Call it a wonderful night

"Sometimes I think life is just a rodeo. The trick is to ride and make it to the bell."

                       — John Fogerty - "Rock and Roll Girls"

LEWISTON, Maine — I was too proud to feel sad when my son was received a hand shake from the superintendent of schools on graduation night.

He quickly strode to the podium. His name boomed from the Androscoggin Bank Colisee’s loudspeakers for a split second in time.

It happened so fast. Nineteen fantastic wonderful years passed by without any fanfare. I didn’t have a moment to reflect as I continually pressed the button on my digital camera as he left the stage. I wanted to capture and preserve every moment — frame by frame — for this family’s history.

The Edward Little High School graduate returned to his seat with a smile on his face. We cheered from the stands, but I don’t think he could see us in that sea of proud, smiling faces.

He made it! And he passed with flying colors!

His grades were good enough to earn scholarship money, but his report card doesn’t reflect his good nature, humility and the way he handles all people with kid gloves and sincere respect.

When they look at Anthony’s grades, they won’t know how responsible or how devoted he is to his community and family. Those attributes come from being raised right in a loving environment and from teachers who went the distance for him.

I am still numb after witnessing this watershed moment in my son’s life. He is now an adult who has to think on his feet without his mom and dad hovering over him. If I had it my way, I would pay for a U.S. Marshal’s detail to watch out for him the rest of his life. 

Let’s call it protection.

I will always miss the little boy who cluttered the living-room floor with hundreds of Legos that caused us great pain when we stepped on the plastic pieces with our bare feet.

But tonight was his night to shine and bask in the glow of a remarkable achievement — getting a high school diploma and being accepted by a reputable university.

I am grateful I had the privilege of being a stay-at-home father during his formative years. I also understand there is no going back. I would be wasting my time spending hours rummaging  around past. 

Like my son, I am forced to go forward in life. I will carry those sacred memories of his childhood along the way as this family starts out on our next journey.

After taking numerous pictures and shaking hands with other students who graduated that night, I drove Anthony back to Edward Little for project graduation. All students were required to make an hour bus trip north to the University of Maine at Farmington.

I dropped him off on a perfect summer night, but I realized I would no longer be taking him to school. I was just another a parent in the crowd wondering where did those 13 spectacular years go.

I felt a bit of depression as I drove past Edward Little, but I put the kibosh on melancholy after witnessing his significant accomplishment.

This night belonged to him — and there was no room in the sweet summer air for depression or looking back because his next stop is college and we will be there — with a camera, of course.

A night to remember

"If you bungle raising your children, I don't think whatever else you do matters very much."

— Jackie Kennedy

AUBURN — The last time I looked my son was racing across the parlor floor wearing nothing but a diaper and huge grin on his handsome face. 

That was 17 years ago.

Last night, Anthony was dressed in a tuxedo and looking more dapper and refined than James Bond — a fictional, fussy British Secret Service agent who insisted his martinis be shaken, not stirred.

Writer Ian Fleming would have been impressed by the appearance of this fine young man who decided to go it alone and attend the Edward Little High School prom without a date. That takes courage, but leaves him with many options on a warm spring evening.

Yesterday was filled with Legos, models, ships and endless trips to the park for this family of three. There were tales of pirates and long-forgotten wars. Summers were spent on Maine's pristine beaches and making numerous road trips to Boston to visit our parents.

I guess some parents look forward to the day when their children move out. I am in no hurry, especially after becoming a stay-at-home dad, working nights for a newspaper in Maine and playing army men with my son by day.

You see, raising my son never gets old for me.

Things changed in a hurry his sophomore year when he discovered high school had so much to offer. He joined this, that and the other thing and decided to become an athlete. It was his idea to take the initiative and get involved at school and in his community, with encouragement from us, of course.

Terri and I both felt pride and awe in a kid who continues to astound and impress us. If you don't feel this way about your child, you are not doing the most important job in the world right, and children always suffer from parents' aloofness.

It is not easy for me to watch him make his way in the world. We have a long and loving history between us, and if I had the money and power of a president, I would have him protected by the United States Secret Service for the rest of his life.

Allowing a child to move on in his life and make his own decisions without your interference is hard to take, especially after you spent a couple years living in fear when they begin walking. When he leaves for college, the world will witness a fearless 6-foot-3 former football player go to pieces and sob like an old woman at a funeral. A good friend said Anthony's absence will probably kill me. 

