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Adventures in Life: Fantastic Childhood

It’s amazing the little things the mind remembers from our long ago youth. I remember the strangest things from little me; playing outside with a yellow Tonka tractor, the busy street we lived  on, finding a decomposed cat skeleton and making my friend hold it on a stick, the elementary school I used to go to and how we used to play duck-duck-goose and hold classes outdoors, watching the old black and white Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde on a big screen at the nearby park community center, coming home as a latch-key kid and watching Donahue on TV and how I’d make fun of his name.  This was all when I was in first grade. Do they even allow first-graders to be latch-key kids these days?

New building but old name: Housman Elementary School
On nice days, we’d have class under the trees.

We lived in an apartment complex in front of which was a brick wall I used to walk along with my friends. We would jump down and climb back up. I once pushed a girl who was too timid to jump and when she landed she ran away crying. Turns out she sprained her wrist. I got in a lot of trouble for that one.

You can still see where the wall used to be!

The guy who drove me to school was a rotund guy named Moe. I had a red pencil eraser in the shape of W. C. Fields with a top hat. I had no idea who Mr. Fields was- to me he looked like Moe and that’s what I called the little red rubber man when I played with him.

Down the street was the day care Mom would put me in when she went out on dates at night and from time to time I’d be there during the day on weekends. I had girlfriend (as much as one in first grade could have a girlfriend) with red hair and freckles. The sitters would get us all in our cots and would turn the TV on to watch MASH. The name of the place was The Ark.

Freeman Park Center used to show movies for kids.

Mom was dating a man who would become my step-father. He was a funny guy with a thick New York accent that she and I would make fun after his visits. He was my introduction to things Jewish. That Christmas, we didn’t have a Christmas tree in the apartment, we had a Hanukah Bush.
Down the street was a Dairy Queen behind which was a large parcel of land full of trees. Winding through these trees were trails that went up and down dirt hills, around bushes and along the banks of a small creek. Older boys would race their bikes in this forest and I thought they were so cool. I couldn’t wait to get older so I could ride up and down and around the dirt trails.

The very DQ where Dad taught me about manners.
Cleared of trees and bike paths, now an empty lot.

And in that very Dairy Queen holds a very dear memory for me. My father had once picked me up for my weekend visit. I suppose this particular night, he was a little early bringing me back and we stopped for dinner at that Dairy Queen. It was during this meal that I recall Dad telling me about the importance of manners. He instructed me on my use of please and thank you, of yes ma’am and no sir, and this was the first time I heard the word chivalry. It was a strange word to such young ears, and it would be a few more years before I really mastered the meaning of the word.

I took a drive to the old neighborhood. It’s possible that I’ve not been back since we left, circa 1974. The forest of bike trails is gone; it’s now an empty lot and a huge church. The wall I walked on has been torn down but for its foundation and a strong iron fence stands guard instead. The old elementary school is all new and modern; the original since demolished. The park seems so much smaller to my adult eyes. The Ark is now a gas station.  And my father recently passed away.

Inside the DQ

Little from our past ever stays the same. Things change, evolve or give way. Friends disappear as quickly as they became known. People grow old and die. We move on. But there’s nothing like going back down memory lane and seeing what has remained as symbols to remind us that no matter how far we’ve come, our more simple beginnings can always be humbling. 

And as I finished my meal at the DQ (the same meal I recall enjoying as a boy with my father) the rain started coming down. It was Summer Solstice and a Strawberry Full Moon. I looked across the street to the park in which I used to play and then up to the sky. There were huge billowing clouds reaching the upper atmosphere. And closer to Earth…a rainbow. I smiled as I looked at the empty lot behind and for a moment saw the bikes jumping hills and heard a young boy cry out, “It’s getting late, ya’ll. I better get home before Mom worries.” I’m glad I’ve been able to keep parts of that little boy in tact. He certainly had a fantastic childhood!

A rainbow arcs across the skies over where I once lived.

