Happy Fathers’ Day to all my fellow dads. What an amazing role we play in the lives of our children. It’s an honor. It’s hard work. It’s rewarding. It’s fun. It’s never ending. With all the attacks on the patriarchy lately, it’s scary that fatherhood comes from the same root word. But, really, there are a lot of us good ones out there. We’re just trying to raise happy, content, well-adjusted kids.

I first became a dad in 1972. Many would say that I was too young to be a dad. I was only nineteen. Maybe they were right. At that point I didn’t even know how to balance a checkbook, but there I was with the responsibility of being a father to my first little girl, Amy. You learn fast when you have to. It wasn’t always easy. It wasn’t always fun. But, you know what, Amy and I had a wonderful relationship that I will treasure always. Sadly, she left us at seventeen. Almost thirty four years later, I’m still her dad.

I last became a dad in 2002. Many would say that I was too old to be a dad. I was fifty. Maybe they were right. At that point, my life was pretty settled, thinking ahead toward retirement and taking it easy. But there I was, changing diapers again, this time for Emma. Things come back to you pretty quickly. It wasn’t always easy. it wasn’t always fun. But, you know what, Emma and I have a wonderful father/daughter relationship. I must have done something right. Unlike with Amy, this time I got to see my little baby girl turn into a responsible adult.

I also became a dad at twenty-two to my only son, Andy. We also have a great relationship. I am proud to see how he is as a father himself. A good career, two loving children, amazing wife and a beautiful home. If our job, as fathers, is to create well-adjusted adults, his life validates that good work.

In the end, all of us dads are really just winging it. We are operating on instincts and on what we learned about life from our own fathers. Sometimes we make mistakes. Sometimes we get it just right. Most of the time we are in the middle of all that just surviving and trying our best. Again, Happy Father’s Day to my fellow dads. We rock!

How about a dad joke ending? What concert costs just 45 cents? 50 Cent, featuring Nickelback.

Lyle Lovett wrote a song called “Family Reserve” about a family reunion. I always loved this song and its perfect lyrics. The gist of the song is that they are at a family reunion, talking about people who are no longer with them. But the singer is telling someone to stop taking pictures and to join in the conversation.

Yesterday, I attended my family reunion. It was for all of the descendants of my grandparents, Raymond and Catherine Becker. Ray and Kate, a little over 100 years ago, had sex at least six times in the little coal town of Mahanoy City, PA. Every one of the fifty of us was there because of that one fact. Amazing!

While there was some talk about those no longer with us (my three siblings that are gone would have absolutely loved this), there was more reminiscing about good times and look where we all are now. For the first time in over fifty years, I saw a cousin that I grew up with and lived next door to. He was a big part of my childhood. Sadly, his memory is very poor. Another highlight for me was reliving the past with two other cousins. During Beatlemania, we made believe we were The Beatles, every Friday night in my Slatington bedroom. I was Paul. Some people want to fill the world with silly love songs. What’s wrong with that.

We had so much fun yesterday. I, literally, love everyone who attended. My family is fun and funny. Some people brought photos. The food was delicious. Cornhole (whatever happened to beanbags!) was played and we had a water balloon toss. I could go on. Instead, I’ll end by bringing it back to Lyle Lovett and his song.

The chorus of the song, “Family Reserve”, goes like this: “We’re all gonna be here forever. So mama, don’t you make such a stir. Put down that camera, and come on and join us, the last of the family reserve.” Sadly, we won’t all be here forever. We’ve lost so many already. My cousin, Terry, said to me as we were leaving that he hopes all these little ones keep it together, because we won’t be around a lot longer. Wow.

Let’s end on a more positive note. This reunion was about reconnecting. It was about memories. It was about familial love. And in the end, all you need is love.

Did you ever feel that you just belong somewhere? I don’t just mean that you are happy where you are, but there is a feeling deeper than that. An affinity. Like Jon Snow and Winterfell. Like Winnie the Pooh and his Hundred Acre Woods. Like Norm and his barstool at Cheers. I’ve recently, after a decades old build up, have realized that my affinity is to the Great Lakes Region and, in particular, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

I was first introduced to this area in the nineties when I had a corporate job and I traveled a lot. My first sight of a Great Lake was, Superior when I was in Duluth, Minnesota. Spectacular. I haven’t seen Duluth in decades but still think of it often. My first foray into the Upper Peninsula was Iron Mountain, Michigan. Again, it’s been decades but I remember details. Kalamazoo gave me my first sight of Lake Michigan. Oswego, NY was Ontario. And Erie was, well, Erie. I was hooked.

