First Fatherless Father's Day

There was no refrigerator art or misshapen ashtray found when my dad died last year. At least no one mentioned anything like that even though he was a bit of a hoarder.

This is the first Father’s Day for me without a dad in the world. My dad left the family when I was 10. He was hardly ever really in my world, but at least I knew he was in the world.

My dad stopped by once in a while when his travels brought him near. He sent letters on thin blue stationary. And he assigned book reports in the summers, which he’d edit with a red pencil. Being a child of divorce meant minimizing my expectations. Don’t ask for much and you won’t be disappointed.

In my 20s, I noticed a book in a store titled Adult Children of Divorce. It certainly wasn’t a manual, but it did seem to validate some feelings about being a teenage girl with an unhappy mom and absent dad.

Now don’t feel sorry for me. Without those book reports I may have never become a writer, editor, journalist. A life I love.

And I always dedicate Father’s Day to my Mom.

Since my dad died 8 months ago, I’ve been unclear about how to grieve.  Sue’s Mom died a little more than a year ago and her grief is clear. Her Mom was very present in her life and her loss represents a big hole today. And although Sue believes her parents are now together, the loss of her Mom means Sue and her siblings are now orphans. I see them shifting and changing as they redefine family.

Sometimes sadness over my dad hits me by surprise, and it’s always a little confusing. There’s still a lot packed into my relationship with my dad. In many ways, I’m still a 10-year-old kid.

Today, on Father’s Day, is the first day I’ve cried over his death. All the Father’s Day stories on TV just hit me. Somehow they cut through those minimized expectations.

Marriage Equality in Arizona, It's Personal

Marriage equality in Arizona: It’s personal  

Sue Green is a former journalist and the broadcast director of Cronkite News Service at Arizona State University. Four years ago, she married her partner of 15 years.  She first moved to Arizona in 1979.

My father used to tell me how he had to wait years for his marriage to be accepted in every state, but he didn’t say it with pity. He said it with pride because he had to fight for it.. You see he got married in 1961, six years before the Loving vs. Virginia ruling was handed down by the U.S. Supreme Court making it legal for all interracial couples to get married. Just straight couples of course, but hey, it was a step in the right direction.

My parents – a black man from California and a white woman from Liverpool - had a party that weekend to celebrate their freedom, their freedom to go where they wanted and not be afraid they would be turned away because by simply loving each other, they were breaking laws. When they married, only 24 states recognized their marriage. They even had to battle the military to get “permission” to. They met in England in 1959 and, like many G-I’s and British women, they fell in love and wanted to be together, to make a family. They just wanted to get married. But there was nothing logical about it because in more than half the states back home in the U.S., it was against the law.

After being called in to meetings with some of his superiors who spent hours trying to dissuade him, often questioning my mother’s motives, my father stuck by the side of the woman he loved, and the military eventually gave in, having no choice but to allow them to marry. No derogatory words yelled at both my mother and father during these meetings, or even threats, were going to change their minds. They loved each other and wanted to get married like their other friends.

After my mother and father were called into the offices of my dad’s bosses, and my mother called a whore, and threatened with not being able to get a VISA, and my dad being told he had to make a choice, my dad’s superiors realized this tactic would not work, and my father finally got the go-ahead and was told they could marry, but we could never be stationed at any base in any state where “miscegenation” was against the law. We would not be heading South. Quickly, my father agreed and got on the phone with my mother, telling her to grab her wedding dress which had been hanging in her closet for months. He wanted to get to registrar’s office before the military powers that be would change their minds.

That afternoon, they found a preacher, got my mother’s family together, and stood before the priest, God and a handful of friends and committed themselves to each other, regardless of the law in some states. That commitment was as strong the day my father died as it was the day they tied the knot, knowing they faced an uphill battle. But not letting it scare them off.

 Because of the laws against interracial marriages, we could not get orders to be sent to live in any of the states that did not recognize their marriage like Texas or Arizona, but that didn’t matter. My dad said there were plenty of other places that would accept him, his white wife and bi-racial child. We were eventually sent to California, and I quickly came along, followed 14 months later by my sister, and 14 month’s later by my brother.

 This interracial family with four young children who couldn’t have looked more different sort of stood out on the base. It seemed as if when we came out one after the other we got lighter and our hair got straighter. My brother could easily have passed for white, but not the rest of us. But while some people might have called us names, it didn’t bother us. We lived in a house where we knew our parents really wanted us, and were even willing to break the law to have us. How many people could say that?! We sort of lived in this safety cocoon at least while we lived on that base in California.