I hope my friend is wrong. I want to see how it all turns out for him.

Before Anthony took the 10-minute ride to Lost Valley — a small ski resort located in the hills of Auburn — we took a dozen pictures of the handsome lad in our green backyard. Anthony is also a ski patroler for Lost Valley, but the only terrain he would be patrolling was the dance floor on Saturday night.

Terri and I often wonder where had 17 really good years had gone and why Anthony's high school years felt as if we were racing across the galaxy in the Starship Enterprise at warp drive.

I was told that many students didn't want to attend  the event and thought the cost and all the hoopla was a waste of time. What is wrong with spending four hours being young and dancing the night away without the worry of paying a mortgage and thinking about going to work the next day?

I know all too well that we only pass this way once in our short lives. But I also understand this honor student is well on his way to doing something wonderful with his life.

Watching him don a tuxedo and spend an evening with friends was just another proud moment for his mom and dad.

And our son really does look good in a tux.

Teach your children well

“One child, one teacher, one book, one pen can change the world.” 

                                                                                        ― Malala Yousafzai

AUBURN, Maine — Getting behind the wheel of a classroom is like trying to fly a kite in a hurricane or outswim a tsunami.

And when you are a long-term substitute teacher who has been ordered to parachute into the middle of a school quarter, you feel like a hiker lost on Mount Katahdin during an old-fashion Maine nor’easter.

Teachers are the whole ball of wax, and if a teacher doesn’t have lessons lined up and establish a provisional government, it will be a long 75 minutes for everybody in that room — and there will be anarchy.

I have had the privilege of teaching five classes – American Literature and Senior Writing – at Edward Little High School for the past few months. I was given the keys to the classroom until a wonderful teacher returned after coping with a personal problem.

It has been a dizzying 60 days. Dozens of students walked in and out of my classroom, placing a variety of demands on me. I spent hours pleading, cajoling and coaxing students to turn in work. I listened to students plea bargain their cases when their work was tardy. I thought of creating an appellate court to hear each student’s plea, hoping the judges would lessen my burdens. But just when I thought students turned a deaf ear to me or found me as interesting as watching paint dry, the work started flowing in, and all of a sudden, I experienced the endless joy of correcting papers. I cheered and hoorayed students who turned in a well-written essay or miraculously pulled off an A on a test. I told them they were wonderful human beings, and I meant every word of it. And when students fell behind, I wanted to bribe them with great deals like free pizza for a lifetime or gas card at a local filling station. But as a last resort, I was tersely warned them that flunking a course does not do a body good. Mention san “F” — that dreaded letter in the alphabet to all students — and watch the essays start appearing on your desk.

I have been that dedicated and besides, somebody had to get the job done, and that would be me.

So I held my ground and promised myself I would not allow this two-month stint to act as a corrosive and eat away my brain. I was working two full-time, rewarding jobs, and there were moments when this sleep-deprived teacher had day dreams of my bed and soft, fluffy pillows as Mozart’ Eine kleine Nachtmusik played on in the background.

It took a week to get my bearings and right a ship that was taking on water. Before I was given the green light to take the helm, this particular classroom was like a revolving door at a Las Vegas variety show. Several substitutes made brief appearances in front of the podium before I moved and set up shop in Room 209.

Of course, the first two weeks was sort of like the Rodgers and Hamerstein’s show tune: “Getting to Know You.” I was being vetted by students as I lectured during each period. My every move was scrutinized. I became a public figure who found himself under a microscope.

I was on my own, but I am capable of thinking on my feet and welcomed the opportunity to “wing it” in all five courses, and I enjoyed being a one-man show.

Over the next two months, I was introduced to many fine students who take their studies seriously, and that makes my life easier in the classroom. And those students who fell behind inspired and drove me to find unique ways to teach the subject matter.

For those of you who think dedicated teachers are living the dream because they have summers and holidays off, I dare all know-it-alls to take the reins of a classroom. This is no job for the timid or those who lack charisma or public speaking skills. If you don’t deliver, students will see it, and you will be held accountable for being inept.

I also felt a moral obligation to get the information across to all students and try to make them understand that knowledge is a way out and up in a work force where education is a categorical imperative.

