By Alex Berger
June is just around the corner and I can hardly wait. It is a month of many events and I could write about every one of them if I had a year and six months. It is the month of marriages; “June Fest,” the Brazilian celebration capped by a mock wedding; American Rivers; the Taiwanese Dragon Boat Festival; and Adopt-A-Cat Month.
Then, there is Hunger Day; the day ice cream first was sold in the U.S.; Flag Day; D-Day; Brazil’s Lovers’ Day; Father’s Day; and, unhappily, my birthday. I am unhappy because my family considers my birthday and Father’s Day one and the same, and I receive one gift for both occasions. Humphh! There also is “Juneteenth Day;” the first day of summer; Nude Hiking Day (Last year, I participated. So I hiked to the designated beach and stripped clean. A woman took one look and told me to take off my wrinkled jump suit); Pledge of Allegiance Recognition Day; GI Bill of Rights Day; and the start of the Korean War. What a treasure of notable dates. Which one should I choose? Hmmm! I guess I will pick from none of the above and choose College Fees and Graduations.
“Alex, you financial genius,” Gloria said to me some years ago, using my nickname, “we should start thinking about college expenses,” as we gazed upon our two infant sons, a year apart in age.
“Don’t worry, no problem. College is a long way off and you can always go back to work when the boys are old enough. By the way, hon, do you think the boys will enjoy vacationing in Europe this year?”
A few years later: “Alex, you genius,” Gloria said, “the boys are now 6 and 7 years old. Isn’t it time that we put away money for their college education?”
“Don’t worry, no problem. I’m good for several pay raises. That’s money in the bank. Did you pack my purple suit for our trip to Aruba?”
And yet a few years after that: “I was talking to the other teachers in school and they say that college expenses are increasing rapidly. The boys are now 14 and 15, and this may be the last chance to save for college.”
“Don’t worry, no problem. Both boys are fantastic students. They will win so many scholarships that we will make a profit. Ask the boys if they would like to go to California this year.”
And, finally: “Alex, look what came in the mail today! It is an acceptance letter from the college of Jon’s first choice, but look at the tuition fee and only $250 in scholarship money. How will we be able to afford it?”
“Whew! That is more money than I anticipated. Don’t worry, no problem. We’ll take out a loan. Doesn’t a cruise to Alaska sound good to you this year?”
“Al,” Gloria said, “Vance was accepted by Cornell. The tuition is staggering!”
“Hmm, I thought he would get a much larger scholarship than $250. Don’t worry, no problem. Last year I became good friends with the neighborhood banker. We’re good for a second loan. But, sugar, you wouldn’t object to a vacation in the Catskills this year, would you?”
“Hey,” Gloria said, “the boys need money for books, personal expenses, and…”
“Don’t worry, no problem,” I gulped. “I wonder if I can take out a third loan?”
Well, to make a long story short, we lived through some very difficult years. But, with no vacations and the boys’ summer jobs, we pulled through; however, I do not recommend this method.
At graduation time, permit me to quote the essay written by my good friend, sports commentator and Giants fan, the late John Kennelly, to his son upon his graduation from high school:
“I would like to depart from sports to talk about a young man, a teenager. He’s graduating from high school today and his name is Paul. He roots for the Rangers, but he’d rather play hockey than watch it. He won’t spend a Sunday afternoon in front of the television set to see the Giants, but offer him tickets to the game and he’s on his way to the stadium.
He and hundreds of his classmates will conclude another phase of their young lives when they’re called front and center to receive their diplomas this evening, and one has to hope that they can make something better of this world than our generation was able to. There’ll be pictures taken of those kids this evening, and promises made among them pledging lifelong friendships. There’ll be smiles and laughter and tears of joy, and there’ll be a huge party afterwards and then an all-night dance sponsored by the school, and tomorrow at dawn the dance will break up and the young people will head in different directions and God only knows when many of their paths will cross again, because such is the way of growing up.
Speaking of those graduation pictures, none of them will ever match the one picture I have of Paul when he was a year and a half. He is sitting on a stoop, his face as red as an exit sign, squealing at the top of his voice for no apparent reason. He did that for most of the first two years of his life, again for no apparent reason. I have another picture of Paul, with his first real two-wheeler, wearing a smile as broad as the driveway he was riding it down, and I have another snapshot in my mind’s eye of a ballgame I took him to, holding a hot dog almost too big for his hands, and as fast as he ate into one end of the roll, that’s how fast the hot dog was squirting out the other end.
That squealing, yowling “short-round” 17 years ago, who had trouble handling a hot dog is now a strapping 6-footer who could draw laughter from a statue. He’s as typical a kid, I guess, as all the others he’s graduated with. A paradox, bright, but with lousy school marks, strong as an ox and as gentle as a nurse. He can try on a suit and look like it has been slept in, [takes] two showers a day, is fussy as heck about how he looks, and yet, his room looks and smells like a logging camp at times.
His parents spent most of his early life trying to get him to eat his vegetables, and by the time they stopped trying, Paul was eating anything that wouldn’t eat him. Listen up, Paul and your classmates, the old order giveth way to the new. Effective tonight, no more being grounded because you didn’t do your homework. No more calls to your parents from your guidance counselors and teachers when your marks reached the precipice and threatened to topple over. No more detention when you oversleep and are late for class. No more grief from your father when you squandered your hard-earned money for tickets to a rock concert and no more flack from your old man about why you would want to go to one of those noise festivals in the first place.
No more of a whole lot of things that your younger brother is still having to live with. Today you’re a man. You’re able to drive, to vote, to do a whole lot of things. You’ll learn very quickly, with rights, privilege and license come responsibility and duty. I hope that as the years pass from here and, if and when you have sons and daughters of your own, they will give you as much pleasure and joy and laughter and love and hope and faith as you’ve given your parents, for I don’t know if you have grown into one fine young man because of your parents, or in spite of us. I’m Paul Kennelly’s father.”
Enjoy the jubilant, joyful month of June.
Reach columnist Alex Berger by e-mail at timesledger@aol.com, or call 229-0300, ext. 140
