The Story Of My Main Man



Time can be cruel by suffocating us in our recollections of youth but it can also shine a reflective light on our accomplishments. Today my son, a husband and father, has seen his 36th full trip around the sun and celebrates another Natal Anniversary, which in and of itself is not necessarily an accomplishment. The relationship we forged and his successes are an accomplishment to me Like a fine wine our relationship has matured into an exceptionally superb full bodied tale that sates the souls of our camaraderie. As most fathers will agree it was complicated at times but the result for us is a father and son connection offering richness in flavor and bursting with a floral aroma’s of love. I think more of him as my favorite mate than merely a result of half my DNA. The love of a father and son has matured to the point of best friends. His story is one of success and happiness, a devouring of life that satisfies his essence and fills him with gratification and verve that never ceases to fill my heart with pride. Happy Birthday Little cool Man…..

The Story Of My Main Man
When my final chapter is written
And my story becomes history
My son will be a large part of it
The boy who shaped me into a father
The youth who fashioned my patience
Forged my boundaries of tolerance
A young man who challenged me
Allowing me to grow into fatherhood
How do you thank someone for that?
Simply for being themselves
When I’m gone maybe some will tell my tale
It will be the story of who I was
What I became
And my son will have a big role
His life will be all about me
That’s a lie!
The real truth is
I will be a small part of his glory story
The man who whispered to him to be true
Sent him out to carve his own history
The story of a boy who became a man
Forging his own path in a forest of thickets
Overcoming the dangers of treacherous waters
To become a man with head held high
A story that should be mandatory teaching
A tale that should be shouted across the universe
The song of a boy who challenged his own limits
A young lad who overcame the perils of his parents
A great father
A great husband
A great human being
A modern male Cinderella who controlled his destiny
If pride is a commodity I am so rich for having you
You are wealth beyond my imagination
I would prefer being full with your love
To all the riches I ever dreamt of
And believe me, I have dreamed plenty
If I could borrow from my own future
I would gladly give my time to him
So I thank you my son for being you
And having me be a part of your story

So that’s my son. My main man who taught me at least as much as I taught him and then more, who is now my best friend. I could never repay you for all you have given me, and all I have ever really had is words, so I am giving you these three words for you to keep, three words of mine which you will forever own, and forever have dominion over. I give these three words freely….I Love You
Happy Birthday Justin