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Adventures in Life: Far Removed

Newborn Penguin with his father 1967

Things don’t always feel real when one is far away. It seems as a flight attendant, that is a common thread in life. We miss parties, celebrations, holidays, events and time, flying the world far from home.
The funny thing, and by funny I mean odd, is while flying a trip to Canada, I began talking with my flying partner on the jumpseat. You’ve probably heard of jumpseat therapy. In case you’ve not, there is a phenomenon amongst flight attendants seated on the jumpseat. We tend to open up and say things to a complete stranger that we would never say to others. It’s an unspoken bond between flight attendants.
My stories are peppered with jumpseat therapy. I’ve opened up about my illnesses, fights with friends, dating troubles and life woes. I hardly ever discuss my father, other than the fact that we haven’t spoken in over twelve years. I’m almost always asked why, and mostly, I launch into a short version about how he drank too much and would make promises that he would never remember making the next day. He was a very hard man to get along with and used money as a carrot to encourage me to do this and that for him. He was very selfish and despotic. He was a pain in my life that was quite vexing…he was also my father.

Gary and Penguin
Not wanting to bore people with the details, I was always quick to answer and move the dialogue along to the next topic. But for some reason, on this trip to Canada, I really opened up and discussed many of the stressful aspects that my relationship with Gary had endured.
Gary bought the Harley-Davidson dealership I ran in Annapolis, making me an officer of the company. After 4 years he sold it, with me staying on as GM, being a part of the sale. I didn’t realize this until after the fact, or I might have demanded a huge salary! But things were better when Gary left and after one year, I was able to increase profits 30% and retain customers better than we had in years. I loved that I was able to prove that my way of running that business was successful, and that in return led to him receiving more money from the sale of the business. I was very proud. Gary was quite silent.

Gary, Memaw and Penguin in the Harley dealership c1998
One of the broken promises that led to our estrangement was that he was going to pay me a sum of money annually. That gave way to a broken promise of assistance in buying a home or going to flight school. That gave way to promises of money from my grandmother when she passed, to another promise of an annual bonus and next thing I knew it had been ten years that he and I never spoke and not a one of his promises came to fruition.
For me, it was easier to remove him from my life than to deal with the broken promises, the rhetoric of how I cannot communicate, and the way he always made me feel small and foolish. My life was better off without the drunken calls one night and the follow up with few details remembered the next.
Gary and Penguin

He never understood me. For years he would offer me hard candy and ask if I’d like a soda, and for years I would tell him I don’t eat hard candy nor do I drink soda. For him, I am sure it was a matter of being polite and offering me something he enjoyed. To me it was a man who never learned my likes and dislikes and didn’t seem to care. Gary had his own way of doing things, including a language that drove me insane. Instead of wearing sunglasses, he wore sunners. He ran a sweeper instead of vacuuming the carpet. He never saw a movie, he only saw flicks. If I sneezed, he would say only, “Bless,” to which I eventually would answer a simple, “Thank.”
He reached out to me 2 years ago, just after Christmas. We wrote back and forth a few times and he continued with his lies and statements of me taking things out of context. I told him that I was not interested in a relationship that was still toxic. After a few harsh letters back and forth, there was nothing more.

Baby Penguin and his proud parents
Then, I got a call from a cousin I don’t hear from very often at 9:45PM, and I knew something was wrong. I had just landed from this trip to Canada when I got his message, so I waited until I got home to call him back. His words were soft and I had a hard time comprehending them. When he told me that my father had passed away, I asked, “MY father?” It seemed such a silly question.
The phone calls that follow a death in the family are not something I’m used to. I remember when my Uncle passed and how the phone rang all day. People brought casseroles and flowers to my aunt. My father was more of a stranger to me. I don’t know what his life was about or what his interests were. I had changed so much since we last spoke, I was certain he had, as well. So in a way, it was only as if a friend of the family had passed. I was sad and my family and I cried over the phone, but I didn’t feel like I had lost my father.
When my mother went through a cancer scare this past year, I was beside myself thinking of her mortality and how my life would change were she to be removed from it. But I never gave my father’s mortality a passing thought. I knew he’d live to be 95 just to spite me! There was still plenty of time for him to soften and even though it appeared to be only about money, I wanted the pain of how he treated me to be a thing of the past. Well, it is now.
I answered the calls all day and shed mutual tears during many of them. I had some great laughs, too. My father was a difficult, stubborn, selfish man, but he was also smart, funny, outgoing and often times just as goofy as I am. There are many great memories of my father mixed in with the pain.
A teenager Penguin with his angst meter off the charts in ’85.

