Not that Song Again!!!

I wrote this a really long time ago, before our son got married (He and Jena's anniversary was last Friday). I've not done very much very well in this life (at least so far), but marrying my wife and being the father to our two children were excellent moves on my part. At the time, I called it: 

Memo to My Son

Today is the birthday of our son, Patrick Michael. If we've not met, count your blessings. I am NOT likable. Take my word on that, and rest assured, I could provide you a list of folks who could attest to this fact, and the list would resemble the census in size and scope. 

Me and Patrick at Yankee Stadium Go Yankees!

Being not likable makes it a difficult stretch to be lovable, and yet, my wife, an otherwise sane and logical person, could not possibly be married to me for nearly five decades, but has. She not only raised two children, but she also transformed a self-absorbed obliviot into an Approximate Dad. 

Sigrid went into labor in the middle of the morning, and we drove across town to the Offenbach Stadtkrankenhaus. German physicians in the early Eighties were an unknown species to me (Sigrid's frauenarzt was cool enough-I still have the black and white Polaroids of Patrick in the womb), and I was to them as well. 

As Sigrid's labor continued and the contractions shortened and the delivery preparation's tempo quickened, I was asked where I would be during her stay in the geburtsaal, and I assured the doctors, 'right there with her', which surprised them. 

I attempted to explain that I had placed the order and had every intention of taking delivery. Maybe my German wasn't that good-it was like playing to an oil painting, no smile, no nothing, gar nichts.

Rocking Suspenders

The midwife placed Patrick Michael on Sigrid's chest for mother and child bonding, and my disappointment knew almost no words. At that moment, I was so jealous of the woman I loved. 

I asked as politely as I could if, after she had 'had enough of holding him', if I could, and she picked him up and fixing me with a stare that bordered on a glare handed Patrick to me, saying 'I've carried him for nine months, it's your turn now.' 

From the moment I held him, Patrick Michael was, and is, my deal with God. I know your children are beautiful, smart, talented, and handsome, and I'm sorry-they're not my children, and my son and my daughter are the absolute best, not only in the world but in the history of the world.

My always favorite photo. Always.

I walked him around that delivery room for the next two hours or so, singing I've Been Working on the Railroad and really working those Fie-Fi-Fiddly-I-Os, making up in volume what I lacked in pitch. 

He and his sister have overcome the handicap of being my children, mostly because they've had the good fortune to have the love and devotion of my wife as their Mom. And, yeah, he's made me crazy, angry, frightened, delighted, and every emotion in between--because that's what children do.

I know we told you we lost this picture. We lied.

And as long as you remember to make sure they always know that sometimes they will do things you will not like, but that you will always love them, they will be able to do anything, even leave you when they grow up to be adults of their own. And your eyes will fill with tears as you watch them end the chapter of their childhood and begin to write their own novel as the life you always wanted for them finally begins. 

And maybe the keyboard blurs as I type this because it's really warm and my eyes are perspiring-yeah, that's what it is, I'm sure. And I also get to say a few words to the newest Mrs. Kenny on the planet (to my knowledge), Patrick's bride, Jena: Sigrid and I have no words to express our joy that Patrick has found someone who loves him as much as we do. 

Patrick & Jena Kenny

Happy Birthday, Patrick! Love, Dad.

This Concludes this Test of the Emergency Broadcast System......

 

If you are NOT outraged at what is happening, you are NOT paying attention.
-bill kenny

Biding My Time

I haven't been alive for ALL of them, but I truly believe this is the saddest Independence Day holiday of my life.  

Hopefully, for next year's 250th, things will be better.
-bill kenny

Approved by Bobby McFerrin

I had an email from the Social Security administration yesterday advising me that, thanks to the passage of Trump's Big, Beautiful Bill, I won't have federal income tax taken out of my Social Security monthly stipend anymore.

The note forgot to tell me that Ronald Reagan was the one who slapped the income tax on my Social Security stipend in the first place.