Then in 1967 everything changed. The Supreme Court said my parent’s marriage had to be recognized, and we were no longer “bastards” as some had called us. We were legal, everywhere.  At that point in my life, little did I know that fighting for marriage equality was far from over for me, that it was to become somewhat of a tradition for me.

  

You see, some 46 years later I found myself facing the same challenges my parents had faced when I decided to marry the woman of my dreams. My marriage to Robin Phillips was only legal in so many states, and many people told us don’t do it, it’s not worth the trouble, it will never be recognized. Sound familiar? Even Robin, my partner at the time had refused my marriage proposals several times when I asked her to marry me because she said she didn’t want to get married until all states would recognize it.

It wasn’t until I had to have a life threatening surgery that she finally gave in, married me, and wiped my sloppy tears as the minister conducted our ceremony on the beach in Provincetown, Mass., one of the few states that would recognize my marriage.

I didn’t realize how important this was to me until we signed our marriage license application and I realized this was how my parents felt, signing that paper, knowing that not everyone would recognize their marriage, but knowing they would, and that’s all that counted. It didn’t mater if it was just the two of us, or the 300 million people in the country, I just wanted to be married to Robin, and I didn’t care what the courts, lawmakers, voters or anyone else had to say about it. I knew that In Massachusetts I was “legal” and I was going to be legally married somewhere.

I felt my parents by my side even though they were not physically there as the wedding day arrived.  Robin, myself, the minister and two new friends stood there as we said our vows, heartfelt vows that summed up what we felt in the past, what we felt in that moment and what we were sure to feel in the future when the entire world would recognize what our small group of friends and family recognized, that we were now married.

Robin and I are lucky, we came home from our wedding and our neighbors had decorated our house. Before Pete and June knew us, they did not have friends who were gay, but after getting to know us as just “regular” people, they knew how important it was that we come home to Arizona, a state that did not recognize same sex marriage, and let us know they were with us. Heck, let the entire neighborhood know! Two other friends, Mark and Val, asked if they could throw us a wedding party. We have incredibly supportive family and friends, and we are just waiting for the day when they get to celebrate our “fully fledged marriage” with us, and not in just the 30 states where it is recognized.

I can go into the many legal reasons this is so important, but on this day, a day I was afraid I would never see before I passed, I would rather just spend the time thanking my family and friends for their support, the love of my wife Robin who has seen me through some tough times the past few years, the many people who I don’t know but who have fought to give Robin and I these rights, and my mother and father, those 63 years ago who taught me that it doesn’t matter if everyone agrees with you. If your love is strong enough it will be strong enough to survive all the hurtful words, and looks and comments over the years.

 They taught me that it was also my responsibility to the many who might not be as strong, and together as Robin and I have been strong enough to wait together, arm in arm not just with each other but our friends and family for this day, this day when our home state of Arizona is forced to recognize our marriage.

So, I say Thank You to all the people before me who have fought for the basic rights to be married, and those after who will continue to fight for others. Because what I have found is that love is indeed enough to see you through the tough times, and it is an amazing love that hopefully will help those who might not agree with these decisions to remember we are people with hearts and feelings, and if you can’t support us, at least respect the idea that we love each other as much as you might love the person you are with.

I thank the 9^th Circuit Court for falling on the side of those who support the idea that all people are created equal, and are willing to stand behind those words. While I wish that the voters of Arizona had had another chance to make this decision, I am happy that the court at least has seen that here in Arizona, Robin and I are like any other married couple. I thank you for helping me to once again have a reason for thanking my mother and father for showing me that no matter how difficult the journey, it is well worth each step of the way because you meet the most amazing and incredible people. Along the journey They might not always agree with everything you say, but they are good people, and they will amaze you at times when they stand up for you, so you remember to stand up for those who need your support.

     

Family class tops business class anytime

I did a lot of traveling this summer.  Some for work, some personal.  Vacations, family, conventions.

Early in my career, I thought travel was romantic. The people in my newsrooms who got to go on trips were doing cool stuff.

It certainly can be a great perk, but traveling for work is also tiring. And it takes me away from family, friends, routine.  I'm not alone in that feeling.

One of the sweetest things I saw on my trips this summer was a woman who appeared to be a pretty senior exec -- you know how it goes, fashion, nails, hair. All giveaways. All first class.

She wandered down the aisle in her power suit with the rest of us. The only difference was she was holding on to the hand of a 6-year-old boy.  It was June. School was out. She had a meeting somewhere, but she also had a little one who was out of school.

