Our inalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness come before someone’s right to own a gun. I understand that is not how everyone thinks. What everyone thinks has nothing to do with what I think. I think they are wrong. It’s my opinion and I’m entitled to it, just as you are entitled to yours. (As wrong as it may be.)

In my opinion, the 2nd amendment is specific in the right to bear arms in support of a “well regulated militia.” The ability of regulation is written into the amendment. The United States Supreme Court has interpreted the 2nd amendment to mean that every citizen has the right to own a gun. I agree – if those citizens belong to a militia. I know thousands of people. I do not know of one of them who belongs to a militia. (Of course, I don’t know everything about everyone, so I may be wrong.) If one doesn’t belong to a militia, in my opinion one shouldn’t have a gun. Simple.

Guns were designed with one purpose in mind – to kill. That design interferes with those inalienable rights I mentioned earlier.

Today is the anniversary of my father landing on the beach at Iwo Jima in 1942. He certainly carried a gun, and from one story I heard he apparently carried and used a flame thrower at one point. (That story was told to me by my Uncle Joe Duffy in 2001.) His job was to kill the enemy.

When he returned home, he didn’t speak of what happened or of his receiving the Purple Heart. He didn’t teach his four sons how to use a gun or tell us about the stories of what happened on Iwo Jima. I’m sure he was horrified by what he saw and wanted to shield us from those horrors. He had to live the rest of his life with those memories, and that was more than enough.

I recall looking at a photo album with him one evening while we were looking for something else, and happened upon it. It was of pictures of him in the Marine Corps, and it was something I had never seen before or since. He turned page after page without saying a word. When he finished, he said, “Most of those boys never came home.”

He came home, married the girl of his dreams, had a family, contributed to his community in many ways and passed away the day after Veterens Day in 2004. He was so very proud of his service to our country, but he was more proud of the life he led afterwards and his contributions to our society and the legacy that he has left behind.

In my opinion, that legacy is being threatened by guns. I am willing to fight that attack on his legacy and mine.

“Those boys,” to which my father had referred, volunteered to serve our country and supposedly knew the risks which they decided to take. The 17 kids who died at the hands of a psychotic gunman in Florida this week had no such option. They had their lives to live. They had their legacies to create. They had everything in front of them. Those lives, those legacies were taken from them by a deranged kid who apparently had no trouble getting his hands on a killing machine, and using it for the purpose for which it was designed – to kill.

Look, there is no one way to solve the gun problem, but let’s not kid ourselves into thinking that this is an incredibly complex issue. I am open to ideas – reasonable, well thought out ideas. I am willing to be the point person for a national effort, even though my experience in the area is zero. Good, reasonable, well thought out ideas don’t need to be presented to the American public by someone with experience, they need to be presented intelligently and calmly by someone who cares enough to do it. I’m in.

What the hell are we waiting for?

My thoughts on September 11th from 2013. Cried reading it, thinking of all that could have been. Taking my 3 kids to breakfast tomorrow at 6:30 am. Why? Because I can still do it while others can’t. They don’t know it, but the theme is that a life not lived to its fullest is another tragedy. God Bless.
I will never forget. Where I was. Who I was with. Those murdered. Those never found. Those who tried to help. Those lost trying to help. Those who have suffered – whether from loss, or cancer from trying to help. 
Please take the time to remember. Remember the people – our friends and neighbors. Remember the memorial services. The pain. Remember the feeling of community. Remember the pride. Remember the flags. 
Please also take time to remember all of the great stories about all of our friends. Re-tell them. Re-live them. Tell your kids. Tell your friends and neighbors. Tell strangers. Don’t let them be forgotten. Don’t let it ever happen. Never. 
Finally, be thankful for all that we still have. Hug your kids, your family, your friends. Never let them go. Tell them you love them everyday. Life is so short. Let those who have gone before us be a reminder that you never know when this wonderful ride will be over. Don’t let them wonder what your feelings were.

