Special Birthday Memories

This was supposed to be your birthday. Your mom’s second doctor - the first one left town suddenly without explanation - determined that you were three weeks late and decided to induce labor. I thought you were right on time, but I deferred to the experts.

We drove to the hospital calmly and prepared for the procedure, but your mom went into labor on her own. We were optimistic that everything would flow naturally, but the contractions were weak. Your grandma and I slept on chairs as we waited.

In the morning, the doctor decided to proceed with induced labor, but it didn’t go well. Your mom was in a lot of pain. She wasn’t dilating. They rushed her into surgery. I sat beside her.

It’s a miracle that you both survived. You were blue when they pulled you out of her incised belly. The nurses rushed you over to a table. You didn’t cry right away, and no one said a word. Your mom got very upset fearing the worst. “Is he alright?” She stated to shake. The doctor gave have her a sedative.

“Everything’s fine,” one of the young nurses said finally. “Thank God!” you mom exclaimed just before she fell asleep.

They guided me out of the operating room. The obstetrician went outside for a cigarette, and somehow, I ended up out there with him under a brooding gray sky. It wasn’t bitterly cold, but it was chilly.

“Do you smoke?” the doctor asked.

“No.”

He took a long, deep drag and shook his head. “Don’t start.”

I met up with your mom in her room. She was awake, but she couldn’t move due to the spinal block. She seemed happy now and at peace. There was no hint of worry on her face.

A nurse walked in with a big smile on her face. “Do you want to hold your son?”

After all she’d been through, your mom was thinking more clearly than I was. “She means you.”

“Shit, yeah!” It was a grotesquely inappropriate comment which I regretted immediately, but no one seemed to mind.

I held your warm, tightly-bundled body in my arms, and my whole world changed.

A Memoir For My Father

It’s a moment that I will always treasure and the uplifting experience that mankind needed at the time.

On August 1, 2020, a gleaming, conical space capsule parachuted gently into the ocean. It reminded me of the Apollo spacecraft that we had watched return to Earth after missions to the moon. I remember watching those historic moments with my dad. We watched this one together, as well.

I hadn’t seen my parents much during the Covid-19 pandemic. Travel seemed risky for all parties involved.

The last time I had seen them under normal circumstances was the prior November. I wanted to drive out to see them before the winter weather took a turn for the worse. It was a nice visit. Everyone was in good spirits. The one thing that concerned me was that Dad was hunching over more than he ever had. I debated whether to mention something to him, but I didn’t want to make him feel self-conscious.

I made another trip in February, 2020 on a weekend with unseasonably mild weather. The virus was not yet widespread in the US, but there were isolated outbreaks, and it was causing unspeakable suffering in places like Italy and Iran. It was only a matter of time before things got worse here. I reasoned that this might be my only chance to see my folks for the year. A widespread quarantine was probably on the horizon.

Dad was in good spirits, and we had several lively discussions. At one point he confided that his doctor had mentioned his change in posture and had advised him to try to stand more upright. I felt relieved that Dad was being looked after.

As I set out for the long drive home, Dad opened the gate at the end of the driveway and saw me off cheerfully, mentioning how much he appreciated me and all that I do. In that moment, I noticed that something didn’t seem right. Dad seemed frail and vulnerable in a way that I had never seen him. I occurred to me that it might be the last time I saw him, and that shook me up a bit, but I didn’t have a clear reason as to why I was having these thoughts. I rationalized that I was panicking over the pandemic. Still, I felt very uneasy as I drove away.

In the coming weeks, the public health situation became much worse. New York City became the global epicenter of the pandemic. Schools and businesses closed on short notice. Hospitals struggled to keep up with a rapidly accelerating disaster. Sports leagues suspended their seasons. Most international travel was banned. Broadway went dark.

I was hoping to drive our for Dad’s eighty-fifth birthday, but everything was changing and travel seemed ill-advised. There was all sorts of talk of quarantines for people coming from various states, and since my area was the hardest hit in the spring, I wasn’t sure whether it would even be feasible.

So, I decided to come up with a gift that I could share remotely. I composed some music for him, a tuba concerto. That may seem like an odd gift, but Dad always loved classical music, and he played the tuba (and guitar) in high school. With his hearing loss, it was difficult for him to enjoy music played on high-pitched instruments like violins and flutes, but he could still enjoy the low roar of the tuba.

I worked on the concerto for about a month, using every free minute to compose and record it. I pushed myself hard and completed the final mix in time for his birthday. I exported a mix of each movement and sent the files to him by email.

Shortly after Dad’s birthday, I began to receive alarming reports from my sisters about his health. He was tired and uncomfortable. He had lost a considerable amount of weight since I had seen him in February, and he was rapidly losing lost interest in his normal activities.