He’s a man

But not just any man

A great man forged in flame

Pushed to the ground

Forced to rise up again

Despite the hardship of his name

The sins of the mother

Upon his shoulders

Burdens he has had his share

The sins of the father

Around his neck

So much weight he has had to bear


I have wandered the sewers

Scaled mountains of shame

I swam in the river of sin

Despite all my misgivings

He came back to my door

A privilege to let him come in

Never once did he judge me

Showed me nothing but love

Listened intently to all I spoke of

We stood together united

Father and son

Taught each other the value of love


So proud now I stand

Praising the man

The man who like an eagle has soared

Not merely a son

The man has become

So much more than the man he adored


Great men are forged in fire

It is the privilege of lesser men to light the flame



Father and Son

ac dad

I’ve been called many things over the years, most of which were not meant to be complimentary, but when your own kids give you a nickname it most likely has meaning behind it. Now my son has had numerous names for me, again most not meant to be complimentary or to may face, but the one truly endearing name he called me was “My old man hippie Dad.” My boy was a typical son, lazy and rebellious, and I can’t say he never lifted a finger to help but in truth I wish it had been more than the middle one. And I had some rather uncomplimentary names for him as well, but the hippie dad was always said with love. He is very creative and a few days ago he upgraded my paternal status to “My Anti-Corporate Hippie Dad”. Now I’m not one for titles per say, but I must admit this one has a familiar ring to it. In fact it is the complete opposite of what my own Dad would have been, a big business company man. My Pops was an ultra-conservative father who believed big business was responsible for the great American dream and he toiled at his company until he retired.
Many times we become the opposite of our parents and I am definitely in that category. It started out as a rebellious stand but became my persona, my essence. I first grew my hair and donned bell bottoms and balloon sleeve shirts to piss him off but it rapidly became my lifestyle. This is mostly because all the politics and ideals my old man had were way too conservative and far too head up the ass-ish for me to latch on to. You know, the typical 50‘s mentality, the man is the head of his castle and the woman cooks, cleans, and tends to her “duties“. Now normally that would suggest sex, but I have four brothers and one sister so by my calculations my parents only had sex six times so my Moms duties were surely something other than sex. Otherwise, ewwww!! Anyway, acutely aware of what narrow mined principle I was raised on I attempted to instill in my son what I believe to be a fair, sensible and inclusive set of values to live by. I tried but my son ha some good rebel genes in him as well. I still remember the day I knew all my planting of peace love and understanding seeds would be in vain. My son, who once offered me rays of hope by rebelling with Mohawk hair dyed a fuchsia pink, wearing Anarchy tee shirts, and piercing places in his body I would never have considered came home one day wearing penny loafers.
“What the hell are those and where did you get them? What happened to your army boots and Converse?” My boy looked at me defiantly, “I’m getting an office job, I want to work in corporate.” He may just as well have ripped the heart out of my chest and kicked it like a hacky sack. My son wants to be a business man. Worse, he wants to be a big man in a corporate position. Where did I go wrong? I had attempted to give him the benefit of years of my own rebellions. I took him to his first rock concert when he was an eight year old playing Kriss Kross on his Walkman. We went to Giant stadium to see Faith No More, Guns and Roses, and Mettalica and it rocked his world. The change was instantaneous an I knew he was on the road to being cool. It worked out so well in fact we went to lots more shows together, lollapalooza, warped tour, all the time with his hair changing from pink, to green, to orange. I helped him put a ton of gel in his hair so he could have spikes. I pushed him into his first mosh pit, was with him for his first time crowd-surf during a Rancid show, and watched him thrown off the stage during The Ramones. It was a unique an enlightening father an son bond. I did everything I could to encourage him to embrace the idiosyncrasies of his generation the way I had mine. Except without a fight. My father and I came close to fist fights over my hair, my clothes, and my music and here this young lad is encouraged by his father. I just assumed with such a close relationship that we would have similar values. And what o I get in return? A son wearing penny loafers, wanting a three piece suit, and neatly trimmed hair. Was it just to piss me off? My father giving me Karmic retribution? Even worse, I never in my wildest imagination ever believed my own son would become a republican. I feel like I have failed as a father.
Okay, maybe I’m being a bit harsh on myself, in truth he has a very strong value system, he is very respectful of women, of minorities, and of people in general. He is a good man, a son any father can be super proud of. A fantastic father to his own children, a loving and supportive husband, and he calls up his old man a few times a week just to chat. We have a treasure chest of awesome memories that can keep us laughing all night, have similar tastes in food and drink, and in reality are very similar each other. Except when it comes to style and politics. Politics placed a huge wedge between my father and I so I was a bit concerned that it could effect my relationship with my son. But blood and love is so much thicker than political water and we found a mutual respect for each others opinion and don’t focus on the differences. I never wanted my son to follow in y footsteps because being a chef in reality is nothing like is seems watching Top chef. It’s a grueling non forgiving industry in which the small reward is knowing you have gone down a path not many can master. You really need to have your heart in it because restaurant life can strip[ you of your heart. I wanted my son to forge his own footsteps and he has, but not completely. After taking him under my wing and working him down to the ass bone he told me in no uncertain terms that he did not want to be a chef. I was relieved, we opened a bottle of wine to seal his promise. He went to college but to my dismay his training with me moved him up in the ranks at his part time job at Cheesecake factory. He used that to his advantage climbing not to the upper echelon of culinary commander but to the managerial hierarchy of the restaurant industry. He is now a general manager of a very prestigious restaurant and very happy. But he’s still republican!
The bottom line is we all have to be true to ourselves, to who we truly are and both my son and I have done that. He is a bit of a metro-sexual, having his hair and nails done, he dresses conservatively, has no more ear, nose or the piercing formally known as Prince rings (although on windy days he still whistles) but he is who he is and I respect that. We’ve always had strange names for each other, he was GI Joke, Schmedly, puke of Earl, I was the ol man who lives upstairs, Happy Hippie Dad, the parental units unit, and grounding master. But I’m proud that he’s my son, I’m proud that he has worked to achieve what he wanted, and I’m proud of who he is as a person. I’m also proud to have him call me Dad, but more than anything I now beam with pride when he calls me, “My Anti-Corporate Hippie Dad”