A recent vacation, with my daughter Emma, to Sault Ste Marie and Mackinac City and Island validated my thinking. I love the Great Lakes. This vacation let me complete seeing all of the Great Lakes. Huron is as amazing as the others. My hiking in recent years also made me realize that I don’t hate winter. Winter would be the one drawback to living in the Upper Peninsula. But I know better now how to handle it. Just don’t drive!

I have a few theories on this affinity. One is that it reminds me of the Lehigh Valley of my youth as far as population and roads and such. I mean before we exploded into a too busy urban area. Another is the natural beauty. I have always been attracted to water, and especially lakes. And these lakes are Great! Finally, maybe I have had a past life up there. I’d like to believe that. Maybe I had a house in Escanaba!

At 71 (tomorrow!), I will most likely never live in the Upper Peninsula. But that’s okay. My memory of this special place will remain with me. I’ve discovered my affinity place too late in life. I hope you find yours while you are still young enough to pursue the dream. I’d love to hear about your special places in the comments. Remember the mnemonic device we learned in elementary school for knowing the Great Lakes? HOMES. Yes, it seems like home to me.

Everybody knows one. A shout out to Neil Diamond! Yes, everybody knows one sad song that gets to them. I know many. Too many, maybe. I’ve been told, by a friend, that entering my car is like entering into depression. That’s because of all the sad songs on my Spotify playlist. They aren’t all sad! “Good Day Sunshine” by the Beatles is definitely an upper. But I do agree there are a lot of sad songs that I like to listen to. “You’re Gonna Miss This”, “Yesterday, When I Was Young”, and “If This is the Last Time” come to mind.

And it’s not just songs. I love a sad movie. Give me a tearjerker flick and a box of tissues and I’m ready to go. And yes, boys do cry. Yesterday, I saw one of the saddest movies I’ve seen in my life, “The Quiet Girl”. It was melancholy, and it was wonderful. Then I came home and failed at the Lewis Capaldi TikTok challenge. (Can you watch the entire video of Capaldi’s latest song, “Wish You the Best”, and not get tears in your eyes? I bet you can’t!).

So, what’s with this hang up for sadness? I have some thoughts on that. First, I think knowing that there are people out there making this content means that I am in a large group of like-minded people. Second, I have suffered so much loss in my life, including my daughter Amy, that sadness comes natural to me. Third, I like feeling emotions and experiencing life. What emotion could be as strong as pure sadness.

Don’t worry about me though! I’m still the upbeat, optimistic, lover of life that I always was. In spite of that streak of sadness, I still look forward to what each day has to offer. Here’s more proof of my happy side. My favorite genre of movie is “coming of age”, all about growth and potential. My favorite movie of all time is “Young Frankenstein”. How can anyone not love laughing at Gene Wilder and Peter Boyle dancing and singing to “Puttin’ on the Ritz”!?

Enjoy your day everyone. It’s raining, still, in the great state of Pennsylvania. But guess what…. yes, it brings May flowers!

Common courtesy died this week, after a long illness.

Common Courtesy was born thousands of years ago during the time of early man. It was recognized then by the acts of sharing a fire during winter or sharing food when others were unsuccessful hunters. Its parents were “Survival of the Species” and “the Philosophy of a Common Good”. It is survived by its siblings, “Random Acts of Kindness” and “Senseless Acts of Beauty”, both of which are reported to be in bad health as well.

Common Courtesy will always be remembered for its peak existence during the Age of Chivalry. It will be lovingly remembered in later centuries during the rise of democracies throughout the world.

Its illness, and subsequent withdrawal from the world, has been noted in the now almost complete lack of manners, the increase of nastiness, and the lessening of respect for each other’s existence. Common courtesy and kindness, while once celebrated, has become the focus of derision and ridicule. Its death this week will certainly lead to its replacement by selfishness, greed, and narcissism.

There will be no public memorial service for Common Courtesy. Instead, the family requests that each of you look in your own heart and put Common Courtesy’s lessons to use in your individual everyday lives. Though Common Courtesy is no longer with us, perhaps its legacy can be kept alive and even revived in future generations.

Happy New Year everyone! It’s that time of year where many of us choose resolutions to guide us through the new year. It’s the time for setting goals. It’s time for thinking how I can be better, thinner, healthier, and more productive in the year to come.

I’ve been there. I’m seventy. Just think how many resolutions I must have broken in seven decades! 2023 is going to be different for me. No goals. No resolutions. No pressure put upon me, by me. I’m going into the new year with a mosey, a saunter, and a meander. I’ve come across this new idea, for me, through a year of experiences and introspection.