We all know the line, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

I saw another quote today which made me think of that first quote. Here’s the second, “If we want to heal a broken world, we need to get far more intentional about the process. We need to reach down inside ourselves, every one of us, and ask from the depth of our souls: “How can I best serve? How can I best contribute? What needs to be done that I can help make happen?” As those questions become the mantra for our generation, everything broken will begin to repair.”

What does asking questions get? Sometimes answers. Sometimes more questions. Sometimes confusion. Sometimes over-analysis. Sometimes nothing.

While the world does need self-analysis / introspection / whatever, what the world really needs is action.

Everyone is on their own journey, I get it. Here’s the thing, though: everyone is in control of their journey. Ok, then how does change occur? Well, how about by picking your head up every once in a while to see where you are or where you are headed. Don’t like it? Take a step in a different direction! It’s up to you. No one else can do it, regardless of how hard we push you. Once you have set your course, it is not locked in – that’s the beauty of the journey!

Imagine that you are about to walk 1000 yards. Imagine that on the second step, you veer 45* to the right and continue walking. Imagine where you would end up – nowhere near where you thought you would. Change happens by having the courage to take that step. Contemplation is fine, but action is what’s needed most.

I agree with both quotes above – the second, however, just doesn’t go far enough. It’s missing the crucial step of taking an action. Without it we would all be philosophers (no insult to any philosophers out there).

I was speaking with my daughter one day and she told me that she couldn’t change a certain action – I honestly don’t even remember what it was – let’s say it was getting ready for school on time. She couldn’t change the action. I explained to her that all she needed to do was to take the first step, and the circle would be broken. “It’s impossible!” she said. First, you never want to hear your kids say that something is impossible. That’s a cop-out, but an understandable one at a certain age. Who really wants to say, “I’m too lazy to change my habits” or “I don’t see the point in taking a different action”? No one. It takes maturity to decide to change.

I told her part of my life story – I had my first beer in 5th grade. I had been drinking for almost 40 years when I decided that it was time to stop. One day, I took a step 45* from the line of steps that I had taken for almost 40 years. One single step – someone asked me if I wanted a drink, and I said “no”. Simple, right? Not really, but I had made up my mind and I had taken action. Without taking action, nothing happens. (Will I ever drink again? Who knows, but it is nice to know that I am in control of my own journey.)

The part about the second quote that I think is the most valid, is that “we need to reach down inside ourselves, every one of us, and ask from the depth of our souls:” but rather than ask contemplative questions, we need to ask, “What action will I take today to make my dreams come true?”

So let’s combine both thoughts into: “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step in a definitive direction.” Maybe it’s the same direction as yesterday, maybe it’s in a 90* angle to yesterday, but the steps need to be taken.

I saw a great post on Facebook on February 4th by Meg Rogers, a friend from Long Island.  My wife and I used to travel in a social pack with Meg and her husband Jack.  They weren’t our best friends, but they were great friends with some of our friends, so we saw each other now and again.  We sat at the same tables at fundraisers, First Holy Communion parties, you get the drift.

In 2003 we were blessed by the birth of our twins and didn’t really pick our heads up for a couple of years.  In that time, 2004 I believe, Jack got cancer in his throat.  Here’s part of his story: http://lungevity.org/support-survivorship/get-connected/blog/i-still-got-this  Thanks Meg for posting it, and thanks for letting me use it.  What an incredible story.  More, what an incredible person.  Unfortunately, Jack lost his race against cancer just over two years ago.  I wish I had the chance to know him better.

Jack’s story got me thinking about my own, much less harrowing story.  I have been thinking about it today, as today is the anniversary of my first visit to Dr. Bruce Gilbert.  Here’s the story:

My wife and I had been married young.  I was 24, and she was 22 – less than a month out of Fordham when we were married. (I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – where I would be, IF I would be without my wife is a legitimate question.  Thank God beautiful women have no taste in men!)  We decided that we would wait 5 years before trying to have children, so we had time to get to know each other better.  Well, five years passed, and we had just bought our first house – rather 1/2 of our first house.  We had entered a deal with my brother to purchase a fixer-upper and renovate it and either flip it, buy it, or sell it to him afterward.  Having kids would have to wait a little bit.