So I jumped into this melting pot of diverse personalities and classroom melodrama. I tried to keep students interested in Stephen King’s “The Body,” a story where profanity is rampant. But King’s book takes on child abuse and does a wonderful job painting a picture of four boys who are forced to go it alone in life.

The writing classes were also a challenge. I gave sporadic lectures about how words start wars, bring peace and inspire people across the planet. We discussed one particular phrase: “All men are created equal.” I told them this sentence in the Declaration of Independence helped trigger America’s Civil War and eventually set the bar for all humanity for the past two centuries.

I did my darndest to make students understand writing is like being a sculptor. Putting words on a blank piece of paper requires thought, patience and creativity. I saw this process done well in many papers that reached my desk.

Several students asked me, that’s right — me — to help them to sculpt their college essays or write a recommendation. I considered charging $100 for each edited essay or well-written recommendation, but I knew that would be unethical. I was honored by students’ requests and would do headstands to help out any student who wants to pursue a college education.

Each student is unique and they all got under my skin. I came to appreciate them and their different and sometimes multiple personalities. I will miss their daily interaction with me. They are a fine bunch.

I make no apologies for how I ran the show. Teachers aren’t there to become good friends with their students. We are role models and mentors, and that dividing line between student and teacher should never be crossed.

I have nothing but respect for these students. I hope they feel the same about me and for the privilege of getting free education.

A family affair and a city that remains strong

"The family is a haven in a heartless world." 

Attributed to Christopher Lasch

REVERE, Mass. — I was raised on this beach. Time and weather has changed its appearance, but its sandy shores will always be remembered as my playground during the summers of my youth.

For years, my mother whispered obscenities under her breath as my father navigated our big-ass Buick down a clogged Revere Street on steamy summer days.

If my family didn't leave early, we endured a 20-minute ride through stop-and-go traffic. We didn't have air conditioning in the car. The heat was stifling in our oven-baked automobile. It was a short journey through hell.

Growing up in a coastal community and bathing in the chilly waters of the Atlantic was worth running the gauntlet to spend a day at Revere Beach.

Last weekend, we walked on the warm sand and ignored a chilly sea breeze at America's first public beach. Everybody who is anybody was out and about, and there seemed to be a sense of relief on the streets. People were cordial and the bright sun contributed to my good mood. A couple of weeks have passed since the Boston Marathon bombings. The confusion and fear has subsided despite the ongoing investigation into the attacks.

My father's struggle

There were three important reasons why I visited Revere. We threw a small celebration for one of the U.S. Navy's finest — my niece, who married a Navy guy from the great state of Missouri. It was a fine, sunny cool day on the deck of my sister's home. The Boston skyline is clearly visible from her home. It was an opportunity to meet the in-laws, who also happen to be nice people, too. There was a buffet of Chinese food for well-wishers.

I also spent quality time with my dad who is trying to stay a step ahead of Alzheimer's, but this affliction is malicious and relentless. This is man who earned a master's degree in history. He was a successful high school teacher and baseball coach for 42 years, and here he was struggling to utter simple pronouns,

But my father and I had a memorable Sunday morning after my neice's celebration. Any good day with my dad is a blessing, because there are times when his thoughts are clear and his words come easy, and those moments of clarity mean so much to me.

Big Al speaks quietly as he searches for the right words, which evaporate before he can say them. It hurts him and all of us. We are helpless and often feel hopeless because there is no cure for dementia.

Back on the beach

I tried to coax my father to come along with us to the beach. He politely refused, so we bought him a hot dog and fries from Kelly's Roast Beef — a fast-food joint that claims to be the creator of the first roast beef sandwich. 

Anybody from the Greater Boston area is familiar with Kelly's scrumptious reputation for seafood. Their fish, clam and scallop plates are unbelievable, but you will need to take a small loan to pay for them. Kelly's clam chowder is worth the price, especially on a cold New England day.

When fear and evil strike out

Every time a terrorist strikes, our openness shrinks, freedoms dwindle, and our feelings of suspicion and revenge rise to the top of our emotions.