The sweet part came when she got to the row in front of me. She leaned down and quietly asked the man in the middle seat if he'd swap tickets with her so she could sit next to her son.  He said sure, got up, retrieved his bag and exchanged tickets.  That's when he realized she was sending him back up to First Class where her corporate-funded seat was.  She was trading a middle seat back in the cattle car to sit with her boy.  Her young son who was on a very cool field trip with his mom.

What did you do on your summer vacation?  That little guy watched videos and chatted with his mom all the way from Chicago to L.A.  What did she do? She got the job done and had an adorable plus-one for all her adventures.

Memory: When the head lets go, the heart holds on

My mother-in-law is fading.  She has Alzheimer's.

It's OK.  She's happy.  She remembers her kids, when to go to meals, the walking route around her complex.

She remembers she loves a cup of tea, and R&B, and riding in the car.  And most of all she remembers her husband, the love of her life who's been gone since 1996.

But a few weeks ago, she forgot me.

I hadn't been by to visit for a couple of weeks and when my name was brought up, she was a little fuzzy on just who I am and what I mean to the family.

I picked her up on the next Saturday morning so she could spend some time with me sitting on the porch, reading and drinking a cup of tea. When I first appeared, she cocked her head looking a little unsure and asked "What's happening?!"  She was ready to go for a ride, but not quite sure who she was going with.

The confusion didn't last long. Once we were in the car and heading toward home, Iris relaxed. We made that cuppa and then sat for hours, justing hanging out in each other's presence.

And family told me that she talked a lot that next week about the fun morning with Robin sitting on the porch. That was her Perfect Moment.

My Perfect Moment was when Iris truly did remember me again.

Robin, Phoenix 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Smells take me right back to a perfect moment from childhood

This street scene in Fairbury, Nebraska, looks a lot like the town I remember driving into one dawn in the 1960s.

Twice this week as I drove to work - past Matt's Big Breakfast in downtown Phoenix - I smelled a smell from childhood.  This smell was not like remembering Pixie Sticks or Sugar Daddy's or mom's meatloaf.  I smelled something that took me back to one particular day on one particular family road trip.

As I cruised by Matt's Big Breakfast, the air was filled with what I can only describe as the smell of burnt coffee mixed with maple syrup.  

When we were little, my brothers and I had a 5-year stint in Bellevue, Nebraska, a suburb of Omaha right next to Offutt Air Force Base, aka SAC Headquarters, where my dad spent his days.  We spent our days running wild, playing in a big open field at the end of the runway, riding bikes, going to school and listening to The Beatles and The Supremes.

 Every once in a while my Mom would drive us nearly 500 miles from Bellevue to Aurora, a suburb of Denver, to visit my aunt, her sister.

There we would sit in the kitchen listening to stories about the family, my aunt smoking Kents, playing a fast game of solitaire. Or we'd sit on the back porch, shelling peas. My aunt and uncle were transplanted farmers who had the biggest, bestest vegetable garden in this suburb.  

But that smell...  that smell came much earlier. 

On the morning of our drives to Colorado, my mom woke us up way before daylight. She'd hustle us into the car, pile us into the big back seat and hand us a box of donuts.  The donuts were not necessary; we fell fast asleep, the car and the world were still dark and we knew there were pancakes in our future.

  

That smell...   On this one trip, in this one small Nebraska farm town that has stayed so vividly in my mind, I was already awake as we pulled in. It was daylight, but only just. We were quiet in the backseat; we hadn't started any competitions yet; counting windmills, spotting cows, thumb wrestling. 

We pulled up on what felt like the edge of a town so small it really may have been the center. We were headed to a coffee shop for breakfast, such a big kid thing to do.

As we pulled in, my chest was filled with the excitement of an adventure ahead, the comfort of being in Mom's big boat of a car and heading to see family. We'd hit the road and now we were stopping for breakfast. All was right with my world.

And the air was filled with the smell of burnt coffee mixed with maple syrup.

To this day I have no idea what the smell really is. It doesn't matter.  That smell is love.

Robin, Phoenix

Absolute favorite Tweet this week

My absolute favorite Tweet this week ... and I've seen a lot!

This Perfect Moment shared .. well, you know, that passes on the perfect nature of it. Compound interest.

Harvey and I strode recklessly into the wilderness today. http://t.co/uvNOh631jv
— Ryan V Lower (@beautyislikeyea) September 19, 2013

The years are short: Life is the ride

Nicely done. We all have our own ride down Third Avenue.

