Mission Accomplished

It wasn’t quite like inviting a Red Sox fan to Yankee Stadium.

Or Michele Bachmann to an ACLU convention.

But I got quite the invite on Thursday night.

Let me take a step back.

So there we were.

At a neighborhood gathering.

When one of the dads came up to me.

I've known this dad for about five years.

And we’ve spoken many times.

About life.

Parenthood.

Bob Dylan.

Religion.

Not necessarily in that order.

Sometimes we've even mixed two of those ingredients.

Like the time I sang him the lyrics to Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited:

Oh God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son"

Abe says, "Man, you must be puttin' me on"

God say, "No." Abe say, "What ?"

God say, "You can do what you want Abe, but

The next time you see me comin' you better run"

Well Abe says, "Where do you want this killin' done ?"

God says. "Out on Highway 61".

We both love that song.

For different reasons.

I love Dylan.

He loves the Bible.

I love the band Genesis.

He loves the book of Genesis.

Hey whatever works.

He is what I would call a VERY religious man.

Notice the CAPS.

His choice of religion is Christianity.

Now just in case the CAPS didn’t convince you.

Here’s some backup.

Every Sunday morning he teaches a class.

A Bible class.

Attended by about 500 people.

Sold yet?

Well he is well aware of my Jewish heritage.

And my Korean Catholic wife.

And he is also aware that we have taken the fifth when it comes to raising our kids under a certain religion.

What's the rush -- my oldest daughter is only 14.

Now growing up I went to synagogue every Saturday.

Went.

Past tense.

I don't go anymore.

In fact, the last time I was in a house of worship was April 15, 2009.

It was the L.A. Sports Arena.

For a Bruce Springsteen concert.

Now don't get me wrong.

I believe in God.

And I love religion.

Or at least the idea of religion.

Any religion.

As long as it works for you.

But it really caught me off guard when my friend threw this proposal at me: 

“What do you think about coming to our church sometime?”

Say what?

Considering the time and the place of the question, it came more out of left field than Matt Holliday.

Now before my sarcasm leaves you with the wrong impression.

Let me say that not only did I truly respect what he was saying.

But I honestly appreciated the thought.

Now I'm not big on being preached to.

None of us are.

But I think waiting five plus years to ask that question.

A question he probably wanted to ask on day 1.

I think he waited long enough.

But still the question caught me way off guard.

Did he just ask a Jewish guy to join a Christian church?

At a BBQ?

By God he did.

No pun intended.

But I took a deep breath.

Gathered my thoughts.

And fumbled my way through the answer.

Like I was Wendell Tyler.

I certainly didn’t want to come off as being disrespectful.

And while attending a church is not important to me.

It is to him.

So I said things like.

“My wife and I have never really put a major emphasis on any one religion in our house.”

Duh?

“And we approach faith from a different perspective.”

Whatever that means.

“And I don’t think that’s for us right now.”

Oh, that was a good one.

Based on my brilliant answers, I think he got the idea that his offer was one I could refuse.

At least for now.

He made one last ditch effort.

Saying that not only could I bring my own Starbucks into the church.

But there is actually a Starbucks in their church.

Now he’s getting dirty.

He really knows that straight line to my heart.

But somehow I resisted the offer.

For now.

But it definitely made me think.

And maybe just for that reason, asking the question served its purpose.

For now.

Just Do It

My 13-year old daughter has a dance competition later today.

She had one yesterday too.

She has one next week as well.

I missed yesterday’s event because my two younger kids each had basketball games.

I was going to miss today’s event too.

That’s because the tickets are $10.

For me.

And $5 for each of the kids.

My wife is the team mom, so at least the family would be represented.

And next week the group will doing the same exact dance.

For free.

So the plan to miss today’s event made perfect cents to me when my wife and I discussed it a few days ago.

It didn’t make nearly as much sense this morning.

I was going to miss my daughter’s dance for $20?

I was going to sit at home and watch the Pro Bowl Pregame show instead of watching my daughter?

For what reason?

$20?

I’m certainly not suggesting that $20 is nothing.

In fact, at Applebees, it can buy you one appetizer and two entrees.

But the Riblet Basket only stays with you for three or four hours.

Watching your child smile lasts... at least a day.

So I informed my wife and my 13-year old that we would be attending today’s event.

And that was final.

When they asked why.

I replied, “what if I’m not here next week?”

The room went silent.

And if you know my family, that is no small feat.

Now I’m not trying to go all Nostradamus on you or anything like that.

But based on the reaction my wife and daughter had, you would’ve thought my magic eight ball had gone all black.

I certainly wasn’t suggesting that some evil force is going to take over the world.

Or take over my existence.

But who knows.

Not me.