It doesn’t feel real yet; I have lost my father, but I lost him 12 years ago, really. For the past 12 years there was always hope that he would come through, or would say he was sorry for the way he treated me, or that we could start fresh with an adult friendship of two men growing older and laughing at more jokes, singing the wrong words to our favorite songs, and disagreeing over politics along the way.
A terminal illness took hold of him two years ago…perhaps the very reason he reached out to me. However, Gary chose to keep this fact not only from me, but from the family, as well. The shock over his death brought about by his own hands to ease his pain and suffering was as much mine as everyone’s. And maybe I’m not as far removed or estranged as I thought, if out of the blue I suddenly have an in-depth jumpseat therapy session about him as he lay dying a slow and painful death. We were either more connected than I ever suspected, or he came to visit me in some spiritual way to have me open up on the jumpseat at the very time his life was ending. Eerie.

A rare photo of my step father, dad and me in Maryland ’97.

Where I used to see his image and frown, now I go searching for old photos and smile. My friend, Shawn, says that is because I know he won’t hurt me any longer. He and I were alike in many ways. And in many ways I pray we are very different. But he was my father and he taught me many great things in life. He was proud of me, in his own ways. He took from me the chance to make amends or to hear an apology, but he left the world what I hope is a good man of strong convictions; a son of moral fiber, and a caring friend to many.
Surely the memories of the hard times I had with you will begin to fade and leave only the good memories; the laughs, the tickles, the times we watched Carol Burnett, Pink Panther cartoons and Bob Newhart, making breakfast on Sundays to classical music and the way you always expected me to be a good man. I love you, Dad.

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Passenger of the Day: New Father

Seven in the morning is a little earlier than I like to start my day. I’m not much of an early person so, I’m not all that talkative at that hour. Even the nicest person can approach me to chat and I tend to tune them out and zone in on my own little cocoon. So when the young man came up behind us at the gate and started to chat, I let my flying partner take over and I turned my attention to the gate door, willing it to open with some sort of mind powers I wished I possessed. I could then just get up and walk onto the plane and await the boarding time in peace and quiet before I start pretending to be nice for the day.
When the boarding did start, the first man down the aisle was a large one and I knew right away he’d need a seat belt extension to get properly buckled up. He was very friendly and started chatting with me. He was on his way to North Carolina for vacation, and the way he spoke about it made it sound as if maybe he hadn’t had vacation in quite some time. I was too tired to think to ask and just kept up the friendly demeanor, which helped bring me into more of a humane attitude.
The second man to board was a very old man who was brought down the aisle in an aisle chair. He had a very difficult time standing up to transfer into his seat. For some reason, his assigned seat was at the window. Knowing the flight had about 30 open seats, I suggested to the assistants that we just let him take the aisle and if it were anyone’s seat, we’d just relocate them to make it easier on everyone. I would be in the aisle during the boarding process and would keep an eye on him.
After I got the aisle chair passenger settled in and went over a few safety details with him, I looked up and saw the young man who had attempted to converse with a very tired, somewhat grumpy flight attendant (me) a few minutes prior. He smiled wide at me and seemed to admire my uniform as I rose, taking in my stripes and tie. I smiled back and said, “Oh, it’s you, again, good morning.” His name was Patrick and he is the passenger of the day.
I moved back to allow him to access his seat; 23A. Rather than go right into his seat, he stood and started up a conversation. He was on his way to Kuwait to rejoin his company. He had been allowed home to be present for the birth of his daughter. He was thin and tall with blue eyes and sandy blond hair, cut short- military style. He was easy on the eyes, in military shape and very talkative. What impressed me was his outward personality, his manners and the fact that he was nicely dressed. Obviously, he was much more of a morning person than I, but his engagement energized me, so I continued to get to know him.
He looked so young, so I asked his age and was sort of shocked when he said 23. I replied that I wouldn’t have guessed older than 19. He smiled bashfully and admitted that his baby face gets him carded a lot. He continued; his wife lost her mother 5 days before the birth of their daughter. His lieutenant had found out and decided not to tell Patrick. But when the base commander caught wind, he not only informed Patrick, but sent him home so his wife wouldn’t have to deal with the birth while grieving for her mother- and the week before Mother’s Day, no less.
Patrick was very interested in talking to me about flying and my job. He mentioned that he thought it would be fun to be an air marshal. I thought it over for a second and gave him my opinion: air marshals are usually quite dry. They blend in well with passengers, keep quiet, watch a lot of movies and play a lot of games. They don’t chat people up much, because they don’t tell people much about themselves, such as why they are flying, or what they do for a living. They can’t nap and they certainly can’t occupy the time of the flight crew. With his demeanor, I told him he’d make a much better flight attendant! The rest of the crew agreed.
He professed that he thought that would be great, and that on a previous flight he had earned a pair of wings when assisting the flight crew by helping pick up trash from passengers. I told him to give it thought, he had 5 months left on his current tour, and hoped to re-enlist to keep up the great military benefits.
Later, in flight, he brought out his lap top and started showing photos of his girl. He started showing the purser, and then I came up and took a look. Next thing I know, passengers all around were asking to see and he was holding it up high for the large man with the seat belt extension to see. It was the sweetest little baby girl with a ribbon and bow on her head. The mother looked all of 18, but he said she was 23, as well.
Patrick was a sweet young man with a bright future. He was educated well enough to have a very enlightened conversation with many people. He helped numerous passenger place bags in the overhead bins and wasn’t the least bit shy. When the purser made his landing announcements, he finished by announcing the birth of Patrick’s girl and that he was returning to Kuwait to serve his country, something that really meant a lot to him, as evidenced by his comment, “No, I need to get back to my unit,” when I said that it was a shame he couldn’t stay longer with his wife.
It’s nice to see such patriotism and dedication, such manners and poise, from a young man such as Patrick. He made an impression on the people around him, and the crew. We landed at Dulles Airport in DC where he had a 7 hour sit before his next flight. We shook hands and I thanked him before he disappeared. The crew went to our next flight and boarded the plane. Even though we didn’t need his help to collect trash, we all agreed…we missed Patrick!
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Passenger of the Day: Meltdown