Yafit: We don't mind if you stick around a little longer

One year ago this weekend, my friend Yafit Butwin and her three children - Malissa (16), Daniel (14) and Matthew (7) - were killed. 

The brutality of their murder was devastating to those of us who knew them and shocking to the rest of our community. They were mourned by hundreds, if not thousands, and eventually their bodies were taken to Israel where Yafit was born and lived until she moved to the United States at 20 years old.

But to a small band of women who meet weekly in Chandler, Arizona, to meditate and touch base about our lives, Yafit hung around. Her spirit stays with us. She is one of us. Yafit came to meditate when time allowed. She brought excitement, energy and the type of turmoil that can only embody an active, loving mother trying to build her own career. 

I knew Yafit for only about 18 months and I never saw her outside of our weekly gatherings, but she is still a powerful force in my life.  I sometimes feel her in the room while we sit quietly.  At other times, I feel a rush of sadness and loss over her death - not just for me but for all of us.  But more often than not, I am comforted by the fact that I knew Yafit, that she gave me a glimpse into her crazy, chaotic life so filled with love and promise.  

I am better for having known her.  

Robin, Phoenix 


Here's a news report about Yafit's death. Look at it or not. It's really nothing to do with her now.  

Love the side show

junior pride, originally uploaded by RobinJP.

This young lady had a great time at the Pride in the Pines Festival in Flagstaff a few years ago.

And I enjoyed watching her sideshow more than the main attraction.

The 17th Annual Pride in the Pines Festival is scheduled for June 15, 2013. Events, entertainment, etc.: FlagstaffPride.org


Robin, Flagstaff

Love is in the details

The famous Lily Tomlin line goes: "I always wanted to be somebody, but now I realize I should have been more specific."

To those of us who have no problem saying, "I love you," I think it's time to be a little more specific.

Robin, Phoenix

WNBA fans: We're loud and we're proud

Home opener Phoenix Mercury, originally uploaded by RobinJP.

Last week's home opener for the Phoenix Mercury was a disappointment for anyone wanting to see 1. the injured Diana Taurasi play much or 2. the team win.

But it was heaven for these two little girls .. and hundreds of others just like them sprinkled around the arena.

The team gave away shirts (orange, of course) and encouraged team spirit from starting whistle to the disappointing end (Sparks 99, Mercury 88).

These two really didn't care about the score. They shouted and bounced and spun on their seats. They copied the crowd, yelling "DE-FENSE" or "RE-BOUND" at the right times.

And since their mom was my source for Mercury news that night ("What injury knocked Penny Taylor out for the season?"), I'm sure these girls will be back.

The WNBA does a great job making the games fun for true basketball fans and people like me who enjoy watching the crowd as much as the game. I'll be back too.

Robin, Tempe

Go see a game:  WNBA 2012 schedules  

Kids say that cutest things.. especially unprompted

Overheard in the aisles of the World Market store this weekend.

A little girl about 4-years-old shouted to her mother: "I'm going to go sit down somewhere."  And then a few minutes later,
  "Mom!  The magic ingredient is AIR!"  The magic ingredient is air!"  

This little guy can't yet verbalize
what fun he's having.

A few minutes later, I passed where she was sitting. She was playing with a pinwheel toy.  And looking happy as a clam.

Sometimes the magic ingredient is air.


Robin, Tempe

Life lessons on Opening Day - Play Ball, girls!

This young girl knows that baseball is
no laughing matter. Photo: Tim Sarnoff 

Every opening day, I remember this one big lesson from life.

One day in 3rd grade, we got word that the next day the boys would be able to bring in their transistor radios.

What?!  Boys?  Could bring in their radios?!

That's lifting one of the biggest rules in school -- no radios.  Back then, that was like saying no phones.  Yeah!  The principal was lifting a rule about one of the biggest distractions in school.

What the heck was this all about?

I did a little investigating and found out that it had something to do with baseball.  The next day was baseball's Opening Day and apparently this was big enough to break all the rules.

But what's this about the boys and not the girls?   Our principal was sending me and my posse the message that

1. we must not like baseball.
2. we had no interests important enough to change the rules over.

This was pre-Title 9 and I like to think that some of the ruckus we made that next day led to some of the breakthroughs for women that followed.

We did what 3rd-grade girls do best: We pestered the heck out of those boys.  There was no corner of the playground where they felt safe huddled, listening in Boyland to their radios.  We showed them that we could listen too.   We may not have been part of the gang in the principal's eyes, but we showed them we understood the excitement in the crack of the bat and roar of the crowd.

And we showed them that they could not keep us from listening.


Robin J. Phillips, Tempe