We worked on the house, worked at our jobs, and decided that it was time that we work on our family.  Who knew that having children isn’t always the easiest thing in the world?  We sure didn’t know.  From what we heard, people got pregnant just by looking at each other!

A couple of years passed, and nothing was happening.  By this time, my wife was seeing a specialist – I still think he has the best name for an OBGYN of all time – Ira Spector.  (Get it?  I respect her) She had been prodded and poked in all sorts of different ways, and I don’t mean by me!  Everything checked out on her side, so I was up next.

I was slated to go get checked out by Dr. Bruce Gilbert – urologist to the stars. I had taken the day off – it was a Friday, and we had plans with a big group of our friends to go into the city to a place called “Café Wha?”  We were all excited to see most, if not all of our social group, which dates from kindergarten.  Some of us were meeting on Long Island to train it into the city together, and the rest probably were already there for work.

So I went to visit Dr. Gilbert to get the plumbing checked out.  As he was doing an ultrasound, he said, “It looks like there’s a little more here than we bargained for.” I didn’t give him the “that’s what she said” line.  He said that it looked like he saw a tumor.  He sent me across the street for an MRI – I literally just walked across Northern Boulevard.  An hour later, I was back in Gilbert’s office with a confirmation – I had testicular cancer.  I was given the number of a doctor to call at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.

I got in my car a little stunned, but Dr. Gilbert had told me that a fella can live just fine with only half of his original set, so I wasn’t really that worried.  (Luckily for me, I had a great friend from college who had just been going through this same problem.  He became a great source of information and support, and I’m sure I still owe him a couple of beers.) I used my cell phone to call Dr. Herr’s office to set up an appointment for the next Monday.  With that taken care of, I headed towards Valley Stream to meet up with a couple of the girls with whom we were going into the city – I had known both of them since high school – longer than I had known my wife.  We were very comfortable with each other and had a great ride on the trusty LIRR into Penn Station.  We made our way down to McDougal Street and met up with the rest of the group.

The food left something to be desired at Café Wha? but the music – ah, the music!  The Café Wha? Band is very well known in the area – they have a huge horn section and I would bet that anyone my age would know every word to every song they play.  I have actually sung with them at one wedding I attended at the Yale Club (’cause that’s how I roll…).  Great night!  Couldn’t have been better!

We headed for the exits and our trip back to LI on the LIRR with most of the gang. I still hadn’t been able to tell my wife, and I didn’t want to ruin a night out that we had planned for so long.  We eventually made it home, and we were winding down from the night – talking about the music, and our friends, when I finally had to tell my bride, my best friend, that I had cancer.  I’ve noticed over the years, when I have bad news, I’m usually pretty good at keeping my composure – until I see my wife, and then I break down.  A friend passed away recently, and I was speaking with his brother on the phone – sending my condolences, asking if there was anything that we could do, or if there was anyone we could contact – I was a rock until I had to tell my wife that our friend had died.  (Geez, I’m getting weepy now just thinking about it.)  Well, maybe this is where that all started – 20 years ago today when I told her that I had cancer.  I was able to squeak out the words, and we sat on the bed and had a good cry feeling bad for ourselves, and our uncertain future.