 

I’m a typical Sagittarius- love to travel, outgoing, tend to speak my mind, often without fully considering the ramifications. On my last birthday, I turned 46. I often still feel like I’m in my 30s; mentally, that is…my body often demands that I’m 46. I have a younger brother who came to be when I was 9, so I have vivid memories of his younger years. Being the oldest grandchild, I have numerous younger cousins. Many of my friends have children and I’ve been a flight attendant for 14 years, so I have seen my share of kids and temper tantrums.
I have never seen a meltdown like this. Ever.
It was a red eye to Newark so much like any of the many red eyes to Newark I work on a regular basis. The sun had come up and a few passengers had their shades raised, so it was light in the cabin. I looked at the display at my jumpseat which showed 22 minutes left of flight. My flying partner came to the forward galley to inform me that all though the seatbelt sign had been turned on, a man in row 10 was having trouble getting his daughter to sit down and buckle up. He snapped at her when she asked to have the child buckled up. I looked back and saw that he was now going down the aisle to the aft lavatory with the princess in tow.
I remember them from boarding. She was a cute thing; blond hair, chubby cheeks, cute lavender-colored shirt. She was about 3 years old. Dad was about my age, his brown hair beginning to gray. He was traveling alone with his daughter.
Early morning from the plane

When they came back up the aisle, she was still unhappy, but not any worse than many kids I see at this stage of flight. Some have issues on descent with the air pressure hurting their ears. Others just get bored out of their gourd, or tired, so they act out. I often find it a little humorous when they have their tantrums. I remember my brother; he’d go silent as the big scream would build pressure, then he would simply collapse to the ground like a rag doll, or one of those toys that goes limp when you press on the bottom of their stand. Then, being the big brother I was, I would wave my arms in unison to his cries, like a musical conductor. It never seemed to help the situation, but I enjoyed it.
The captain signaled our final approach and it was time to prepare the cabin for landing. I made my announcements and then walked back to the cabin to assist in the checks. I got to row 10 and the little girl was now in full-tantrum mode. Dad, his full attention on his girl, was struggling to have her sit down and get her buckled in. I could tell I didn’t need to say anything, so I didn’t. I observed for a moment and let him know I was there in case he needed anything. He barely regarded me, as he continued to struggle with her.
I could see them quite well from my jumpseat. What’s worse, I could hear them as well. Actually, not them, but her. She screamed in a gravelly voice of a little girl. Her vocabulary for this meltdown was limited; basically just, “Let me go! I need to pee,” (which she was making up) “No! I don’t want to!” and, “I want to go!” People around managed to mostly ignore the tantrum, but every now and then I could see a smirk. Sure, I felt badly for the dad, but it was a bit humorous.
As we neared the airport, the meltdown went into hyper-mode. We were about 1500 feet from the ground and she was now standing in her seat. Her head bobbed from side to side as her hands went up and down as if she were beating an invisible drum. (I think I saw her eyes roll back and green vomit spill forth.) She began to hit her father, who was taking it all very well, but was looking worn and tattered. His calm was waning, but he calmly answered her cries and tried to sweet talk her into sitting in her seat.
Suddenly, I could no longer see her, and Dad had moved into the window seat, where she had been standing. I could only see the top of his head, which was directed towards the wall. It appeared that he was holding her in place in the corner of the wall and the seat in front. His head bobbed from the continued affront by his daughter; I could tell he was still being pummeled.