I realized that I needed to drive out to see Dad as soon as possible. New York was doing better at this point, but the virus was causing havoc across the country. After a chaotic trip to the emergency room, it became clear that Dad needed to have specialized scans done, but the schedule for appointments was backed up for weeks. His primary care physician refused to see him, using pandemic restrictions as an excuse.

I rented a car, packed it with water and snacks, masks and cleaning supplies, and drove out to see Dad on Father’s Day weekend. I made as few stops as possible to minimize exposure.

Dad was definitely thinner, but he didn’t look too bad considering all that he’d been through. He didn’t have a lot of energy, but his spirits were high. We enjoyed lively conversations and spent some time watching television programs that he enjoyed.

During one of the conversations, I asked Dad what he had thought of the music that I had sent for his birthday. He confessed that he hadn’t been able to hear it well enough on the computer. His hearing loss had become too profound.

This was disappointing. Not only had I missed his eighty-fifth birthday, but the special gift that I had made foe him was a bust. But somewhere during the weekend I had an idea.

I had copies of the same music on my iPhone, and the iPhone volume goes up pretty loud. I ran out to the car and grabbed my headphones. I gave the headphones on to Dad and asked him to listen.

“Can you hear that?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah!”

Wow! Dad finally got to hear the music that I had written for him while we sat together on Father’s Day. I couldn’t have asked for a more meaningful experience.

It was a wonderful visit, but as I left I had to choke back tears. I didn’t know if I would see Dad again.

The drive back to New York went smoothly. Luckily, there wasn’t much traffic. Not many people were traveling.

Parking was impossible when I got back. The normal parking regulations had been suspended. People left their cars in spaces for months. I had to double park while I dashed my suitcase and some bags into my building. I returned the rental car and walked home in bright sunshine. Inside, I cleaned up, got something to eat, and decompressed for a while. I was feeling a lot of emotions.

During the week, another idea occurred to me. Dad was able to hear music played through the earphones of my iPhone. Apple used to make a music playing device called an iPod. I checked the Apple website and, sure enough, they still made one. I placed an order immediately.

It took some effort, but over the course of the next two weeks, I assembled a collection of recordings of the classical music that I had composed over the years. I set up a separate iTunes library and transferred the recordings to the iPod.

Dad’s health was declining rapidly. I wanted to schedule another visit, but it was hard to plan around his rapidly evolving healthcare needs. My sister kept calling, trying to get Dad in for his scans. One Friday, she was able to get him in for a specialized scan when someone cancelled. The radiologist called later in the day and urged them to get Dad to the emergency room. His lung had collapsed.

Dad spent the weekend in the hospital. They patched him up as well as they could. His primary care physician still refused to see him, but one of his partners came to the hospital to relay the results to him and my sister. Dad couldn’t hear the conversation, which may have been a blessing in disguise. 

The worst news was confirmed. The diagnosis was lung cancer, which had spread to other organs and into his bones, There was nothing that the doctors could do. It was too late. You can’t turn back the hands of the clock.

The conversation shifted toward palliative care. The mission would be to make Dad as comfortable as possible and let him spend his final days at home.

I rented a car for the weekend that crossed from July into August. It’s a beautiful time of year to be in the country. The fireflies were still in season.

Dad was much weaker now. He could barely walk. I was stunned to see what the disease had done to him in a few weeks’ time. Still, we spent as much time together as his energy level permitted.

I gave dad his present, the iPod with all of my music. He wasn’t able to work it with his hands, so I showed my sisters how to play it for him. He could hear the music, though. I cursed myself for not having the idea to give him something like this years earlier, but at least he had it now.

That Saturday we watched the television as the space capsule decoupled from the station and began its slow descent. On Sunday, we watched the splashdown, just as we had so many years before with the Apollo missions.

Dad felt tired and said that he was going to bed. I gave him a hug and kissed him. He was warm, and he smelled the way that he always had. It brought back memories of him holding me in his arms when I was a small child.

I wanted to give Dad something to look forward to, so I told him that I would be back in three weeks. “Okay!” he acknowledged with enthusiasm. 

Dad lived for sixteen more days. He passed quietly in the middle of the night with my mother and sisters by his side while listening to music that I wrote for him in headphones.

Remembering Vivian

Remembering my Aunt Vivian, who had to have been one of the most fun aunts in history and probably one of the loudest. Vivian had a larger than life personality and a laugh that could shake the foundation. She loved dogs and cared for many, loved gardening and put her heart and soul into growing plants, and loved to bake cookies and cakes and pies and hams and her specialty, pineapple upside-down cake. She could bake enough to feed a small army and often did. She was a wonderful lady, and we miss her.