And not you.

But what I do know is that I have no plans from 5:00-6:00 tonight.

Well, had no plans.

So there was absolutely no good reason why I couldn’t watch my daughter dance.

Thankfully I don’t need to sweat out the $20.

Not yet.

But even if I did, is there a better way to use that money than watching your child follow her dream?

(Well, the Provolone-Stuffed Meatballs with Fettuccine does look tempting.)

I can remember a situation about nine years ago when my wife and I had dinner with my dad and his wife.

McCormick and Schmicks.

I never forget a meal.

Well at that meal the subject of Notre Dame Football came up.

As you may recall, I love Notre Dame Football.

Well my dad, who lived his dream working with sports teams for 40+ years, had never been to South Bend, Indiana.

The home of Notre Dame.

And he loved big events.

The Super Bowl.

All-Star Games.

Yankee Stadium.

And when it comes to college football, there is nothing bigger than Notre Dame.

(Hey this is my blog.   Therefore, my opinion.)

So I said to him, “why don’t we go back to Notre Dame for a game?”

“One of these years,” he said.

“What do you mean one of these years?   Let’s go now.”

So that October.

October 20th, to be exact.

My dad and I were back in South Bend.

To see the Fighting Irish face USC and those hated Trojans.

No bigger game in college football.

At least not for me.

And not for us.

We went a day early.

To be at the pep rally.

We walked around the campus.

Got to the stadium before kickoff.

And enjoyed the greatest game of all-time.

Well, maybe not all-time.

Although Notre Dame did win 27-16.

But it was a father/son weekend like no other.

And no other we would ever have again.

Eight months later he was gone.

A massive heart attack.

He didn’t even make it to the next college football season.

It’s a good thing we went when we did.

Now I’m not in the advice business.

Never have been.

But do yourself a favor and take a close look at that “To Do List”.

See if there is something you can do.

Today.

I’ll be watching my daughter dance.

Yankee Doodle Dandy

George Costanza never met my father.

And that’s a shame.

They both were raised in the New York area, they both loved eating at diners, they both made me laugh and they both worked for the Yankees.

I always loved it when my dad took me to his work.

Otherwise known as Yankee Stadium.

That NEVER got old.

But the old Yankee Stadium is gone and unfortunately, so is my dad.

Yesterday, I made my first trip to the new Yankee Stadium.

And what a treat it was.

I hopped on the 4 train and about six or so stops later, I was there.

That simple.

I came without a ticket, so I waited in line before the game to buy one.

In case you hadn’t heard, our country is suffering through its worst depression since Babe Ruth was named George.

But don’t tell that to the group of people, at least 75 of them, waiting in line ahead of me to buy the few remaining tickets.

Tickets, that oh by the way, range in price from $14-$300.

I just wanted to see the place, so $14 would’ve worked ok fine by me.

But what I got was even better.

After waiting in line for about 15 minutes, and going nowhere by the way, one of the ladies who worked at the stadium held up a piece of paper about 20 feet from me.

It turned out someone was not able to use their ticket and she was giving it away.

For free.

Just one.

Maybe my dad left it for me.

Either way, I grabbed the ticket and darted to the stadium.   I didn’t pass go or pay the $200 or whatever it would’ve cost.

When I walked in, I was greeted by a flock of stadium workers holding up signs that said, “How May I Help You?”

That’s quite an upgrade from the old stadium, where the same sign said, “What Do You Want!”

But they were incredibly helpful and polite when they pointed to the sky to show me where my seat was.

But I wasn’t complaining.

By getting a free ticket, I had enough money to buy some food.

But not without the guilt.

You see, in New York City, some restaurants are required to list the number of calories for each item they are selling.

And Yankee Stadium had plenty of items.  These were just some of them:

• Veggie Burger, 280 Calories, $7.00
• Slice of Pepperoni Pizza, 310 Calories, $5.75
• Sweet Italian Sausage, 500 calories, $8.00
• Hebrew National Hot Dog, 510 calories, $6.75
• “New York Pretzel”, 630 Calories, $4.50
• Cracker Jack, 840 Calories, $5.75
• Bag of Peanuts, 1190 Calories, $5.00
• Nathan’s Cheese Fries, 1341 Calories, $7.25

I got one of them footlong Hebrew Nationals, since they report to a higher authority and a small order of Garlic Fries.

760 calories for $12.75.  Such a deal.

As you might imagine,  one of the best parts of going to an event in New York is just watching the people.

And the crowd at Yankee Stadium did not disappoint.

There were some chants that had four-letters and some that had more.

Since the Yankees were playing the Baltimore Orioles, some were quite predictable.

And some were not.

Like “Baltimore’s Garbage” and “Where’s Cal Ripken?”.