By the next week, the offending testicle was no longer even in my body.  Recovery was short and painless.  Funny story – while recovering from my surgery, a few of our friends from Beaver Lake came out for a visit.  I was helping straighten out the house when I saw our guests walking up the front walkway.  I had in my hand a buckwheat U-shaped pillow that someone might use on a plane and I was looking for a place to stash it, thinking the front hall closet would be a good spot.  Just as I was about to throw it in the closet, a thought occurred to me – what if I turn it upside down, and put it in my shorts to make it look like I was REALLY swollen from the surgery? That would be a mean little trick, wouldn’t it? So I put this huge buckwheat thing in my shorts. It was a beautiful, sunny day and they had just driven out from NJ. They were all wearing sunglasses from the trip. As they walked in a few seconds later, I looked kind of sad and tired and slumped my shoulders a little while sticking the now buckwheat-filled area out a bit. The look on all three of my friend’s faces was priceless – the funniest part was that all of their eyebrows went shooting up when they saw the swelling, jutting above their sunglasses. I thought it was hilarious – one of the funniest reactions that I had ever seen. Aren’t I a good friend? We actually went for a walk around the neighborhood to get a little exercise, and even smoked a cigar to my health!

My story doesn’t end there, but I will say this – when you have cancer, they don’t tell you everything about your treatment upfront (or they didn’t with me). I went in for a checkup a month later, and was given the option of chemo or having my lymph nodes removed. I chose the latter to make sure that the cancer hadn’t spread – I wanted to know, and I took a risk. If the lymph nodes weren’t clean I would have gone through the surgery just to have to heal to have chemo. Luckily for me, my lymph nodes were clean. That operation was a 10-hour job and I was out of work for over a month – probably almost 6 weeks. I still have a 12-inch long scar which is a good reminder to me to remember where I could have been.

Unfortunately for me, at my six-month checkup, it was determined that there was a tumor on the remaining testicle. As I had my lymph nodes removed, it didn’t have anywhere to travel, so I had a little more time to decide what to do. The options were limited. After getting a second opinion at Dana Farber Cancer Center in Boston, I decided to just get that thing out of there. I banked some sperm in the event that we could try invitro fertilization and had the second testicle removed the day before Thanksgiving, 1995.

All in, it was a 10-month / lifetime journey. The good part is that after it was all said and done, I was able to become a father for the first time in July 1997. We had a perfect little girl who goes by “Lily”. The only difference now is that she isn’t so little, anymore – she’s over 5’7″!

A few years later, after some terrorists had driven a plane into a bunch of our friends in the World Trade Center, my wife decided that our little Lily would be all alone in the world if anything were to ever happen to us. In January 2003 our little family grew with the arrival of our identical twin boys. And that is where this story began – with us up to our elbows in twins, not knowing enough about what Jack and Meg Rogers were going through, and us not offering to help them in any way that we could. I think I only saw Jack once or twice more after that, and that is my loss.

I hear from our mutual friends, that his kids are doing great – one is a junior pre-med at Duke, maybe doing a PhD./MD in cancer research, of all things. Another is a freshman at Notre Dame, Jack’s alma mater, and their third is a junior at Chaminade on LI (everyone makes a mistake – Go Stanners!). I don’t know the kids, but I must say that I am so impressed by them, and by their mother. It’s not easy keeping it together, let alone succeeding so spectacularly after losing a father and a spouse. I’ve had trouble regrouping, myself at times. Luckily, I’ve got my wife and family to keep me moving.

The future is still uncertain – my daughter is a high school senior who is headed to college. Her future is upon her, or so she thinks – she’ll have a wonderful life, regardless of what college she decides can loan her the most money. The boys are in the sixth grade, headed to practice. It doesn’t matter the sport – they’re in. They’re too young to think about their future in any real terms. Professional athlete is probably still their number one thought.

I wonder what will become of me. I guess I’ve got to stay tuned for my uncertain future. RIP, Jack.

Bully For You!.

Not sure if you’ve seen the video which is in this article:  http://www.irishexaminer.com/examviral/real-life/video-father-stands-up-to-racist-bullies-in-emotional-video-308636.html

This gentleman has made a video to publicize behavior which he feels is inappropriate.  I agree with him 100%  I love the fact that he is sticking up for her.  I do the same for my kids, and sometimes get myself in trouble trying to do that which I think is right for other kids.