The Honor Of A Lifetime

Afternoons at the movies

Fun trips to the arcade

The mall and the big toy store

Action figures galore

Games in the park on sunny Saturdays

Pizza and salad for lunch 

Watching TV and dinner with the folks

Precious time with your great-grandmother

Trips into the city

To see the dinosaurs

That haunt the grand museum

And dominate the floor

The boardwalk in New Jersey

The Skeeball and the games

Eating our favorite pizza 

After playing in the waves

Winning lots of tickets

And trading them for prizes

Watching sunburned people 

In all shapes and sizes

Our trips down to Virginia 

And Washington, DC

Monuments and museums

That meant the world to me

Back to New York City

The Statue Of Liberty 

The view from the Empire State Building

As far as they eye can see

Wall Street and Broadway

Times Square and Fifth Avenue

The Metropolitan Museum

And Lincoln Center, too

The Phantom Of The Opera

A show that must be seen

And the films that we enjoyed 

On the IMAX movie screen

Then on to wider travels

Adventures in California

The beauty of the Southwest

Utah and Arizona

The boat to Alcatraz Island

Walking the Golden Gate Bridge

Heading south to the San Diego Zoo

And stopping by Legoland, too

Driving through the desert

At a hundred twenty-two degrees

Enjoying the majestic Big Sur Coast

High up over pounding seas

The bright lights of Las Vegas

That impressive magic show

Grand Canyon and Monument Valley

Places every soul should know

There were some characters along the way

Leroy, the crazy guide

The psycho killer pizza man

And the creepy French Crèpe guy

The latter was in Paris

Where we enjoyed summer days

At the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower

Memorable in so many ways

London and Cambridge and Stratford

The bus trip to Stonehenge

The lakes and mountains of Switzerland

Where the beauty never ends

Touring the Highlands of Scotland

Getting soaked in the rain

Standing stones and ruined castles

I’d do it all over again

Delightful dinners in Salzburg

Mozart’s quiet city

On the banks of the Danube

Where the hillside views are pretty

Visiting St. Peter’s

And the many wonders of Rome

The indescribable beauty of Venice

Stays with you when you come home

These adventures we took together 

Every one a joy and an honor

But the honor of my lifetime

Is being your proud father

Happy Birthday, Michael!

Tribute

My father is a brilliant man. He had a long and prosperous career as a college professor. 

Every year around this time, shortly after graduation, the college where he taught holds a dinner to honor retiring faculty members. When my father decided to retire, I wanted very much to attend the dinner where he would be honored. The event was held on a Friday evening, so I took the day off to make the trip. 

In the morning, packed my usual weekend clothes along with a suit and tie and a nice pair of shoes and socks. About halfway through the seven-hour drive, I realized that I had forgotten something. I hadn’t packed a dress shirt. By this time, I had passed through Eastern Pennsylvania where department stores are easy to find. The shopping options are more limited  the central part of the state.

I recalled that on previous trips I had seen a sign for a Brooks Brothers outlet near the Somerset. I figured that this was my best bet for finding a nice shirt. I didn’t have time to wander from town to town looking for clothes.

I stopped by the outlet and did manage to find a shirt in my size. It wasn’t fitted (I was quite slender in those days), and the material had that rough weave that wasn’t terribly comfortable, but it would be good enough to get me through the evening. I purchased the shirt and got back on the turnpike.

I made it to my parents’ house in time to clean up and change quickly. I really don’t like to wear shirts right out of the package with conspicuous fold lines everywhere, but I didn’t have a choice. As long as I kept my jacket on, I would be okay.

We drove to the hall where the event was being held. The dinner was pleasant. Afterward, each retiree was honored with speeches. Four people were being honored that evening. My father was the last in the sequence, because his 37-year tenure was the longest.

The first person to be honored was the head football coach. Some people from the athletic department gave speeches in his honor. The coach’s son also gave an impassioned speech. The second honoree had family members speak on his behalf, as well.

As the evening progressed, I started to have a sinking feeling. Had I missed the proverbial memo about speeches by family members? Would it seem strange if no one from my father’s family spoke about him?

I knew what I had to do. I had to come up with a speech on the fly and deliver it unrehearsed. No pressure!

The program moved on to the third honoree. I didn’t have much time. One of the speakers was well-regarded. He had a reputation for being an expert toastmaster. His speech was probably quite good; I sensed that the room reacting joyfully to things that he said. But I didn’t hear a word of his speech. I was in a zone coming up with a mental outline of the speech that I would deliver in a few minutes. I tuned out the world.

