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 tale of educators and music that soothes the restless soul

"If anything goes bad, I did it. If anything goes semi-good, we did it. If anything goes real good, you did it. That’s all it takes to get people to win football games.”

Bear Bryant 

LEWISTON, Maine —There are fringe benefits that come with being a print journalist, but the best perk of all is meeting kind and dedicated people who make a difference in people's lives on a daily basis.

I had the privilege speaking with one of those human beings last week. He is a teacher and high school football coach who has been in the trenches on the football field and in the classroom — for 42 fruitful years. He is an extraordinary person who served a tour in Vietnam. But instead of allowing himself to be tainted or haunted by a war that frustrated an entire nation for over a decade, Mechanic Falls native Chuck Lenahan chose to become a teacher and a football coach.

Lenahan is like Vince Lombardi and Bear Bryant all rolled into one, but his compassion for his athletes and students is beyond reproach. Like his principal, Bruce Parson, my former coach at Revere High School, these two educators share a common bond and believe in the greater good for all of their students at Plymouth Regional High School.

I could go on and on about the both them and their heroic efforts to prepare each student for the world outside the classroom, but I already have in an article I have written for the Lewiston Sun Journal sports section.

What you will find is one remarkable coach and a principal doing wonderful things for children somewhere in the woods of New Hampshire. These guys don't come along often in life, but when they appear in our public schools, students' chances for a better way of life improve dramatically.

If you want to know more about an incredibly successful high school football coach and dedicated principal, check out this link: 
http://www.sunjournal.com/news/local-sports/2013/04/06/plymouth-rock-football-all-about-pride-and-traditi/1343883

Music to my ears

What to do on a chilly, blustery April afternoon?

Well, things move fast in the big city, and all of sudden, I won a pair of tickets to listen to George Frederic Handel's "Messiah." Sure, it is often considered Christmas music, but who gives a damn what season it is when 80 extremely talented singers and musicians get together at the Franco American Heritage in Lewiston.

For two glorious hours, we listened to this ensemble perform one of the finest pieces in classical music in a grand cathedral – the former St. Mary's Church, which is now the Franco Center.

The architecture alone is something to behold when such wonderful music is performed in these hallowed halls, which also provides the perfect acoustics to accommodate such a lovely performance.

The three of us usually sit in the back of the church to allow the music to wash over us like gentle, soothing waves at Popham Beach.

I was a stay-at-home dad who would often play the "Messiah" to help my son sleep through an afternoon nap. Of course, that worked both ways.

Artistic director John Carrie produced another masterful performance thanks to the angelic voices of soloists Susan Strickland, Shannon Rolbiecki, Martin Lescault and Leon Griesbach, the Maine Music Society Orchestra and the rest of the remarkable voices of the Androscoggin Chorale 

The church was nearly filled with an appreciative audience who spent two and half hours drifting away in a sea of glorious voices and soothing music.

Bravo, bravo!

Faire thee well

"Become a student of change. It is the only thing that will remain constant."                                                                                                                             Anthony J. D'Angelo

LEWISTON - Something spectacular happens when you gather a bunch of low-maintenance and intelligent kids and ask them to create technology projects that will spark a child's curiosity.

Anthony is member of this group who participated in Lego Robotics and solar powered cars competitions in junior high. 

That old gang from Auburn Middle School held a reunion, sort to speak, to demonstrate their knowledge of technology during the Mini Maker Faire at Bates Mill on Saturday afternoon.

Their inspiration came from a dedicated schoolteacher - Jim Rowe, who has been running this succesful program at AMS for years. 

There were other creative geniuses at work at the Faire. One young man built a working telegraph that caught Anthony's eye and there was a booth where participants were taught how to make toy airplanes out of styrofoam. There were also do-it-yourself wind-power projects and weaving.

All good stuff for creative minds.

And if you needed a break from looking all the demonstrations, a tour through Museum L-A is equally impressive. The museum documents the area's history of work and community.

Mr. Rowe helped supply the material for his formers students and helped them prepare of Saturday's event.

Watching this bunch of focused kids and how they went out their way to answer questions from children and adults was impressive. 

The guys even performed a couple of demonstrations, racing solar powered cars down the old floors of the Bates Mill.

I was proud of my son for pitching in to help make their demonstrations a success. His friends also went the distance to show other children that learning in and outside the classroom is a worthwhile endeavor.

September Mourning

 

"But now in September the garden has cooled, and with it my possessiveness.  The sun warms my back instead of beating on my head ... The harvest has dwindled, and I have grown apart from the intense midsummer relationship that brought it on."
-  Robert Finch 

"'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone."
-   Thomas Moore, The Last Rose of Summer, 1830

LEWISTON — We have only so many summers to spend with our son before he sets out on his own, leaving us with hundreds of pictures and dozens of home-made movies of our moments with him.

Time does this to all parents, and it explains why September gets a bad rap from me.

I can smell September at the end of every August. 

It is like a damn prowler lurking in the shrubs, and I am the one who gets mugged every fall.

September's distinct odor emanates from grass covered in a dewy glaze and drifts through the cool nights as the days grow shorter.

If you can't detect September's cruel presence during August's last gasp, then you are suffering from allergies or are oblivious to the world.

