We are over the Fourth of July hump. Summer is in full swing, the cicadas are history and the White Sox are mathematically eliminated from playoff contention through 2031.
I’m sitting here asking myself, “What is next?”
What am I going to do with these next fifty-nine days until Labor Day?
Go to work, be a dad, go to work, be a dad, go to work, be a dad, go to work, be a dad, Go to work, be a dad, go to work, be a dad, go to work, be a dad, go to work, be a dad.
Sounds like July is going to be one helluva month.
I didn’t get a pool pass this year. The Shepkids are too old to go to the pool with their dad. I might not get my Zoo Pass this year when it expires. The Shepkids seem to be too old to go to the zoo with their dad as well.
Too old to go to a parade with dad. Too embarrassed to go to a concert in the park with dad. I can’t help it if the band plays songs that I can sing along to.
Sing with me Hazel, “She loves to laugh, She loves to sing, She does everything, She loves to move, She loves to groove, She loves the lovin' things….”
“Please stop dad! O, M, G!”
“What about you Fritz?”
At least I got a smile out of Fritz. He even put a fake microphone in front of my mouth.
“You're tearin' me apart
Every, every day
You're tearin' me apart
Oh what can I say?
You're tearin' me apart!”
But he quickly ripped it away at the “Lovin', touchin', squeezin' each other” part of the song.
I don’t remember my Oldman belting out songs at a Fourth of July concert. Though he loved singing songs from “Fiddler on the Roof” when we drove through the Jewish cemeteries on DesPlaines Road.
A tradition that I have continued into this next generation.
The other day when George and I were driving home from the Golden Steer…
… we both sang a solid rendition of “Sunrise, Sunset” followed by “Tradition” and “If I were a Rich Man!”
If being a good father means being able to sing a Broadway show tune or a rock song from forty years ago…
…then I’m a good father!
When Hazel first learned to walk, she went straight into the Friday night dance party scene with her DaDa. We would groove to V103 as we transformed the living room into a house music warehouse.
Those days are long gone!
I tried recently to recreate a Friday night dance party. She went and locked herself in the room. I was left all alone to jam with Freddie Knuckles and Maurice Culpepper.
At least after I’m dead and gone…
…the Shepkids will be able to say, “Dad danced like nobody was watching and sang like nobody was listening.”
Because everyone locked themselves in their rooms or walked to the other side of the street.
It is the first weekend of July!
Eat messy barbecue, watch crappy baseball, sing with the windows down, move the couch out of the way and Travolta…
… and tell someone that you love them.