Good. I figured out what to say. I was ready. When there was a pause between speakers, I walked over to the dean, who was master of ceremonies for the event, and told him that I would like to speak on behalf of my father. Then I sat back and relaxed as I listened to the third honoree give his remarks. I was present and confident. There was no need to tune out any longer.

The dean went to the podium, made a few remarks about my father, and listed the three professors who would speak on his behalf. These were some of my father’s closest friends, men that he had worked with for decades and held in very high regard. I was glad that they were there to support him.

The dean then said a sentence that still echoes in my mind: “And then, Dr. South’s son will come up and say a few words.” Game time, baby! No backing out now. :-)

The speakers were all very complimentary toward my father. It was touching to see their genuine admiration for him and hear their fond recollections of time spent working together. Looking back, I wish that I had captured these speeches on video. Unfortunately, it was before the era when mobile phones became all-purpose super devices capable of recording every moment of our lives.

My turn. I walked to be podium, introduced myself, and shared a brief ice-breaking joke. The polite but muted response indicated I have no future in standup comedy.

Luckily, the body of my speech received a warmer reception. I’ll share that part here. It’s a story that I like to tell about my father, because I feel that it illustrates his character well.

-

When I was a small child, my dad would sometimes bring me to the campus with him. I didn’t mind. I was fascinated by the equipment in the laboratories. I’m sure that my mom appreciated him getting me out of her hair for a few hours.

As we walked from building to building on the campus, my father would often stop and talk to people who were passing by. 

One day, he greeted a man warmly, shook his hand, and chatted with him for a few minutes. I was shy, so I stayed silent. But when the gentleman walked away, I asked my father, “Daddy, who was that man?”

He said, “That was the president of the college.”

Another time, we were walking, and a similar thing happened. My father greeted someone warmly, shook their hand, and chatted with them for a while. When the person moved on, I asked, “Daddy, who was that man?”

“That was one of the other professors.”

On another occasion, the same thing happened. My father greeted someone warmly, shook their hand, and chatted for a while.

“Daddy, who was that man?”

“That was one of my students.”

Another time, the same thing happened. My father greeted someone warmly, shook their hand, and chatted with them for a while.

“Daddy, who was that man?”

“That was the janitor.”

I wasn’t able to infer anything from this at the time. I was a small child who wasn’t particularly comfortable around strangers. But when I reflected on these experiences years later, I realized something important. My father had treated each of these individuals the same way.

From the janitor to the president of the college, he had treated each person with the same degree of interest and respect.

He greeted them warmly. He shook their hand. He engaged them in conversation and listened intently when they talked. 

He treated them all the same. That was a terrific life lesson for me, and I learned it through his example. 

-

That was the heart of my impromptu tribute to my father on the eve of his retirement. 

I’ll just add one quick thought.

Happy Birthday, Dad! Thank you for all of the times that you were there to support me. I’m honored that on that special occasion, I was able to be there to support you.

Happy Birthday Son

This week, my 'little boy' turns 31. I remember the the roller coaster adventure at the hospital as though it just happened a couple of weeks ago. I remember bringing him home, changing him, rocking him to sleep. I remember the middle of the night feedings. I remember watching him play in his play pen, learning to sit up, to crawl, to walk.

I remember Christmas when he was two-and-half. I remember watching his excitement build with each successive present.

I remember afternoons together at the park, trips to the video arcade at the mall, and going to Toys R Us to see if there were any new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles figures. I remember the movies that we enjoyed together and the ball games that we invented. (Home plate!)

I remember our travels and adventures by car and by plane. I remember watching him become a young man - and then a grown man, a man who got up every morning without complaint, rose to every challenge, and worked hard at anything that he put his mind to accomplishing.

On one of the best days of my life, my no-longer-little boy stood beside me as the best man at my wedding. 

True happiness, as they say, is knowing that you have raised nice children.

Copyright © 2016 Daniel R. South 

All Rights Reserved 

  

Exercising With The Kids

Today, during my run, I saw a lady jogging with her son, a boy about ten or eleven years of age. They were having a nice conversation as I passed by.

It touched my heart to watch the two of them them enjoying time together in this healthful and interactive way. It's rare to see parents exercising with their children. Think about that for a minute. It's almost tragic.

Time with our children is precious. In a few short years, this boy will be hanging out with friends and following his own interests. Exercising with his mother will no longer seem very appealing. But for now, he still enjoys it. I'm so happy that his mother capitalized on this short-lived opportunity.

A boy and his mom going for a jog together - what a beautiful sight! More families should do this. Think of the common health problems that could be averted - depression, substance abuse, obesity, juvenile diabetes. Plus, you get to spend some quality time with the kids out in the fresh air. What could be more important?

Copyright © 2015 Daniel R. South 

All Rights Reserved