Tom Swift and the Race to the Moon was a book given to me by my parents, back when kids received such low-tech presents for Christmas. Even back then I was a voracious reader, and the mission of Tom and his spaceship was bunched along with my yearly quota of Hardy Boys books. I thought about Tom’s adventure on June 20, 1969 as I watched a real man – an American – walk across the moon. continue reading »

It was July 4th and the street was quiet – too quiet. It’s been four years since we left our little home in Lawncrest, and we are still not used to the serenity of the Far Northeast, after living just a couple of blocks away from Independence Day central for Northeast Philadelphia. continue reading »

It is now two weeks past my 16th Father’s Day, and despite positive comments by many people (including my mother), I often wonder how good of a father I really have become. My parenting skills were certainly put to the test when school ended, in the two weeks before the beginning of camp. continue reading »

It is a simple brown box, the kind that anyone can pick up at a store. I don’t know what was stored in it before it came into my life, but in the past day it has taken on a whole new meaning.

The box was filled in increments over the years. A high school diploma was joined by a college mortarboard. That was covered by transcripts and short stories from my youth. Crude videos which I thought were works of art at the time are stored within its cardboard walls. Photos of nieces and nephews are in the same plastic sheathing with my Social Security card. continue reading »

Monday began with games, to be followed by laser tag and bowling. There will be trips to Pennypack Park, trips to the movie theater and trips to just about anywhere else but inside a classroom. Welcome to the last week of school.

With finals completed and plans for the next school year in full swing, what else is there to do except have fun? Well, there’s work. I was informed that a couple of neighborhood kids are spending their final week of school in the classroom – cleaning. Obviously, their school has a different philosophy than the one where my daughter attends. continue reading »

Like most parents, it would make me happy if my children liked what I like. I had dreams of going to the park and having a catch with my son, or getting my kids interested in literature or classic films. But those plans fall by the wayside when your children find interests of their own.

Keep reading to learn about Pat’s son’s real interests, and how Pat has incorporated them into his life. Photos from their SEPTA tour are below, as well. continue reading »

As I’ve said to my son on far too many occasions, I am not that far removed from my high school years to have forgotten what it was like to be 16 years old. I remember the awkwardness and the boredom in school. I can still recall getting angry with my parents over chores or behavior.

But I always made it a point to draw the line at outward disdain. I also never made the mistake of comparing my father to, say, one of the most hated men on the planet. Sadly, a play on that monster’s name has become my son’s favorite moniker for me in his most stressful of times.

Yes, in my home, I am sometimes referred to as “Dadolf Hitler.” Or, on his nicer days, it is toned down to “Dad Jong-il.” These names don’t pop up all the time. If I ask him to feed the cat or make his bed, I might simply be greeted by the anonymous grunting that is part of the teenager’s code. But when something heinous like homework or cleaning is brought into the mix, grunting often turns to comparing me to men who’ve brought death and misery to millions. continue reading »

Maybe it’s the warmer weather, or perhaps the end of a long school year is within their sights. Whatever the reason, as the spring nights begin to get shorter, the evenings in our home have become longer. Bed checks written in stone in September now seem to mean little to anyone at home but us parents. continue reading »

As the saying goes – the more things change, the more they stay the same. We go from children clinging to our parents, to teens who think that they know everything, to adults out to change the world, to older adults who know that change doesn’t happen that quickly. Then we look down and see our children clinging to us, knowing that in a blink of an eye, they pull away. continue reading »

We started calling it our “Lost Weekend.” But in reality, we found out more than we had bargained for about ourselves and our children. But mostly, we discovered that a bad foot can often be a good break.

The foot began to hurt the week before, and she didn’t know why.

It started out with a sore foot, and ended up as a “Lost Weekend” of revelations about luck, love and a new found trust for my children. My wife is a diabetic, and so any problem with her feet must be taken seriously. She is dedicated to her treatments, rarely missing a pill or injection. Her fingers are sometimes sore from constantly sticking herself in order to draw a drop of blood. But the foot was something new. continue reading »