I even heard, “Boston Sucks!”.

And they weren’t even playing.

I sat right next to a family of four of some hardcore Yankee fans.

At least the dad was.

Early in the game, he screamed at New York’s $180 Million Dollar Man Mark Teixeira, “DO SOMETHING!”

I’m guessing Teixeira couldn’t hear him from the upper deck.  

But the guy who dropped the foul ball one level below us probably did, when the dad screamed, “YOU SUCK!”

When the Yankees tied the game, the father belted out “ORIOLES SUCK!”, bringing a giant smile to the face of his teenage son.

Aren’t role models great.

The man was keeping a close eye on the game, but clearly he wasn’t keeping score on his son’s calorie count.

In the few innings I sat next to him, the boy enjoyed a pint of ice cream, a bag of pistachios, a bag of Doritos and a large bottle of Pepsi.

Hardly a Yankee Stadium record for caloric intake, but he’s still young.

Around the sixth inning, I wanted to return to see level, so I walked around the lower concourse.

At one point I stopped in the memorabilia store.

They had some amazing pieces of Yankee history for sale and some of the prices were actually not so outrageous.

The man who worked there explained to me that their price was based on how much each player charges for his autograph.

Huh?

What happened to the love of the game.

He told me that Derek Jeter, the current Yankee legend, charges $300 per autograph.

Do you get garlic fries with that?

So let me get this straight -- if Jeter signs 110,000 autographs this year, he will match the $33 million he makes for playing a game.

America the beautiful.

Unfortunately for Jeter and the rest of the Yankees, the game didn’t go their way, losing 4-3.

But for me, it was a perfect game.

A Quick Trip

It has been a few days since my last posting and there’s a good reason for that.

I just got back into the big apple after a surprise trip home to see my family.

It was supposed to be a Gomer Pyle type of secret for the three kids with Surprise, Surprise, Surprise.

Unfortunately, the oldest two have big ears.

My son overheard my wife talking.   And my oldest daughter overheard her aunt talking.

But fortunately my six-year old daughter was totally blown away when she woke up from her car-ride nap, at the airport, staring at her dad.

That moment made it all worth it.

But there were plenty of other great moments as well.

Like the hug I got from my 13-year old girl, which was downright painful.

She squeezed so hard, she took my breath away.

Literally.

Just imagine if it was still a secret.

My time at home was just short of 57 hours, but this wasn’t about quantity.

This was all about quality.

And spending time together.

Watching TV, going to the park, playing video games, throwing the frisbee, drinking slurpees, getting the mail.

For a moment, it almost felt like I lived there.

We even got to go to the all-you-can-eat Chinese Buffet that the kids love so much.

The last time we were there, I got food poisoning.

This time, my six-year old got a stomach ache.

Things are getting better.

No wonder they love it.

It had been three long weeks since I had seen the family, but it had ONLY been three weeks.

Still, it has felt like forever.

I knew what the long distance runaround was doing to me, but I didn’t really understand what it was doing to them.

Especially my oldest child.

At 13, she’s at an age where she doesn’t always let me know how she is feeling.

Until now.

Between the initial rib-crushing hug, followed by a series of others that felt just like it, I could tell, she needed to see me.

We talked about school, about life, about me, about her.

We talked about something.   We talked about nothing.

But we talked.

A lot.

And it was great.

I’m certainly not suggesting that we didn’t talk before, but this was different.

I think she knew the clock was ticking on my time at home and she wanted to take advantage of every single second.

And so did I.

I made sure to visit my mother’s assisted living home to say hello.   I didn’t think surprising an 80-year old was a good idea, so I called ahead of time.

She couldn’t have been happier to see me.   

She wasn’t as happy to see me go.

The number one question on everybody’s list was, how is New York?   How is the job?   How are you doing?

Ok, that’s three.

I answered them all, as many times as they were asked, but I always tried to give the kids a little something extra about their new home.

We took a trip over the local Farmer’s Market, where we bought some kettle corn and honey roasted peanuts.

I told the kids that I bought some honey roasted peanuts last week on the corner of 42nd Street and 5th Avenue.

And across the street from that, I bought the best italian sausage in the city.

And down the street from there, I bought an authentic New York Pretzel.

I could tell from their reaction, I was speaking their language.

Can you tell that our family enjoys its food?

Honestly, I think they are very excited about the move.

But until we sell the house, nobody’s moving nowhere.

And that is the hard part.

For now, they just know New York as the place that stole their dad.

With every mention of Broadway or the Garlic Bread at Carmine’s or a ride on the Subway or a trip to Yankee Stadium, I can see their excitement level rise.

The challenge is keeping up that excitement until the move actually happens.

Or until I see them again.