Some people thing I’m a hypocrite to try to stop, or maybe better, limit what some kids are doing at younger and younger ages.  Things like drinking, or smoking pot.  They may think I’m a hypocrite as I did those things when I was young – too young, I’ll admit. (Maybe it’s the curse of having older siblings – you try to keep up with their behavior.) They think it’s a “do what I say, not what I did” kind of a situation.  Well, not quite.  It’s a “look what I’ve learned over the years” type of thing. I’ve learned that the earlier one starts drinking and doing drugs, the more likely that individual is to have larger problems in their future.  Personally, I think that it also gets them hanging out with people who are doing the same things, and the transition to harder alcohol and drugs is made easier.  I’m not against drinking (not a big pot fan), but the reason that I don’t want my kids doing these things is that being under the influence leads to making bad decisions.  Decisions about driving cars, doing more drugs, drinking more alcohol, having sex, speaking about people, committing crimes, wasting time that they could be using to further their development in better areas, etc., etc., etc. It leads to no good.

“Kids need to learn for themselves!” Maybe that’s your argument.  I don’t buy it.  I think it’s my job to watch out for my kids – to keep an eye on them.  To see with whom they are hanging out.  To steer them to nicer kids and families that have the same feelings on the matter that I do.  It’s my job.  It’s the most important job that I have – keeping my kids safe, so that when they are more mature, they’ll have the ability to learn for themselves the greater lessons of life.

One of my best friends in the world thinks it’s ok that his 15 year-old son has an occasional beer.  I disagree.  Strongly.  Most studies done recently, point toward early drinking leading to problems with alcohol later in life.  “I don’t want him going to college and going crazy, so I think it’s ok if he starts early.”  Oh, so he’ll be an experienced drinker when he gets to college?  That’s the goal?  You think he still won’t go crazy?  I bet he brings it to a whole new level when he’s unsupervised.  It leads to more bad decisions – and earlier bad decisions.

“In Europe, kids drink early, and they don’t have the problems that we do.”  Uh, wrong – teen alcohol issues are MORE widespread there than here, because they start earlier.

“We did it!” I get this one a lot.  We did it.  Yes, we did.  Of course the drinking age then was 18, and we were pretty close to that point.  When the drinking age is 21, and your kid is 15, he still has 1/3 of his life to live before being legal to drink.  It’s not a fair comparison.  See the next paragraph for more…

Don’t buy that one?  How about this story:  We moved to a new house almost two years ago. My next door neighbor kept his cars parked in the street during the first snowstorm that we had, and when the plow came, it missed most of the area in front of my house because it had to go around his cars – totally screwing me.  On top of that, he took all of the snow that was on top of and around his car, and put it in front of my house – where I typically park my cars. (It’s illegal to park on the street during snowstorms in my neighborhood, but that fact seemed to be lost on him – he should have been parked in his driveway, anyway). So I go out to clean up the FEW FEET of snow that we got, and the pile in front of my house is almost 6 feet high!  I am ripping mad.  In New York, this would be a major problem, and someone would have had his car buried with that snow, and a few flat tires for good measure.  Ah, but this is suburbia – people don’t act that way here.  I went and knocked on my neighbors front door, and pointed out in a very nice manor, that the guy totally screwed me. (I didn’t say that, of course)  His response was simple, and relates to this issue – he said, “I’ve been doing it that way for 40 years.”  Nothing gets me going more than “That’s how we’ve always done it.”  Hate that reasoning, as it’s not reasoning at all!  My response to the guy next door?  I said, “I’ve been robbing banks for 25 years.  Doesn’t make it right.”  I walked away, and went to try to start my snow blower, which wouldn’t start.  I saw my neighbor come out of his house, grab his shovel, and head out towards the front.  He mentioned in passing that he was going to move the snow.  I said, “Thank you.”  Simple.  Good decision by him.  Not that I would have buried his car, or flattened his tires.  I wouldn’t have.  Two wrongs don’t make a right, right?  Just because I drank, doesn’t mean it was right.  It wasn’t, and it never will be the right thing to do.  As a friend said recently, “21 is 21.”

