Life as my Father.

I drove around Pedro today, on my own time running errands and listening to my music library on my iPhone playing through the speakers in my truck. I finally got that together and now have some decent tunes while I’m driving. It was a whole thing for a few days, believe me. As I have my route planned, the last stop is always at the house on Leland St. to stop in and check on Pop. Sometimes, it’s just a perfunctory check and I’m on my way or like this time, I pull up a chair to shoot the shit with the old man. By old man, I mean that in jest and figuratively. Pop is celebrating his 93rd birthday on April 30th. 93... How the hell did THAT happen? I always tell him that he won the gene pool lottery. When I sat down, we traded some stories back and forth, Pop had his handy local paper at hand to keep me apprised of what’s going on and I got to gauge his aura and see what color his shockras were emanating today. I saw a rather healthy looking individual who’s got game. Having grandpa skin, the slightest brushing against the wall can produce a dark bruise on his arms. I saw that his arms were clear and healthy looking which told me that the care my sisters are giving him is phenomenal. It’s a beautiful thing between us. We talk about being kids in that tiny house, my Mom’s antics and the influence my parents had on us kids. Growing up there was quite a ride but we were bathed in love. Tough love, too. War stories, being on the road with his bus, the sandwich shop... The stories are endless. My Pop has come a long way from the streets of Jamaica, Queens, a world war, crossing the country to start a new life, meeting the love of his life, having 9 kids and outlasting most of his family and friends in life. But, he has us kids that he calls his legacy. My talks with Pop are priceless as is the care from my three sisters who in many ways have their lives on hold to give Pop the care he deserves. There are tough days when people don’t feel so good, mean words are spoken and eventually apologies are made. The fabric of our family is strong with a large thread count. It takes a lot to tear it. My brothers and I are close and when we get together there is no end to the hijinx. All are very smart and funny dudes. You have to be on your toes when they’re around. I wanted to write something tonight with substance, something to get my writing juices flowing. I have a lot to say and I’m a little rusty with content. My years of anger are long gone and I want to write with the same fervor. Hopefully muscle memory will kick in and the flow will resume. We’ll see.

Peace and love to you all.
Caseman.