Four days after we visited the Bay State, my son returned to Boston for a class field trip. Anthony's fearless history teacher had the class visit the Freedom Trail, Paul Revere House, Bunker Hill monument and U.S.S. Constitution. Before he boarded the U.S. Navy's oldest commissioned ship, his classmates were told to remove their belt buckles, searched and advised that any visitor who leaves a bag unattended will be asked to leave the ship.

These guys were not fooling around!

The Navy has always kept a watchful eye on the Constitution, and rightfully so. But due to the Boston Marathon bombings that killed four people and wounded hundreds, law enforcement agencies are on edge, and that means we are all under constant scrutiny when these bastards act.

But their cruel acts didn't prevent a class of wonderful students from Edward Little High School from visiting Beantown last Thursday.  Sure, I worried about my son and the rest of those kids, but when we cower in our homes, terrorists win.

Terror works for a little while, but resilient Americans won't be dictated by fear, and that's how you beat evil.

Just ask the Nazis!

Spring has not sprung

AUBURN, Maine — Despite a miserable, fu$% spring that might be responsible for triggering a wave of manic depression across the Pine Tree State, life is finding a way to poke through the cold, waterlogged ground and offer us hope that summer is waiting in the wings to make a grand entrance.

A sea of compost has been resting atop my garden all winter, protecting it from wind erosion. Every other day, Anthony or I have trudged out to the snow-packed garden and tossed peels, wood ash from our woodstove, coffee grinds, egg shells, and anything else that benefits our soil. Throw in mulched leaves and grass, rotten apples and pears from a final fall cleanup, and we have dirt that you could eat.

The snow is gone, but cool temperatures, intermittent snow flurries and hail have been unkind to plants that bloom in early spring.

Still, there are signs of life in this frozen tundra we call Maine. My chives and scallions are bursting forth and will be edible in a couple of weeks long before I plant my garden at the very end of May.

Right now, the garden looks like throw-up. It's as if Mother Nature heaved all over the land. In fact, the entire landscape of this beautiful state has been barfed on by a winter that just won't let us alone. It is still gray and any grass that wants to green up is gun shy.

But underneath this mushy, gooey compost, lies soil that makes a gardener's mouth water. The worms have been busy all winter turning this crap into pristine soil, and these guys work for free. I can't wait to take an industrial-strength tiller and churn this soil into a garden of delicious vegetables.

At this point, I am playing the waiting game, hoping April will suddenly resemble spring. I could go on and on about the weather, but shaking my fists at Mother Nature is like bitching about congress's inability to make one simple frigging decision without taking the "what's in it for me" attitude.

So I bide my time until the weather clears, but my patience is just about gone.

Mother Nature apparently forgot to tell Old Man Winter to scat!

Keeping track of my son

When any kid decides to play a sport, he should be applauded by his parents. Participating in any high school sport requires dedication and teaches students how to manage their time.

Colleges also like to see it on a prospective student's application.

My son has decided to give track the old college try, and I find it encouraging that athletes on the Edward Little track team encourage him to go the distance. There is a lot of camaraderie and goodwill going on in this squad, and that is a credit to a coaching staff who continues to inspire high school athletes.

My son has become good skier when he became a member of the Lost Valley Ski Patrol Team. This dedicated bunch taught him how to become a fine skier.

But when Anthony became aware of the rigorous, physical training at Maine Maritime Academy, he decided track would get him in tip-top condition.

But Anthony has opted to become a thrower. Running is definitely not his forte. Look, whatever he does, I will be there to root him on because that's what involved parents do.

Bitching in the rain

LISBON, Maine — We had enough of cowering inside our home, hoping the weather would warm up to take a short hike.

So we ignored threatening clouds, the of-and-on drizzle, and cold, and headed to the Papermill trail just off Route 196 in Lisbon.

It is about a two-mile walk along the Sabattus River. The slow, steady climb to the top ends near an elementary school. It is a great way to enjoy nature and the soothing sounds of a meandering river.

Showers drifted over the area and made for a damp hike, but we wouldn't let a nasty spring spoil our short journey.

We are still holding out for summer.

The sea calls to my son

Anthony stands on the deck of Maine Maritime's ship, the Ned, and braves the sea mist and cool temperatures on Penobscot Bay.

Maine Maritime's pride and joy —the State of Maine.

The bow of the State of Maine in Castine, Maine.

1. 

A true mariner.

The Turret house in Bar Harbor, Maine.

