I sing, you laugh

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I like to sing out loud.  Your poor grandma had to listen to endless hours of me singing along with Menudo, Michael Jackson, Dr. Dre, Third Eye Blind, or whoever my favorite artist was at the moment of my indoor concert.

There's audio tapes of my singing as a kid somewhere that my mom had me record.  Still, no one ever taught me how to sing and no one in my family told me I had an awful voice.   

When we were 11 or 12 years old, my friend Rolando yelled at me for trying to imitate Michael Jackson's voice.  He told me it sounded terrible.  I never really took that to heart.  Your mom still has to deal with my high-pitched warbling.

In High School the music teacher asked me to try out for the Choir.  She had heard something relatively good during class and wanted me to try it out.  On the day I tried out, standing before some pretty good singers, I unleashed about a third of a decent scale before my voice broke into a series of cracks and shrieks.  The music teacher kindly told me it was just my voice changing and suggested I try out again in six months.  I never went back.

No one has really said much about my singing since.  I think folks are just being nice. Then, last week you started laughing at me.

Recently you've been going to bed without the need for any sleepy time routine.  However, with teeth seeming to push and cut their way through those little gums, you've been getting a little fussy at night.  So, this week we went back to the sleep routine.

As I picked you up and cradled you in my arms, with a slight bounce in my step, I broke into Frank Sinatra's "The Way You Look Tonight"...

Some day, when I'm awfully low...

Heh, Heh, Heh

When the world is cold...

Heh, Heh, Heh

I will feel a glow... Heh

Just thinking of you... Heh, Heh

Your mom heard your raspy laugh and started cracking up. 

For about a week now I've been laughed at when I sing.  It's cute.  For now.  Because you're little.

Hopefully I'm not doing any long term damage.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

when we were young

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I spent most of the day thinking about my elementary school friends.  One of my oldest buddies, a guy I've been friends with since kindergarten, sent an email highlighting a piece another friend wrote and his own subsequent reflection.

Carly wrote a piece about our first grade class and where some of us are now. She called you "praiseworthy."   She used the word "lauded" in describing me as a science teacher.  God bless her and her words.

Your good-looking papi is in the second row, third from the left

My friend Rolando told the story of how Carly went from being his nemesis to becoming a friend.

I have great memories of both.  And today I spent a good deal of time lost in those memories.

I remember going to Carly's house to play and thinking how nice she was.  Super nice.  Her mom too.  Her mom once asked my mom for a recipe for Spanish rice.  Not sure why I remember that.  I also remember hiding a pair of earrings I got from a toy vending machine in her desk in the third grade.  I wasn't going for the earrings, that's just my luck.

Rolando is permanently etched in my mind since he was a constant presence.  Not only was he a good friend, his family was wonderful to me. He was the bold one and I was shy one and I was glad to play sidekick. I spent a lot of time at his apartment, playing video games, talking movies, discussing time travel, and going places. 

For that matter, the parents of my friends were responsible for me getting out of our cramped apartment often.  My friend Vanessa's dad took us to an antique car shows and to NYPD family events (he was a detective).  My friend Andres' parents took us to Mets games and on trips to Bear Mountain.

My mom, too, took the kids who lived on my block on trips to the Bronx Zoo and to weekly Junior Park Ranger meetings.

These memories led me to the already known conclusion that the reason my childhood is full of great memories with these kids was that our parents were incredible.  It's with their active influence that we experienced what we did and had the fun we had.

As a parent, I hope that I can do for you what they did for us.

And, I hope that you end up meeting a bunch as awesome as ours when you get to school.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa