why do I never seem to have the energy to go out and actually DO things?

Why am I so lonely for male companionship, but at the same time so afraid to make any kind of effort towards actually connecting with someone?

Why am I so jealous of people whose lives seem so much better than mine - when chances are, they probably aren't?

Why do I feel like everything in my life is slowly falling out of my grip... and that I am destined to be alone and have nothing in the end?

Why can't I set aside just a few minutes a day to write more on here?

Why can't I just finish "TBOTE?"

Why do I care so much about what the "younger kids" at RL think about me? Why do I still feel like the dork in high school that everyone laughs about behind my back?

Why can't I commit to an exercise program and get into better shape?

Why do I still not feel good enough around my dad?

Why do I always put off calling or e-mailing people I really care about - especially when I really need to talk to someone?

Like I said - nonsensical babble. Have to go to work now. Missed you too, Ranger Tom - and anyone else who actually is still out there for me...!

Good to be Back

Can you believe it? I actually DID it! I read my tribute to Poppops at the funeral luncheon. All by myself. And I did ok - I only broke down twice... and both times, my dad was there for me to lean on. But I finished, and in the long run, I am glad I did it myself - I think Poppops would've been proud.

It was a really long week, and there were a lot of laughs and a lot of tears. It's never easy losing someone you love, no matter how old they are or how many times people tell you, "Well, he lived a good long life." I know he did, but that doesn't change the fact that life without Poppops seems really strange... I keep thinking that the next time I drive out to Naperville, he'll still be there - making popcorn, or offering me a beer, or asking me if I've found a husband yet (maybe some divine intervention would help now, 'kay, Poppops?). And then it will hit me that he's really gone. and I don't think the hurt will go away for a long time. But it is getting easier, and I know it will continue to get less painful as time goes on.

Ace is having a hard time dealing with the loss of his brother, too. Apparently he just realized that Baby was gone the day we got back from the funeral. Because he just sat there and cried. It tore my heart out. I don't know how many of you have ever heard a cat cry, but it is a really tough thing to hear. It's not a yowling, or a meow - it really is a cry... a long, sad wail. The timing was really bad too, since we just got home from Poppops' funeral. So I just held him for a while and tried to explain to him that Baby wasn't coming home (yes, I was explaining to my cat - doesn't everybody?) and now he sticks to me like glue. Literally. Anywhere I am that the dog can't get to - Ace is there. As in, I am tripping over him any time I am in the kitchen or the play area or my bedroom... and he sleeps on my pillow at night curled up as close to my head as he can get. I don't care what anyone says - animals definitely sense loss and have feelings. So to try to help him out a bit, I got him some catnip - which he loves. Lexie told me it was wrong to get the cat high to deal with the loss of his brother - but hey, he's a cat. And catnip is legal. And he was really happy. ("Sure he is mom," Lexie respondedwith disgust. "He's high!") In any case, I explained to Lexie that it is perfectly ok for cats to get high to deal with a death, but not for people to. Unless they use catnip. Tee hee.

And speaking of Lexie... Remember when I used to write about this sweet little tween daughter I had who sometimes gave me a tad bit of a hassle? I miss her!! Because I now have a sassy, smart-ass teenager who lives on the computer and her cell phone and who is planning to go to college somewhere she needs to take a plane to get to. And you know what? I have no idea how to do this whole parenting thing anymore! I mean, for some idiotic reason, I always thought "Hey, I'm going to be the best mom, totally cool, cause you know I've been there, done that with everything in life, and I will be able to relate to my daughter. And she will trust me, and tell me everything, and we will have this great relationship, and always get along. It will be awesome!" HA!! Fair warning to anyone who thinks this - no matter how cool you are, or how much you think you know about your child, your kid thinks you are a total loser and you know absolutely nothing about them. Don't get me wrong, I love Lexie more than life, and for the most part she is a really good kid... but the attitude? OH. MY. GOD. I have never wanted to smack the hell out of my child before - but lately? All the time. Which isn't to say I would, of course, but I now know what my mom meant when she always told me growing up I had a "tone." I believe this tone is something you really don't develop an ear for until you have a child of your own, because when I was growing up, I never heard it - and Lexie claims she has no idea what I mean by it, either. But as a parent? I don't even have the words to explain how much I HATE that tone. That "you are such a moron why are you even talking to me" tone. Which I basically hear every single day. Fun stuff, I assure you.