As we continued to descend into the New York area, I had thoughts of, ‘what if he hurts her? What if he reaches his limit and stuffs a sock in her mouth?’ I looked back and he had returned to his center seat and again struggled to place her in her seat belt. He soon gave up, and amid her shouts he simply held her as close to him as he could, all the while, she struggled to free herself and attempt to beat him, still screaming to be let go.
About a minute before touching down, I saw a few heads turn. Passengers in front were looking back, passengers behind were looking around and forward. Up to this point, Dad seemed to think that if he didn’t look at anyone, no one would notice them. But he was now looking around and centered his gaze at someone just behind him who I couldn’t see.
I heard him demand, “What are you laughing at? You think this is funny?” Um, well…
I was this close to picking up the microphone and letting him know that I would not be having any of that on my plane. But I realized this man was a hero up to this point in dealing with the meltdown, and it was amazing that he had not had his own meltdown before now. With his little girl continuing her rampage and screams, and with the plane just above the treetops, I continued to observe.
Dad stayed in his seat after the door opened and the passengers filed into the early morning of Newark’s Liberty Airport. Many smiled and rolled their eyes at me as they left, and as the passengers came from further and further behind row 10, I realized that this girl’s meltdown was louder than maybe I thought, as everyone seemed relieved to be leaving the monster behind. And where most children sober up at this point, hers was still going!
There was a lull in people leaving and the dad took the opportunity to make his way off the plane. In one arm was the demon child from his loins. In the other was his carry-on bags. I noticed her little pink flip-flops on her delicate feet, which, as she reached the door, she began to kick and they went flying in two directions. The nice woman behind them bent down to pick them up for him. He only got about 10 feet inside the jet bridge when he had to put her down, take possession of the shoes she’d kicked off and readjust, while still trying to calm his girl down.
At this point, the little girl was pointing back at the plane yelling that she wanted to go back. I was thinking, “Oh, hell no, you’re not getting back on ‘this’ plane!”
When my two flying partners reached the galley area, I quickly debriefed them of the goings on just before touchdown. They could hear her screams all the way in the back, but didn’t hear him yell. It was so sad and I felt badly for the father and girl.
The three of us made our way into the terminal to meet our hotel van. It had been a long night and we were ready for sleep. There were a gaggle of passengers ready to board the plane we had just brought in from San Francisco, but the next gate was vacant. There was meltdown girl, still with the tantrum, some 40 minutes after it had begun, and Dad, seated next to the window, as far away from others as possible, hair a now a mess, trying to reel her in. He had a hold of her, but she soon broke free and started away from him. I looked back and the last thing I saw was this little girl with beautiful blond hair, grabbing stanchions and tossing them to the floor like some lavender-shirted Godzilla letting lose on a city. I’ve never felt so bad for a parent. I’ve never been more sure of not wanting children of my own!
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Things Learned from my Father

Two ships in the Caribbean

For many years I’ve been giving credit to Mother for my better qualities. My parents split when I was a toddler, so I have no memories of the two of them being together. I no longer know my father, and even though my issues with him are mountainous, I do have to credit him for teaching me some valuable lessons in life.