“For whatever we lose (a you or a me). It's always ourselves we find in the sea.” 

― E.E. Cummings

CASTINE, Maine — Our young sailor is back on land after his short trip around Penobscot Bay.

Anthony was one of 16 lucky Edward Little High School students who took a whirlwind, two-day tour of colleges around northern Maine.

He thought it was a worthwhile endeavor to take a peek at Unity College and the College of Atlantic, but Maine Maritime Academy was at the top of his list, and the school certainly got his attention. The students were given deluxe accommodations at Maine Maritime and really good chow.

He was impressed with the school and felt right at home on the bow of a fast-moving ship that took EL students on a sight-seeing adventure around the bay on a murky day. With the help of other students and the crew of the Ned — a 70-foot, twin-screw vessel — Anthony took the helm and docked the boat.

Students were also given a tour of Maine Maritime's pride and joy — the State of Maine — a 499-foot training ship that was built by the United States Navy. Its former name was the USNS Tanner and was launched in 1990.

 I would be remiss in not thanking the Edward Little guidance department for making this trip possible for students. Say what you will about public education, but there are many dedicated teachers and administrators who go the distance for their students, and they work right here in Auburn.

You see, my son has been captivated by the sea ever since he waded in the cool waters of the Atlantic as a 2 year old. Our ancestry is filled with seafaring men who found their calling traveling the planet's vast oceans. Throughout our history, our family tree is littered with mariners and beachgoers. I grew up in the coastal town of Revere. The beach was our playground during the summer. We are all beach bums in this family.

During his brief visit, Anthony saw a stunning rainbow over Acadia National Park, a fjord, the awesome power of Thunder Hole, Fort George, the Turrets — a large home in Bar Harbor — and used a ship simulator to navigate computer-generated boats at Maine Maritime.

During his brief excursion on the Ned, he stood on the bow, braved the windy, salty air and called his dad from a cell phone. It was one of the best conversations we had.

His fascination with ships began with large plastic boats that he placed in the path of large waves at Popham Beach. He watched the destructive force of waves toss and turn his small vessels, sending many of them to the bottom.

His passion never waned for ocean-going vessels. He can name many of history's famous ships dating back to the 1400s.

He has built numerous models of warships and has walked the decks of fighting vessels at Battleship Cove. I even tried my hand at building a seaworthy, wooden ship so that he could sail it on the calm waters at Range Pond in Poland. It still floats.

We sailed his model ships at a crowded Wells Beach on a hot summer morning. As we waded through a sea of  beachgoers,  comments like, "Dude, cool ships," emanating from a crowd of sun worshipers as we rushed toward the water.

Look, sailing the seven seas can be a dangerous profession, but so isn't driving over the Tobin Bridge and into Boston or trying to stay alive on Route 128 at the height of rush hour in Massachusetts. But this is a good paying, honest job, and it won't go away no matter how many super computers they build. Somebody has got to run those ships and deliver all those goods around the globe.

Perhaps my son will be at the helm at one of those behemoths, but that will be his decision to make in a couple of years.

It is a wonderful feeling watching your kid find his passion in life, but it is also hard on the heart letting him go. But I wouldn't have it any other way. 

He was impressed with Maine Maritime and all it had to offer a student whose heart lies somewhere out there on that vast ocean.

The sea has been calling to Anthony since he was a child, and I think he is about to give the ocean his answer.

Turning 16, a visit to Boothbay, and few odds and ends

BOOTHBAY, Maine — My son, an avid map reader who has no use for GPS, called the shots from the back seat of our Ford Escape and kept his old man from driving his rig into the Atlantic Ocean.

Boothbay Harbor is connected by a hub of winding, snug roads that surround cozy coves, which offer panoramic views of the ocean. It is a great destination to visit if you want to leave the real world behind for a day or two. 

Sure, the specialty shops are special, and yes, we bought shirts with Boothbay plastered on them and a magnet to join the rest of our rag-tag collection on the refrigerator, but the area's beauty and sweet-smelling sea breezes rejuvenate the soul.

The big draw for us was a book store and a coffee cafe located in the center of town. We don't own E-readers. We enlighten ourselves the old fashion way by reading books. Anthony found the section about Maine's coast and purchased "Storms and Shipwrecks of New England." His passion for ships and New England's coastline began long ago and continues to this day. Our passion for coffee, especially dark roast, never wanes.

