Remembering Dad

He wasn't my biological father - I was part of a package deal when he married my Mother - but no one would have known that if I hadn't told them. 

He was a son of Italian immigrants; those who traveled to America and encountered hardship after hardship after doing so. His last name started as Manzone but was shortened to Mann when Italians couldn't obtain work in the coal mines because of their nationality.

He was a Depression youngster; his home was home to many aunts, uncles, and cousins.  Anyone who made the long journey was welcome.  He had numerous stories of those hard times including how his uncles "stole" his paper route money and how, when he stole some penny candy, his mother told the police to keep him overnight to teach him a lesson.

He had a habit of checking everyone's plate at a meal.  I once asked him why he did that and he told me that when he was young, the men who were employed ate first;  the children had whatever was left.  He always looked for the left-behind food.

His parents didn't understand and/or read much English so it was easy for him to have them sign paperwork for him to join the Army at age 17.  That began a career that lasted almost 30 years.

He taught me much.  We played Battleship before it became a board game; using graph paper and pencils to mark our boats. He taught me how to play poker, Parcheesi, Checkers, and how to scramble an egg with leftover spaghetti sauce.  We spent many hours on the Chesapeake Bay fishing in a boat that he made and I learned how to bait a hook with finesse and to not be squeamish when taking crabs out of a trap.

Other children were born after me and each of us had a nickname that follows us to this day.  I was "Squeeze", his namesake was "Ant-ny", the next in line was "Rosebud" followed by "Bones" and the classic "Strunge".  It was only after my youngest sister left home that she found out what her nickname really meant.

He never finished high school, but became an officer by obtaining his GED and working his way up through the ranks. We never knew what his work really entailed; he had a top secret clearance, but we amateur sleuths have deduced (through investigations of military records) that he was involved in a nuclear missile program.

He was quirky - he laughed and joked often and his childhood nickname of "Happy" followed him throughout his days.  He was a joker and didn't care if the joke was on him, since he could give back as good as he got.

He was not ashamed to cry -  I have a picture of him wiping away tears after walking me down the aisle.  He cried tears of regret at the death of a dear friend from whom he was estranged, tears of sadness at the tragic passing of a granddaughter, and tears of joy when he held my daughter's first child.

He loved to gamble and any game one played with him had some stakes attached.  After his retirement from the Army he held several jobs but his favorite was working at the race track where he could bet on the horses.  When casinos opened in Indiana he was probably first in line; and Las Vegas was his heaven on earth.

His actions sometimes didn't make sense sometimes and I commented in his later years that he could have Alzheimer's and we wouldn't know it because he was such a goofball.

Unfortunately, my statement proved to be prophetic. 

As we siblings watched Dad spiral down towards the end of his life, overtaken by this disease, we each shared stories that were indicators to us that the disease had taken him long before any real diagnosis.  Each of us had attributed his actions/quirks to him "just being Dad".

We spent his last week with him. His son from his first marriage, who didn't really know all of us that well joined us in our vigil and became closer to all of us.  We sang to him; we talked to him; we prayed over him.  One of us was always in his room. The Hospice worker shooed us out at one point because she thought he could hear us and didn't want to leave us.

But leave us he did.

His physical body left us seven years ago this week.  His spirit and the memories of him will never leave us and all of us who knew him will be forever thankful that God gave him to us for as long as He did.  We love and miss him and always will.

I AM A REALITY TV JUNKIE

There, I said it.  It’s true.  In the vernacular of the younger crowd, “I heart reality television”.  I like the glimpses into the lives of others who make me feel better about my own life. I admit I live vicariously through some of the reality shows.

A friend suggested I watch Survivor several years ago, and, as the saying goes, it was all over but the shouting.  Survivor remains a social experiment pitting individuals from various backgrounds and locations all the while dangling a million dollar carrot to the one who can outwit, outlast, and outplay the others. Survivor has become a bid mundane (read: boring) and predictable these days; however I continue to watch when the players are interesting.  And, having a good looking host like Jeff Probst adds to my enjoyment.  