My parents divorced when I was about two and my father moved away. He moved to Dallas when I was 13 and I moved in with him just before entering 8th grade. It must have been a huge inconvenience for Gary, who was a card-carrying bachelor and one of god’s gifts to society, although no one else seemed to get that memo.

One day, in my sophomore year in high school, he comes to tell me that for Thanksgiving, he and I would be going on a vacation to the Bahamas. I was really excited about this. We flew in first class and stayed in a nice hotel with rich surroundings and a pink exterior. Our room looked out towards the ocean. I could see the pool and there, beyond, a little pier with a gazebo, jutting over the water.

It was here that I had my first experience with cruise ships. My step-father worked in the shipping industry, so he had taken me on tours of large ships in the Houston Ship Channel. But these huge, white palaces full of revelers and lights…for a young teen, they were whole worlds yet to be explored.

Using binoculars, I watched with great interest as huge cruise ships would start out as a white speck on the horizon and slowly grow in size as they would near port. I soon noticed the tug boats leaving the dock to help bring them into port. Gary saw my interest in them, and one day asked if I wanted to go see one up close. I sure did! And as we approached the ship, he said, “Let’s go on board and look around.” But could we? With no time to debate, all I could do was follow.

One thing I learned from my father was that if there is something you want to do, do so with authority and like you are doing exactly what you are supposed to be doing. There may be questions of whether or not it is ethical, but if executed just right, one could get away with anything.

The next thing I know, he was talking with the people at the gang way, and we were soon going up the steps inside the ship. It was just that easy. We walked into the casino, now quite deserted, since gambling only took place in the open waters. We went high, onto the upper decks, and enjoyed the view out to sea. Then we crossed over to the port side and looked out onto the island, a view from such heights we had not enjoyed up to now.

I looked down to the ground and to the dock and saw ropes being undone and the gang way we’d come in on beginning to move on board. I punched my father for his attention to this detail and at the same moment, without either of us saying a word, we bolted towards the stairs and down them, post haste. I’ve never seen my father move so quickly in my life!

When we got to the door, after only being on board for 10 minutes, he had to explain that we were not passengers; they were very reluctant to let us off. He told them someone outside had let us come on, but earlier, I think he more or less made them think we belonged on board. The man in uniform muttered something about being lucky that we weren’t arrested as stowaways. The gang way was returned to the dock and I followed Gary off the large ship, having to walk quickly to follow him, as his tail went between his legs.

He slowed down only after turning the corner, back on the street towards our hotel. We both had a laugh while catching our breath; glad to be back where we belonged. I asked him what would have happened had we become stuck on board. He supposed that we would just have fun as stowaways until the next port, where we’d have gotten off and found a flight back to Nassau! He said this like it was no big deal and I almost wished that had been reality. What an adventure to tell back home!

It was a huge lesson for me, watching him work his magic and seeing it blow up in his face. And the lesson learned wasn’t so much how to make things work in my favor as it was that each action has a consequence. I know what he did was wrong; he didn’t have to lecture on that. But I knew there was a power there, and if I were willing to use it, I had to be willing to accept the ramifications of doing so.

The following day was spent at the pool. It was the early ’80s, so, as was the fashion with teens, I had my portable tape player, headphones and a collection of tapes of my favorite music. Gary spent a few hours with me and then disappeared; probably off to a bar to hit on women as usual (if they only knew).

I looked out towards the horizon where I could see a white speck. Reaching for the binoculars, I could see that it was another large cruise ship heading right for us. I looked over to where the docks were and could see a tug boat and its captain readying it for launch. I grabbed my things, dashed to the room and then to the dock. When I got to the tug, I looked up to the captain, a large, surly man with a beard and a hat and wearing yellow cover-alls, and asked if he was going to bring that ship in. And then I asked if I could come along. He welcomed me aboard, showed me upstairs and said that I had to stay there, out of the way. “I won’t move,” I assured him.

After reaching the balcony and looking down, I saw the last mooring line being pulled in and then we were off, just like that. Had I been a minute later, I would not be on board. And it suddenly dawned on me what I had just done. I didn’t tell my father where I had gone. I asked a stranger if I could ride on his boat out to sea, while he was busy working to bring in a huge vessel. A smile graced my face as the wind blew my hair and I felt so alive. There was nothing I couldn’t do. And I knew my father would be proud of me.

