COOL DADDY-O

There he was, that tall, strong, handsome guy in his uniform tee, tossing the ball to the player covering second base. It was an evening game, a hot, still summer evening's game. The field lights blazed with artificial daylight, while moths danced and fluttered in the shocking brightness of their glow. 'Brand X' was only just warming up.

We sat in the stands, cheering the team on through the game. The ice-cream truck on the edge of the park beckoned, and I knew it would be at least a couple of innings before our presence at Dad's game would be rewarded with the frosty treat of our choice - for me, a double soft serve with rainbow sprinkles. The anticipation of this moment was the only thing that got me through.

I had no idea what position my dad played for his team, but I know it didn't last many seasons - if only one. I didn't know how many runs he might have scored, how many times he struck out, if he stole a base, if he tagged a man out. All I knew is that as soon as the game ended, he was ours again. Uniform, wallet, and all.

The position he played on our family team, though, consisting of a wife, three sons, two daughters, a couple of dogs, a revolving door of cats, an occasional salamander, a gecko, a run of the mill hamster or gerbil (these pets not all at once though), was the ever-present, unflinching, unconditionally devoted father who I want to thank for the following, not limited to and not necessarily in order of appearance:

1. Salami and eggs
2. Papering my bedroom wall with the green ferns over the silver background
3. Drawing a portrait of Farrah Fawcett with me till after midnight, on the dry-erase board next to the olive green rotary telephone. It was uncanny.
4. Saving my life in a Quebec hotel/campground parking lot
5. Driving me to everyone's houses for sleepovers, all the time
6. Taking me to Klein's just before closing hour for the best maxi-dress EVER
7. Taking us to Friendly's at midnight for ice-cream sundaes while the Mets were in overtime (13 innings?)
8. Camping in Montauk
9. Music
10.Corny jokes
11.The candy in his suit jacket pocket (yes, that's where it all went.)
12.The change in his pocket, too.
13.The way he laughs through his teeth, like the dog from Dastardly and Muttley
14.Being the coolest, most proficient handyman, who drilled, hammered, spackled and kept our world patched together with love, kindness and patience, often with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
15. Quitting smoking

Always the athlete, always the artist, always the beautiful soul, always The Man.

It must be Father's Day.

THE END OF AMERICANS IDLE

Now that the winner has been declared, we can finally get off the couch.

I decided to let the rest of the week that followed last Wednesday’s "American Idol" results pass before uttering a word, as tempting as it was to join the fray. I preferred not to get tangled up with other bloggers and commentators who’ve been either lamenting Chrystal ‘Mama Sox’s loss, or celebrating Lee DeWyze’s victory. Because ultimately, the true victory that took place in this house did not emanate from the television.

I’d thought we were home free after the Yankees clinched the World Series last November. The house was back in working order: school projects and homework were getting done on time without the last-minute scramble, after-dinner clean-up happened - get this - right after dinner, and the evening came to a reasonable, satisfying end before the natives got too restless. We were off to a flying start towards the second half of the school year. Even the Scrabble board came out every once in a while.

But something happened. Somebody in this house, and I don’t know who, stumbled upon American Idol, and roped the rest of us into an ominous web of Prime Time television to the point that we were completely, hopelessly committed. It started with the auditions in various home towns across the land after the New Year, then on to the cut for the Top 24, down to the 12, through, among other things, the absurdity of Tim Urban’s repeatedly remarkable bullet-dodging, Siobhan’s shrieking, Big Mike’s ‘save’ and his eventual axing (I was out to dinner when it happened, and received a voice message from a pissed-off Julian with an update: “Mike lost! Stupid Casey!”) and finally, Casey’s departure. In brief, we here all agree that Chrystal’s career as a free agent will take off in a big way, and Lee’s six-year American Idol contract will either take him to new heights (we hope), or leave him writing jingles for Home Depot (we hope not).

So it’s officially summer now. Memorial Day weekend has just set the tone for a trim, healthful new beginning. Take a long, brisk walk after dinner, and don’t rush back. There’s nothing on - with the exception of the remaining “Glee” episode, the Prime-time line-up is on hiatus until the fall. Therefore, my sweet cherubs, I’d like all these things picked up and put back where they belong, K? Please. help yourself to that glass of water or bowl of ice-cream, and after that, you can take that freshly laundered pile of your clothes to your room and put it away, and make sure you brush your teeth before you’re too wiped out to do it. Oh, and on the way to bed, just stop off in the family room, turn on the TV, and tell me how the Yanks and Mets are doing, would you?

This is great. I've got 'em well trained now.