She will be starting high school next year, which really blows my mind. First of all, because high school? Seriously? My daughter? I don't feel old enough to have a daughter in high school... but I guess I am...! Secondly, because I remember high school. Very clearly. And if she tries to get away with half the things I did, I will have to kill her. Hypocritical? Maybe. But it's my right as a parent. So there. Hopefully she will keep on keeping on as she has been, because like I sai, really a great kid. Except for that damn tone...!

Finally, an update on TBOTE... I need to reread everything myself again, just to get back in the right frame of mind. So I am hoping to have another chapter within the next month. And actually, there aren't too many more chapters until the end... well, not another 40, at least. But I do plan a sequel - because it is much easier to sell a novel when there is a sequel. Or so I hear.

Ok, I think this is enough for now. I forgot how much I enjoy writing! And I've missed it. I guess it's just a matter of making the time, right?

Poppops

Oh, my. 2009 hasn't exactly started out as a banner year... Poppops passed away in his sleep on Sunday morning, and then yesterday Baby had to be put down suddenly... he had developed keroacidosis, which is a complication from his diabetes. If I had a spare $800-$2000 a month, it could have been rectified - however, I just don't have that much cash. The way I look at it, Poppops must've wanted a companion up in heaven. Who knew he even liked cats? So I haven't been doing that well as of late. I just have to hope that things will get better.

And I was asked to speak at Poppops' funeral - which was a definite no go. I can barely watch someone win a reality show (ANY reality show) without getting weepy - there is NO WAY I could get through speaking at the funeral. So instead, my father asked if I could write something, and then we would have someone else (probably my brother) read it. Since blogging is my forte, I've decided to try to write something out here, and if it works - I'll use it. If not - it stays forever in cyberspace. You all just get the benefit of my attempt to memorialize the most amazing man I have ever known: Poppops.

My earliest memories of Poppops are of Wellington Avenue - Sunday afternoons to be more specific. There didn't need to be a birthday, or a holiday, way back when we just always got together on Sunday afternoons. Sometimes we would go early enough to hear him sing in the choir at St. Francis - although the choir was really just his back-up group. Popopps' voice always carried over all the other singers' - his heart and soul resounded in every note. Back at the house, we would play the marble-horserace game, or hide and seek, or organized games like volleyball or badminton if it was nice out. Running bases was always a favorite too, with my dad and Uncle Joe pretending to be aggressive in their attempts to tag out the swarm of approaching grandkids. When we got inside, there was always a hunt for the jar of Planter's peanuts, and plenty of popcorn, sandwiches on fresh bakery bread, and coffee cake for everyone.

Poppops would always be at the center of whatever we were doing - he loved his family and he loved attention. When he had an audience, he would pop out his teeth and then ask the little kids to try it themselves. (I think we all have at one time or another.) He claimed he stood on his head every morning to get the blood flowing, and would prove it to us at the drop of a hat. He even challenged the Uncles to a push-up contest once - and won. Poppops would gather as many kids in the living room as he could, and wind up every single music box Grandma owned - creating a cacophony of sound that made us kids giggle in delight and Poppops smile devilishly while Grandma yelled over the noise "Leo! Oh, For heaven's sake!"

As we got older, Poppops still played an active role in all of our lives. The house on Wellington was gone, and most of us were too old for running bases, but he still delighted us with his stories and his obvious lust for life. Nothing was ever dull when Poppops was around. And he had an opinion on everything. On the subject of gun control - "Outlaw guns. Guns miss. If someone breaks into your house, you should have a flamethrower." On airline security - "Just have two planes for every flight. That way if there is a bomb in someone's luggage, no one would get hurt." Ummmm - the pilot, Poppops? "Yeah, well - pay him more."

I think the most important thing about Poppops is he never judged you. If you were family - he protected you as strongly as a lion protects their cub. No matter how many mistakes I made in my life, Poppops always supported me, helped me - loved me. He was never shocked at any turn of events, he took everything calmly and did what he could to help. His love for his family was fierce, and unconditional, and we all felt it in everything he ever did or said. Poppops set an example of what a true patriarch should be - and he could never be replaced. Whether he is with us here on earth, or watching over us from Heaven, Poppops will always be the backbone of our family. And I for one will continue to live my life knowing he is watching, and will always hold him close in my heart.

GOD BLESS POPPOPS!