Flashback: My Son Wants to Go to Starbucks

My son will be a father this month. That’s still sinking in. Thought it might be a nice time to recall this post from April 30, 2007. You know, even though, he’s a full-grown man, I still want to protect my son and soon, my grandaughter too.

My son wants to go to Starbucks...

My son wants to go to Starbucks with all the other 11-year-old-boys and girls in the neighborhood, tearing up the street to the coffee castle four blocks from our home.

"Dad, all the kids go," he says.

I think, but don't say, "Yea, well, all their parents are too preoccupied with their cell phone trysts and BMW payments to consider the downside to having your child at a coffee bar on the busiest street in town, just a stroll from the commuter rail crossing. And besides, you don't even drink coffee."

But that's beside the point because all of the kids go.

My wife asks one of the neighborhood moms whose daughter, also 11,  has had her own cell phone for three years: "What's the deal with Starbucks?"

“Oh, it's just the latest thing," the Mom responds.

Just the latest thing? And what will be the next thing? Defying curfew? Drinking before prom? Ditching school?

I remember when our son started to crawl. We spent a day placing safety plugs in all the outlets, putting the breakables, and storing the cleaning supplies up on high shelves.

How do we go about making our neighborhood safe? 

I make no promises about tomorrow, but at least for today, my son is not going to Starbucks.  His posture slumps, his gaze lowers, he answers in a whisper that he understands. But the cloud of disappointment hangs heavy around his shoulders.

Tonight, while my family sleeps, I'll stroll the neighborhood with our yellow dog, looking for outlets I can plug and poisons I can place out of reach.

The Many Blessings of My Parents

Today is my mom’s birthday. She would have been 103 today. She lived to be 101. This is also the month my dad died nine years ago. I think about my parents all the time, but they are really on my mind this month.

I’ve been thinking of the many blessings my parents gave me. Here are just a few.

My parents never told me to “be quiet.” Instead, they listened with interest (or at least appeared to), even when I was being silly. I think their example helped me value listening and always strive to become a better listener.

My parents enrolled me in two book clubs before I was six years old. As I recall, I received a new book in the mail every week. My parents read to me and, when I was old enough, let me read to them. The next big jump from my book club when it came to reading, was watching my dad read the newspaper every evening and then joining him when I learned to read. I loved swapping sections of the evening paper with Dad.

My parents taught me that losing and winning gracefully, were both truly winning.

My parents hugged and accepted hugs freely and actively.

My parents put few restrictions on my TV watching or outdoor activities. They preached and practiced balance in both.

My parents encouraged me in sports, even though they knew I’d never pitch in the World Series.

My parents encouraged me in music, even when my trombone practice made our dog howl.

My parents encouraged me in art, even when I couldn’t explain to them what I’d just drawn.

My parents urged me to try everything at least once, even Lima beans.

My parents taught me to respect others and expect the respect of others.

My parents didn’t scold me when I’d wake them at daybreak on a Saturday morning so they could make my breakfast after they’d both worked late into Friday evening. Instead, they moved plastic bowls and cereal boxes to a bottom kitchen cupboard and taught me how to fix my own breakfast. I’d eat in front of Bugs Bunny and Foghorn Leghorn in our family room, just outside their open bedroom door so they could keep an ear on me while catching a few more minutes of precious sleep.

And that’s just one example of the biggest blessings my parents gave to me, the patience, grace, and unconditional love that I still feel from them every day.

Thank you, Mom and Dad.

Happy Birthday, Grandma Ruth

Today, February 16, is my Grandma Ruth’s birthday. Actually, Ruth was my grandmother-in-law, my wife’s maternal grandmother. But she’s as close to a grandparent as I ever had.

My mother’s father, Edward, died when my mom was young, as did my father’s mother, Isola or Hazel. My maternal grandmother, Ora, remarried, and she died before I was born. I think the first time I “met” my step-grandfather, Glen, her second husband, was at his funeral. I was around eight years old. My paternal grandfather, Fred, died when I was two years old.

So it wasn’t until Susan and I married that I fully experienced grandparent love. With our marriage, I inherited a paternal grandfather and grandmother, a paternal step-grandfather, and Ruth, her mom’s mom. On some level, I was able to spend time and get to know each of them. But there’s no doubt that Ruth had the most profound impact on my life.

Ruth knew that I had grown up without grandparents. From the time we met, I was to call her “grandma.” She readily accepted me into her family. It was interesting and fun learning to become a grandson at age 30.

When I think of Ruth, I think of strength, compassion, and kindness. She worked her entire life, mostly alongside her husband Frank, at their small business, a combination toy, hobby, and barbershop in Crystal Lake, Illinois.

When Susan and I first married, I was unemployed and underemployed for a time. Ruth would call our home to speak with Susan. I’d answer and say, “Hello Grandma.” Her response was always straight to the point, “Are you working yet?”

I would joke with Susan about this, but her simple, direct question contained multitudes, including concern and motivation. I can honestly say that from 300 miles away, Ruth helped remind me of my purpose at that time in my life — to find work that would help me secure a future for my family. And it did.

A few years later, we moved near Ruth; We were then more often able to experience one of my favorite things to do with her and I think one of her favorite things to do with us — go out to eat. We’d take Ruth out on special occasions like Easter brunch or Mother’s Day. But often it was a “just because” meal. These always felt like special occasions. I still smile when I remember Ruth and Susan competing to see who had the most olives in their salads during lunch at Olive Garden.

After Ruth died, the family had an oak tree planted at Veteran Acres in Crystal Lake, just outside the third baseline of the ball diamond named for her husband, Frank Repp Field. When the snow finally melts this spring, Susan and I will visit Ruth’s tree. It’s a great place to remember her and to reflect how wonderful it is to experience a grandparent’s love, even if it comes along later in life.

One of my favorite memories, with our son Jonathan and his great-grandmother Ruth before Sunday brunch at the Barn of Barrington, Barrington, Illinois, sometime around 2000. Susan Barzacchini photo,

The plaque near Ruth’s tree in Veterran Acres.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Happy birthday, Dad. Today you would have turned 102.  You’ve been gone more than eight years but in many ways, you’ve never been more present with me. You visit me almost every night in my dreams and we have the best conversations. Usually, we’re preparing for or coming back from a trip. Not surprising. You loved travel and adventure. You’re still teaching me about your many strengths: patience, grace, and kindness. Cheers, Pops, and thank you.

Al Barzacchini, 1918-2012

Honoring Memory: Yours, Mine and Ours

Photo by Dawid Zawiła on Unsplash

Something to consider as we gather with family and friends this Thanksgiving week to reminisce over old times:

Maybe you & I don't remember it the same way. We likely came to that moment with different experiences & expectations. Much has also happened since. Doesn't mean either of us is right, wrong or crazy. I love you & respect your version. Now pass the #pumpkinpie

— Mike Barzacchini (@MikeBarzacchini) November 19, 2018

Instead of debating the past, how can we best live this current moment on the path to making new lasting memories (even if a few years down the road we will recall them differently)?

Hope you have a happy, healthy Thanksgiving week, full of grace and all of your favorite goodies. — Mike