Anyway, I stopped drinking over a year and a half ago.  I’m not sure when I’ll go back, or if I will – I’m not an alcoholic, thank God.  I do find it interesting watching my friends and their behavior now that I’m sober.  It’s interesting to see them get in their cars with their young kids, and drive home after a few beers or drinks, or whatever.  That was me, and I didn’t realize it.  There’s one of those bad decisions that I was talking about – bad decisions aren’t only for the young!  Now I realize how stupid I was – what cargo is more important than my kids?  NONE. I’ve decided that their development is the most important thing in my life.  They are the most important thing in the world to me. Don’t I owe them my best?

(PS – came across this and thought it might be considered relevant: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0XPZyxPiOwA&x-yt-ts=1421914688&x-yt-cl=84503534 )

In the story linked below (I’m trying to figure out how it’s going to look, as this is the first post with a link in it), is the story of a couple who lets their 10 year-old walk home alone while supervising his six year-old sister.  Maybe you’ve seen it on the news.

I’m not even sure if I like free-range chicken, let alone free-range kids!

Sure, I’m all for giving children responsibility.  Our 12 year-old twins are now involved in their school’s Ski Club, which brings them to a local ski area.  They are there alone. Sure, there are a few adults in the lodge, in case anything bad happens, or if someone is injured, but for the most part, they have free-range of the mountain.  I’m sure they feel great about it, and I know that they are enjoying their independence – they have told me as much.

My twins also walk to and from school in the morning.  They are the only two kids in their entire school who do so.  It’s not far, and they only have one street to cross.  I don’t think that I would have let them do it alone at age 10, and certainly not if one was younger by 4 years.  Not that they couldn’t handle it, but I’m not sure that I could!

I realize that all kids mature at different stages, but I think 10 is too young to be in charge of a another person.  I watched the video, as should you.  The father is upset, and that I understand.  I’m imagining his two kids walking on the same street that he is walking on.  DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!!!  It’s a very busy street.  I would have trouble letting my 12 year-olds cross such a busy street.  Is it because they aren’t from the city?  Maybe.  I’d ask any of you to chime in – city dwellers – when do you let your kids go out and about alone?  When are they allowed around the corner/  On the subway, etc.?

One quote that kind of bothered me (no, not that the mother was a climate consultant) was, “We are the parents. We are the ones who decide what’s best for the children.” While that’s true, what if you decide that your kids should be drinking Manhattans with you before dinner?  Shouldn’t someone be watching out for children?

The article mentions that “free-range parenting” came as a response to “helicopter parenting”.  Wow, what ever happened to just parenting?

http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/education/montgomery-county-neglect-inquiry-shines-spotlight-on-free-range-parenting/2015/01/17/352d4b30-9d99-11e4-bcfb-059ec7a93ddc_story.html

What’s an optimistic pessimist, you may ask? Well, that would be me.  I might also like to be called a realist, but let’s not get crazy on the first draft! I think a lot of native New Yorkers are naturally guarded – we have been warned repeatedly that we shouldn’t fall for things too easily – people are here to take advantage of us.  That guy with the $20 Rolex – it’s not real.  The guy selling VCR’s on the corner – those are stolen property.  You know, that sort of thing.

On the other hand, we are taught to be optimists – you can achieve any goal by working hard; nothing is impossible with God – you know, that kind of thing.  Maybe it’s the Catholic upbringing, or the 16 years of Catholic schooling, I’m not quite sure.

In any event, welcome to the blog.  I’ve never blogged before, so we’ll see how it goes.  I’m hoping it’s therapeutic for all of us (see, there’s the optimist)…

RTW