We ain't just whistling Dixie either.
-bill kenny  

Not Feeling So Blessed Now

I cannot be the only one who is angry all the time at what a clusterfeck my country has become. In the battle between the Greedies and the Needies, it looks like the Greedheads won out. Let's face it, the Billionaires and Tech Brothers have decided that people with nothing have too much. 

Aerial of Norwich, CT 2019 Harbor fireworks

And don't look to Congress to stop the most awful, evil, talentless piece of skin in my lifetime to occupy the Oval Office, as they are busy helping themselves (that's why they have two hands to take it all and two pockets to put it in) and are as craven and spineless as the nine nitwits on the Supreme Court, who, instead of being impartial and adjudicating cases based on the facts, check to see if you're a woman or an immigrant or gave one or more of them a yacht ride before rendering a decision. 

You know it's bad when pond scum like Elon Musk threatens to form his own politial party to put the two monopoly parties on notice and you think that's a good idea except Musk is a horrible human being so how can you agree with him on anything?  

Norwich, CT Veterans Memorial Garden

I wrote this fifteen years ago when I was feeling far more optimistic about myself and my nation. I called it: 

The Gift of Quiet

Here's what I"m thinking, since we're now hip-deep in the holiday weekend, maybe all the bobbing talking heads on the 24/7 Noise channels can follow Piers Morgan's lead, if for only 72 hours, and not bring me their version of the Ghosts of Independence Day Past, Present and Future. 

Drone photo by Brian Swope of Norwich, CT fireworks 2021

On a good day, downhill with a strong breeze at their backs, most of these folks can't diagram a sentence much less construct a coherent argument that doesn't involve the use of 'Democrat' or 'Republican' as an epithet.

A lot of people had to sacrifice everything, and far more sacrificed a great deal (from space you can't tell us apart, trust me on this one) for us to choose to barbecue, watch fireworks, go to the beach/the mountains, do whatever, for "America's Birthday" that I'd just like us, just for today to NOT have to pick a side, unless it's either Cole Slaw or potato salad, if you follow my drift.

Television is everywhere we go, and in some places, though none that I frequent, that includes public bathrooms and newborn nurseries (like a six-hour-old infant can tell Hannity from Watters). We can't know everything, but we seem to be hellbent on trying.

The chatter channels make sure we never have to be alone-and if you and I are distressed by the vicious belittling of those who don't share a studio host's views, we may be the only people who grasp that two diatribes don't make a dialogue. 

I'm not sure that's a good thing for us, especially this holiday weekend, as we'll get stomped from both sides for lacking the purity of faith that their ideology, mislabeled as patriotism, demands.

So maybe later, instead of turning up the big screen so you can hear it better over the charcoal in the grill, you can hope for a lull in the battle that has become Life in these United States, where the sides are no longer clearly defined and the tradition of Right and Wrong hasn't been "improved" by situational ethics. 

We're not the first Americans to have seared our souls searching for a better life, but if we can't find or create a common ground to continue to do so real soon, there may not be that many more after us. God Bless America, a once-fine idea that was hollowed out by selfish bastards.

-bill kenny

It's Not a Lie if It Was Never Intended to Be True

         Old Taylor said

                Old Taylor meant to cry, oh my

                Field marshal meant

                Field marshal went away again

                Look out below, the tides

                Lean heavily like wine.

            We are all innocent, in spite of you and me

Then Martha went

Yes, Martha went away again

Down in Transvaal

Where crocodiles and men fight on.

They would have played all night

Even with loaded dice.

    It's gold that eats the heart and leaves the bones to dry

                Segovia watched

            Gendarmerie and all, that's all

        The radio man

                Amanda, did you choose your tune?

        She walked away in time.

        She walked a crooked line.

So gracefully she turned her head and smiled away. 

-bill kenny

Paging Paine

Neville Chamberlain learned much too late what happens when you rationalize capitulation.

Let's hope we're actually learning something from history and not just reliving it.

-bill kenny