I was fortunate to be at the helm with a capable co-pilot, Terri, and our young navigator as I maneuvered our wagon through those charming, narrow streets. My son has been reading maps ever since he opened a book, and he doesn't depend on a computer to find his way in the world.

Anthony turns 16 on Sunday. That's a big deal for all of us who love him. 

That's why heading to Boothbay to celebrate his birthday was a treat for all of us.

At this point in his life, he is right on target to make something of himself in this upside-down world. He has made it easy for us — so far — and I am proud of him for being a great student and a kind and caring human being.

And we are lucky he still wants to hang around with his parents on long trips. But we do make a good team on those endless drives to somewhere.

After trudging through downtown and weaving in and out of stores, we had enough and wanted to see those out-of-the way places where the crowds don't go.

We took a breather at the Flagship Inn's pool to unwind from our journey before Anthony, guide and adventurer, got a hold of a map and planned our itinerary.

Of course, hunger was at the top of our to-do list. Restaurants are expensive, but I had a hankering for fresh haddock. Anthony called out directions as I kept my eyes on these narrow avenues. We arrived at Robinson's Wharf - a seafood restaurant, pub and a fish market all rolled into one location. It is a spacious eatery that offers indoor and outdoor seating, and of course, fresh fish. The huge widows offer a spectacular view of an inlet. We chose to sit inside after noticing a huge thunderstorm was about to batter the tiny cove. Nature's fireworks outside the big picture windows provided the entertainment to go along with our small talk at the dinner table.

We all had haddock sandwiches and tasty fries before heading for another destination - Bartlett Park on the other side of Boothbay. It is another one of Boothbay's many gems that is next to, you guessed it, another cove. The park is a spacious sanctuary that provides visitors with breathtaking views of the ocean. It is quiet, clean and great place to read a book.

I wanted to pitch a tent, put up a hammock and become a squatter for life

But we had to return to Auburn because I don't own a bank (license to steal). But there was another reason to return home - Anthony's birthday.

Terri and I can't believe this 6-foot-1 monster, who consumes gallons of milk each week and has the undying gratitude of dairy farmers across New England, is about to celebrate his 16th birthday.

Just another milestone for a son who, like all teens, is a work in progress.

But aren't we all at any age?

Going to the Dogs

PORTLAND, Maine -- Actor Humphrey Bogart once said that: "A hot dog at the ball park tastes better than a steak at the Ritz."

There's a lot of truth in Bogie's homespun philosophy. No matter if you are attending a game at Fenway Park or Hadlock Field, hot dogs are a sumptuous treat behind home plate.

Last Saturday, the Sea Dogs, Maine's finest, pulled out a 4-3 victory against the Trenton Thunder. 

My wife celebrated with a hot dog. Anthony chose pizza. My, my, my, how times have changed. Pizza at a ball park!

What would Bogie say?

No secret to his success

Anthony made honors, copped the freshmen Citizen's Award at Edward Little and passed his Outdoor Emergency Care course to inch closer to becoming a member of the Ski Patrol Team at Lost Valley in Auburn.

All I can do now is just stay out of his way as he moves through this world with courage, grace and humility.

Another friend leaves us

Quentin Curtis was a gentle and thoughtful neighbor who took a sincere interest in our son. Seven years ago, we lived on Coburn Street when Quentin introduced himself. He served his country, and like many military men, he joined the U.S. Post Office after his stint in the service.

He loved the game of baseball and often visited the Red Sox during spring training. I still have a signed autographed picture from Bob Feller. The late, great pitcher addressed a photo depicting Babe Ruth holding Feller's bat to my son. 

Mr. Curtis was always looking out for my boy, and to this day the guitar given to my son by Quentin sits in our picture room and a toddler's chair is still in our cellar.

Two treasured possessions I will never give up. They will always remind me of a kind man who had it right when it comes to being a genuine human being.

Burn factor

We were heading home through Lewiston when I thought I saw a dark storm cloud off in the distance. But it proved to be thick smoke billowing from a fire ravaging a huge apartment building located in the Little Canada section of Lewiston.

We took a few detours to get home, but I couldn't help think about the unfortunate souls who lost everything in the fire.

It also reminded me of just how lucky I am.

B