We reached the huge boat not too far out, took in some lines and pulled it back to Nassau. People lined the rails of the ship and waved down to me. The tug seemed so small next to that large boat and I felt as big as the ship in my success. I waved back like I was in charge of the whole operation.

The tug docked and the man who let me on motioned for me to come down, which I did. I thanked the crew and jumped on land and ran back to the hotel, where I found Gary. While not too concerned, he asked quite simply where I had been. Indeed, he was impressed.

My father was also successful at the bar, where he’d met a lady. He informed me that she was staying at a resort on the nearby island, and had offered for the two of us to join her for dinner.

The island was a short taxi ride. We reached a guard house and the man within seemed hesitant to let our cab go through. I paid little attention to what he said, but I recall feeling a little uncomfortable with the story Gary was making up. But the story did its job and the gate arm lifted to allow us to proceed. He looked over to me with this look on his face. It was like he’d just gotten past the palace guards. All that was left was to conquer the king. Or in this case- queen.

We left the cab at the main entrance to a luxurious all-inclusive resort. There were lush trees and bushes, sandy areas with bars and the beach could be heard nearby. Tables were being set with linens and nice, white china and all around were sexy, young couples, in varying degrees of intoxication. I’ve never seen such a collection of string bikinis, and so much cleavage!

Caribbean Sunset

Gary found his date, who greeted me with enthusiasm. They spoke briefly and then we walked to the dinner table. We dinned on steak and shrimp that night under a canopy of stars and palm trees. I had a virgin daiquiri, but Gary let me sip on some of his as well. It wasn’t so virgin. As dinner concluded, a man took the stage. Before I knew it, there was a call for volunteers from the audience to come and do a dance number. Gary prodded me into going up. I didn’t want to, but finally gave in, not realizing at the time that it was a way for him to be alone with his lady friend. So there I am on stage, dancing like I was born to do so. One song blended into the next. Each time a song ended, a few people left the stage. But I remained, loving the attention of being in the spotlight. I’d look down to our table to see Gary and this girl. He’d look at me with a proud smile and give me the thumbs up and a wink. He had a look on his face like he wished I could stay on that stage all night.

Soon, my part in the show was over. There was a statue given out, but sadly, not to me, which sent me back to my table empty-handed and sweaty. “Let’s go for a walk,” Gary exclaimed. My father had also taught me good manners, and was big on chivalry. I folded my napkin and placed it along side my plate, as I had learned to do, pushed my seat in, and dutifully followed my father and this poor woman to the sandy beach. Before long, I lost them in the night air as I ventured off on my own to explore. It was a very nice resort, more secluded than our pink palace in town with its private beach and views of the harbor.

He later took me back to the hotel and then left again, saying he was going out for the night (meaning back to the resort to screw around with that lady). I walked out onto the pier, as seen from my room. It was a windy night and I loved to feel the breeze on my face. I put in a Stevie Nicks tape and reflected on our holiday weekend in the Caribbean. I thought about all that we had gotten away with. And thinking back on our flight from Dallas, he hadn’t bought first class tickets. He had talked his way into those seats and then got a bag full of minis to boot! He talked his way onto the cruise ship, into the resort for dinner and had me feeling no fear in going out to sea on my own. Gary had taught me a lot on that trip, that you can get away with just about anything! He really was a smooth talker. I’d need a lot of practice to be as suave as him.

While in college, I got a job working concert security. I was good at what I did and saw in others a lot of my father. There were those who would try to get backstage with stories of how they were related to the producer, or friends of some big so and so. It didn’t work, but I was greatly entertained. I knew their game because I’d learned from a pro.

I have used what he taught me from time to time. I went back stage at concerts more than once without proper credentials. I’ve eaten at places reserved for those I was not a part of. I even learned how to access my favorite theme park without paying. No one ever said a thing. I looked the part, just as I learned in Nassau. The odd thing about having been successful in these adventures is that I’m a horrible liar.

These days, I don’t find myself in such situations like I used to. And I suppose that I’ve gotten most of that kind of thing out of my system. As much as my father has disappointed me in my life, I am thankful for some of the more profound experiences in using that power, and rarely with negative ramifications. Only twice was I discovered backstage, and each time I was simply escorted out. Now if only I could figure out a way to fly on Air Force One!

Airforce one at SFO