This past year I set a goal of hiking 1000 miles. Covid kept me at 866. That pressure I put upon myself caused me frustration and sadness when I knew I wouldn’t make my goal. But, really, so what! I had fun. I hiked a lot. I’m probably healthier because of it. But if a hiker is solely focused on piling on the miles, he or she may miss things. They could miss a frog pond just off the trail. They may miss a grove of wild lilacs deeper in the woods. They could miss seeing an eagle flying across a daytime moon high above the trail. Those are things to savor.

I used to set reading goals like read a book a week for a year. But was reading a lot of books really important. To me, not really. If a reader is focused only on the number of books, he may miss some really good writing. If I am trying hurriedly to get to the next book, I may not have time to examine a particularly meaningful passage. I may not have time to think about how this writer is affecting my life with his words. I may even miss an important plot twist! But if you are like me, and believe that words are important, shouldn’t we take the time to really focus on them? Shouldn’t we savor them?

We live in a big wide wonderful world. There is so much to learn about, to see, to experience. If we are too narrowly focused, on our own goals, we could miss out on so many amazing things that this Earth offers. If we slow down, if we meander through life, many of those things will just come to us. But first we need to be open to that.

Simon and Garfunkel famously sang “Slow down, you’re moving too fast. You’ve got to make the morning last”. I am going to paraphrase and say (not sing, no one wants that) “Slow down. You’re moving too fast. You’ve got to make this lifetime last”.

This post only applies to me. If goals work for you, who am I to discourage them? But as for me, I am going to mosey, amble, and keep an open mind into 2023. And most of all, I am going to SAVOR every precious moment that I am lucky to have.

Andy Williams says it’s the hap happiest time of the year. Paul McCartney is simply having a wonderful Christmas time. Burl Ives tells us to have a holly jolly Christmas. Yet so many of my clients are not feeling the feels of this holiday season. I see an uptick of clients mentioning the feelings of sadness and the overwhelmingness of it all. I admit I sometimes feel that way as well. The expectations set by Andy and Paul and Burl and countless others are difficult, if not impossible, to meet.

Since I’ve turned seventy, I’ve noticed a big change in myself. That change has to do with simplicity. That correlates with just how complicated life has become. Even Christmas. Many have bemoaned that the true meaning of Christmas has been lost in all the hubbub, the celebration of the birth of Jesus. Christmas has instead become a juggernaut of commercialism. I am not even a Christian, Buddhist here, and I have been pulled into this powerful storm. As I write this, I can see my little Christmas tree, my stockings hung from the windowsill with care, and my Christmas gift lists, mostly completed.

I long for the time when Christmas wasn’t as commercialized. Sure, there was gift giving, but not like today. We didn’t need Elf on the Shelf to make the leadup to Christmas exciting. It was the knowledge that in just a few days, Santa would be on our rooftop. That was enough. This is not a political blog, but the current state of our holiday season is a reminder of one of the negatives of capitalism: How can I make money off of the birth of Jesus?

I worry that in my older age I am becoming a curmudgeon! This post and the last post have been a little negative. I guess it just matching recent moods. I promise that my next blogpost will bring some positivity back. Just like Justin Timberlake brought sexy back!

I’ll end with one more Christmas thought. Here is a sentence I never thought I would write: I agree with Mariah Carey. Yes, she and I are kindred spirits in the quest for a simpler holiday. She doesn’t want a lot for Christmas, she only wants you.

Last night I went to the Lehigh Valley Zoo’s Holiday Spectacular, a holiday light show and more. It was beautiful and magical, and I had a wonderful time being with family. But it also triggered a thought for me. That thought is that everything, in America at least, has become a show and a competition.

There are now so many holiday light shows. Each one is vying to be the biggest, the best, the brightest. Individuals who decorate their homes, for Christmas, often try to outdo their neighbors with the intensity and size of their displays. Cue the Griswold’s reference!

Weddings are perhaps the worst example of how show business has become the norm in our daily lives. It is not unheard of for a couple, or their parents, to spend upwards of $20,000 on a wedding and reception. There is an industry of wedding planners to make sure the show is directed to perfection. Fire hall wedding receptions are mostly a thing of the past. Destination weddings appear to be the thing of the future. The more exotic the locale the better, after all it’s no longer just about love. It’s who can have a better wedding than the rest.

Even cooking and baking have not escaped the rush to make everything entertaining and competitive. We used to watch cooking shows where the amiable host would show us how to make a meal or bake a cake. Not anymore. Now we watch to see who can make the best meal with surprise ingredients or who can cook the fastest. Today it is not enough to make a delicious cake. That cake must be so beautiful and ornate and detailed and fragile that can anyone dare to even take a bite?

