gambling and disney movies

A few days ago, Hilary wrote a funny, sweet, beautiful piece about what her family did right when she was a child. After reading it, I admitted to her something that I've known since I first edited her English essays in college: She is, quite simply, a better writer than me. It kills me to say that, but the truth is the truth. Nevertheless, this is my attempt to do the same, to talk about all the things my parents did when I was growing up that I'd like to pass along to my soon-to-be-born daughter.



My parents are very different people (which makes sense, as they now live in different houses with different spouses). They always had one thing in common though: They loved me. They loved me and told me they loved me many times a day. It was sweet when I was little, embarrassing when I was a teenager, and now that I'm nearly a 27-year old dad, it seems wonderful, kind and perfect. Of all of the things they did for me, that one stands out above all others. I never had to wonder or guess how my parents felt about me; I just knew. Knowing that you're loved, unquestioningly and unconditionally, is a great feeling that I want to pass on to my daughter.

My dad taught me things that, when I write them out here, may not sound like traits that you'd want to pass along to your child. I couldn't disagree more. The things he taught me let me grow up into the well-rounded, funny, swearing cardsharp that I am today.

My dad taught me at age three that, if you were going to play a game of cards (rummy or canasta, of course), it might as well be for a dollar. I always had a piggy bank with some crumpled dollar bills in my room because, every night after supper, we played cards. We (my father, my Grandma Cherry, sometimes my mom, and sometimes my Grandpa Cherry) would sit down at the kitchen table, get out a deck of Bicycle casino-grade cards and a dollar, and play. Sometimes we'd play one game, sometimes three. I remember countless nights of looking at the clock, realizing bedtime was fast approaching and begging, "One more hand. I know I can put you in the hole with one more hand!" I hope my child wants to play with Hilary and me as badly as I wanted to play with my family.

Beyond cards, my dad simply taught me to love to play. Whether it was Monopoly on a snowday, cribbage on the floor, or any other creation from Parker Brothers, playing was a large part of my childhood. No matter what the game was, my dad wanted to play, and by God, he played to win; no going easy on first graders for my father. (Of course, knowing that he played to win made beating him that much more exciting.) To this day, I feel physically uncomfortable saying no to someone who asks me to play a game. When my students asked me during homeroom last week to play basketball with them, even though I was wearing a shirt and tie, I couldn't help but say yes. I have my dad to thank for that.

As my father is now Treasurer of Schoharie County (rather than just someone who, "pushes papers through one end of a machine and watches them come out of the other"), it makes sense that he taught me the value of money. I'm 27 years old, living on a teacher's salary, with no credit card debt and Hilary and I just bought a sensible duplex. Say what you will, but the man knows money. I look at all the people my age who are up to their ears in debt and I thank my lucky stars that my father raised me.

Perhaps most importantly, my father was honest with me. Admittedly, sometimes that honesty was painful, like when I backed him into a verbal corner by saying, "I know there is a Christmas spirit in everyone, but is there really a fat guy in a red suit that comes down our chimney?" My dad's response? "No son, there isn't." Did I weep? Sure. Do I now appreciate that he just couldn't bring himself to look me in the eye and lie to me? Absolutely.

My mom didn't gamble, let me win all the time and would have told me there was a Santa Claus until I was 15. And you know what? That's why she's so great. She's the proverbial Yin to my father's Atlantic City-loving Yang.

What my mom did teach me was how to be goofy and have fun. My mom = Fun. She made up nicknames, would leave clues to hidden Easter baskets, made funny faces, did crazy voices and to this day does everything she can to make me laugh. If anyone who knows me thinks I'm even mildly funny (and, let's be honest, I'm a riot), you have my mother to thank.

My mom taught me to be kind. She loves everyone and doesn't say bad things about people (not often, anyway). She taught me to be kind and fair to people, no matter what they look like or where they're from. Without knowing it, she made me a liberal Democrat before I knew what those words meant.

Did I mention Disney movies? My mom's nuts about Disney movies. The Lion King, Aladdin, Cinderella...if it's animated and has catchy songs in it, my mom's all for it. Lucky for me, I'm a big kid at heart and I love those movies too (and I still cry during half of them). I hope my daughter appreciates cartoons because she's got a cartoon connoisseur for a grandmother.

And finally, without being overbearing or strict, my mom taught me to value my education. My mother loves words: reading, writing, spelling, vocabulary, you name it. She used to help me study for spelling quizzes, read to me every night and write songs, both silly and sweet. In other words, just by being herself, she put me on the road to becoming an English teacher. So now when I'm sitting home in July and August, collecting checks and laughing at the poor fools who have real jobs, I have my mother to thank. I hope one day my daughter can thank me for passing on all of those values to her.

I cannot finish this post without mentioning what my third parent, Grandma Cherry, taught me. While I had four grandparents, and all of them loved me, only one was like a parent to me. "Gramma" Cherry raised me as much as my parents did. She, like my father, taught me to love cards and games; like my mom, she taught me that it was ok to be goofy and have fun.

She also fostered in me a true love of food. Veal parmesan, chicken cutlet, garlic bread, pepperoni, grilled cheese, and cookies, cookies, cookies...my grandmother was always cooking and always telling me to have seconds. Sure, I was a few pounds overweight as a kid. But I always loved food and still do to this day. I just don't eat quite as much pepperoni as I used to.

More than anything else, Grandma Cherry taught me how to be liked. Add some kindness here, some humor there, a dash of swear words and a healthy, heaping portion of laughter. No one on Earth was ever more loved and liked than my grandmother. If I can claim even a sliver of her likability, I'll be happy. And if I can share the stories and memories of my dear Gramma Cherry with my daughter, she'll grow up to know that she had the greatest Great-Grandma of them all.

You know, as long as this post is, it could have been longer. Pages. Chapters. My mom and dad weren't perfect for each other by any means, but they were nearly perfect for me. If my daughter can say anything like that in 27 years, I'll know Hilary and I did something very, very right.