Where else could I see someone who thinks he is a dragon slayer – besides my six-year-old  grandson – or watch an evil little troll insult his way out of a million dollars? Sadly, the environments into which the players are thrust do not bring out the best in the cast and some social boundaries are crossed.  People say and do things they claim they would never do in “real life”. I don’t agree with that – it’s comparable to saying, “I was drunk; I didn’t mean what I said.”  Yes, they do mean what they say and do.  A million dollars is at stake.  People lie, steal, cheat and backstab each other all for the almighty dollar, and any of the players who say they didn’t perform any of these acts is lying.

The Amazing Race continues to be my favorite reality show - when I watch I have the opportunity to learn about countries I will never visit and their customs all the while watching the interaction of the teams playing. I never will understand people applying for a reality show like the Race to mend or test their relationship. If a relationship is shaky before the show it is certainly going to suffer when the duo has gone without food, water and sleep for extending periods of time.  Add jet lag to the mix and you have a recipe for dissolution of whatever relationship they are testing.

“The Real Housewives of (fill in the blank)” programs are my guilty pleasure.  I have to wonder who has defined the term “housewife” since I have never observed any of these women with a vacuum cleaner, Swiffer, or dishrag in her hands.  They all seem to shop a lot, drink a lot, spend a lot of money on outrageous parties and vacations, and still manage to act like the mean girls in high school.  I have seen addiction addressed, the suicide of one husband, and the disintegration of family and friends and several divorces.  But I have also seen joy; in a housewife (don’t know why she was called that) who met and married her NFL Prince Charming in a spinoff program and another who married and had a baby in like kind.  Some of these women shouldn’t be called “housewives” because they’re not even married.  I guess that leaves the door open for the married ones to consort, console, and comfort. Yes, that was sarcasm at its finest.

Unfortunately, much as I would like to think that some of the scenarios are dreamed up by the producers, some of the issues hit home and some of the situations are all too real to me.  In New Jersey, everyone is related to everyone else in two separate families.  That in itself is a disaster. Factor in that they are all Italian and I can relate better to this franchise than any other.  Surly men, huge meals ,lots of bling, jealousy, gossiping relatives, more bling, jealousy over weight, houses, children and clothes, and just plain meanness is nothing new to me.  I grew up with this and still live it. I heart Theresa Guidice. Pass the grappa.

I watch every competition of the Food Network; can tell you who the last two Iron Chefs are and who I want to see as the next Food Network star.  I like to think I could open one of those mystery baskets on Chopped and come up with a gourmet meal (I really couldn’t, but I like to think I could). I am traveling now with the chefs on a quest around the world, and I am anxious to see if Rachel or Janelle will return to Big Brother.  For the record, I am a Rachel supporter. No comments because I will not defend my position.  That’s the way I feel and that’s that.

I have gotten my oldest granddaughter hooked on “Bridezillas” (thankfully it’s on demand) and we both critique “Four Weddings” and offer whose festivities we would have chosen for the luxury honeymoon. 

I keep waiting to see someone I know on “Million Dollar Listing” when they film in Malibu and I think a good drinking game would be every time Patty Stanger says “penis” on “Millionaire Matchmaker”. I wonder when the day is that Jeff Lewis’ maid knocks him out and I wish that “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” was still on since I have some candidates for them.

You may think my whole life centers around these programs; it doesn’t.  Fortunately for me, the networks rerun them again and again and again, so if I’ve missed something, I can always catch up or see it on demand.

I think the real reason I, like many others, watch these inane, insane programs is that they offer us a glimpse into the lives of others and gives us a chance to empathize, sympathize, or criticize what others do and how we could/would do it better.  These programs are a brief respite from my daily life and I find that I can laugh and cry with all of them, and they make a perfect ending to days that aren’t so great sometimes.

My name is Eileen and I am a reality television junkie. Deal with it.