September acts as a sign post for autumn — a season that quietly shoves summer aside and subtly prepares us for Old Man Winter's arrival.

September is deceptive and messes with our minds with Indian summers and cool nights. It tries to persuade us to let go of summer and move on to winter.

I am never sold!

I have always dreaded September's entrance. My abhorrence for the ninth month of our calendar began as a child, who spent most of his youth at Revere Beach during long, hot summers.

September's appearance meant summer was about to get the heave-ho, and its arrival added up to fewer trips to the beach thanks to the opening of another school year. 

Every time September tapped me on the shoulder to remind me summer was finished, my siblings grew older, and we would eventually be dispersed throughout the world. No longer would all four of us be together on those sandy shores, eating pizza in the boiling sun. 

It was September's fault and its appearance always made me depressed. Oh sure, I got over summer's abrupt end by November, but it doesn't make it any easier each August.

But if it means I have to suffer through another September to spend another glorious summer with my son and wife, then I will withstand the pain of a heavy heart and be grateful there is a May, June, July and August.

My dislike for the month grew during long high school football practices in August's stifling heat. September's repugnant odor was at its strongest on the practice field, and after running wind sprints for 20 minutes, all I could think about was a dip in the cold ocean — and of course, girls.

And now I lament as another summer passes and my son is a year older and an inch taller. But I am fortunate he still makes time for his mom and dad and enjoys trips to the ocean with both us. He is a low-maintenance young man with high aspirations, and there is not a day I am not proud of him.

Then September comes along and spoils our fun in the sun.

My wife and son are back at school and the house suddenly becomes empty. Not good for a guy suffering from mood swings at the hands of September.

For the last 19 years, the L-A Balloon festival has become another one of September's  reminders that summer is on the way out. We have watched the launches nearly every year at Railroad park in Lewiston. The three-day event is worth getting up at 5 a.m., especially when about two dozen balloons of all sizes and colors are launched into the sky.

It is a sight to behold as these unique balloons disappear into the heavens — along with another wonderful summer and all its splendid moments.

A city's oasis

"Keep close to Nature's heart... and break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean."

- Naturalist John Muir  

LEWISTON, Maine — Call it a slice of heaven or a lush oasis which sits quietly in the middle of an old Maine mill city.
 

This fertile tract of land is walled off by huge pine trees and tall grass. Streams, ponds and hiking trails run up and down Thorncrag Nature Sanctuary.  

It's tallest point is 510 feet. The sanctuary is managed by the Stanton Bird Club, which was founded in 1919 and began receiving donated parcels of land over the last 90 years. The "Crag" once belonged to the Thorne family in the 1800s before eventually becoming a wildlife habitat.
 

The sprawling city surrounds this 357-acre wildlife preserve, but when you begin walking the trails and become enveloped in its magnificent greenery and soothing solitude, you forget that you are in the heart of Lewiston. The city's noises fade away as you venture deeper into the forest and head for the top where an open meadow greets all hikers — and it is all free of charge.
 

Making you way up solid walking trails and narrow paths is not a difficult climb. Old landmarks, which can be traced back to the 1800s, line some of the obscure trails. This habitat is also used for snowshoeing and cross country skiing during Maine's endless winters.
 

Anthony and I started at the Montello gate and briskly walked up the steep blue trail, which is marked by spray painted trees every 50 to 100 yards. It is a half-mile walk to Anthony's Fireplace, which sits on a small open field. 

I was carrying a full pack with water, food, bug spray, binoculars and a camera when we stopped to take a breather at a unique bench called Kavanaugh Bench before we continued our trek to a large pond, which is teaming with frogs' eggs at this time of year. The murky pond supports a variety of wildlife. It is an eye-opening event when the frogs take over the pond later in the summer and disrupt Thorncrag's silence with their croaking.
 

We followed a narrow path that circles the pond and trudged up a shady steep hill toward Anthony's fireplace. The huge fireplace is surrounded by large stone benches. It is a quiet area to rest and down water and a quick snack. About a couple hundred yards away on the yellow trail, we pass Miller's Fireplace and Gordon's Ledge and park ourselves at Landry Memorial Bench, which is the summit at Thorncrag. We reach for the binoculars and peer through a narrow clearing of trees where we see a snow-capped Mt. Washington looming in the distance on a clear day.

We packed up our grub and water and headed down the sometimes difficult trail toward Whale Rock, which is giant boulder that resembles a whale. When we finally made our way down the hill without losing our footing, we decided to visit Whale Rock another time and turned west. Anthony and I carefully walked through a washed out path of protruding rocks and meandering small streams. We stopped to listen to the running streams and birds interrupt the forest's tranquility.

We moved gingerly through the rocky terrain and found the trail up to the meadow a safer climb. 

We halted our advance at a wooden park bench and munched on more snacks, but the black flies and mosquitoes were out to get us. We moved on past the Farmstead Foundation and took the orange trail to the other side of Thorncrag before turning onto the red trail where we passed Cellar Hole and Springhouse Foundation on this day in May.  

The entire two-mile hike took about two hours after making numerous stops along the way to refresh ourselves.

We often take advantage of this oasis, which is 15 minutes from our home in Auburn. It is a convenient way to visit Mother Nature on hot summer days without spending an hour on the road. 

For more information, checkout www.stantonbirdclub.org.