I’m tired of the glitz and the bombast. I’m tired of being part of some grand show. I’m just plain tired. Maybe it’s because of lingering Covid effects. But I don’t think so. I think it’s because I’m seventy years old and I grew up in a much simpler time. A time I miss greatly. I think it’s also because I’m an introvert. The show business and the competition aspects of life lend themselves to extroversion. I would love some quiet reflection in these harrowing times.

Thanks for letting me rant. In spite of all that ranting, I wish you all a wonderful holiday season. Remember, it’s about love and togetherness. It’s not about whose tree is the tallest.

I was a sensitive and emotional child. It was one of the things my mom found so frustrating about me. It never held me back as I grew older though. Through high school I participated in sports and other curricular activities and tended to be well liked. Even to this day, I find myself to be more sensitive and emotional than the stereotypical male. Yes, I can get misty eyed listening to James Blunt sing “Monsters” or Trace Adkins sing “You’re Gonna Miss This”. I could even get a little blubbery reading “A Man Called Ove”. But again, as an adult, this has never held me back. I have had a few good careers, a few great relationships, and am one of those pretty well-adjusted humans. Why am I telling you this? It’s because of three men and a radio show. A sports radio show, no less, that’s got me blubbery again.

Over the last few years, I have been listening to the mid-day show on WIP Philadelphia. I tune in when I can. I don’t listen to any of the other shows on the station. It’s because of the camaraderie of the hosts, Joe Decamera, John Richie, and James Seltzer. They have been doing the show together for six years and they have it down to perfection. The rapport they have with call in listeners is fantastic. They talk about life, not just sports. They are funny. This description is not doing the show justice. The morning show host is retiring, and rumor had it that Joe Decamera would be taking over, breaking up my beloved team. Not so! John and Joe and James are all moving together to become the Morning Show. What has my emotions piqued is hearing that it is just not me that loves this trio. The outpouring of support for them has been enormous. Callers have been calling the show to tell them just how much they mean to them. They are being congratulated and praised. It’s considered a promotion for all of them, even though they will have to wake up at 4 am from now on.

This got me thinking of group camaraderie. Have you ever had a job where the relationships with fellow employees just clicked? Not just that you got along, but that you were productive and had fun too. I can think of a few. When I was twenty, my fellow stock clerks, at Weis Markets, and I had a great time and kept the shelves flush as well. For a few years at Crime Victims Council, we all supported each other and fulfilled an important mission. And we had fun! There was a peak time at Bethlehem Counseling when we counselors and staff members bonded well, and it was fun to go to work. I’m sure you all have had similar experiences. Looking back, they were some of the best times of my life. I hope the same for all of you.

In January, Joe and John and James will be on the air at 6 am. I will be able to listen to them less. But that’s okay, because they will be on the air affecting new listeners the way they have affected me. Sometimes the important things in our life can appear in the least expected places. It’s good to always be alert for them.

For the past several years, and much more deeply in the past few weeks, I have been living in the fictional town of Beartown. Hockey is the passion and a rivalry with the nearby village of Hed is the setting for all that happens here. This town, in the far north woods, was created by the writer Fredrik Backman. His writing makes you feel like you live there and that you know and love the people who live there with you. It’s a town where you learn life lessons. These characters just draw you in and make you want to live in Beartown forever. But, alas, it’s time to move on. Beartown was the setting for the Beartown Trilogy, and I just finished book three. I will miss these people. I will miss this town. I will remember them fondly for the rest of my life. Yes, the books were that good!

So where do I go now? My consistent readers can guess. I’m going to Slatington! Yes, non-fictional Slatington where I grew up and where I learned many life lessons. Was Slatington anything like Beartown? Not much. There is no town passion like Beartown’s beloved hockey. I guess we all like slate a lot. But let me take you back to my high school senior year, 1969-70, the year the Slatington High School Bulldogs went undefeated in football. The town was in a frenzy. We were beating teams like Parkland and Northampton and Whitehall. I thought then that every citizen lived and died by Friday nights’ scores. I realized years later that a majority of the town didn’t follow us at all. But they should have. We had players who could have been destined for pro football, like Ivan Weiss and Karl Andreas, and who did play Division One college ball. We didn’t have a rivalry like Beartown vs Hed. Our rivalry was with Palmerton, a borough as far from us as Beartown was from Hed. It came down to beating Palmerton on Thanksgiving Day 1969, in the year’s final game, to claim the undefeated season. We won! “Thunder, thunderation. We’re the Bulldog generation!”, my favorite cheer from that magical season.

Here I am, fifty-three years later, missing both fictional Beartown and the Slatington of my youth. But just like I will remember the characters of Beartown fondly, I will always remember and cherish Slatington. Small towns rule!