Words of wisdom from my father
On a bright June day in 2007 I had plans to spend the night with relatives in town then rise early to shop at Filenes Basement’s annual Running of the Brides to find an outfit for my son’s wedding. Wearing sneakers and earphones, wired to praise music, I had planned to walk to Brookline from a hard day at the Statehouse knowing the exercise and music would help my greatly disappointed soul. We wuz robbed again! were my angry thoughts at the time but having been trained by my gentlemanly father to hold your fire and coincidentally your ire. However, according to the laws of nature and Nature’s God, I had been genetically balanced with a mother who was an artful communicator in her expressions, body language and when necessary words. So I needed some time to let my conflicting feelings come to an understanding. I’ve bided my time as we watched the stock market plunge right after Obama took office. Republicans have been as rare as loons in the Legislature and it was all we could do to wait for 2010. Real estate and the automotive industry tanked and Massachusetts has chased people away with fees and taxes but the sky has not fallen... they keep saying. I discovered that June day, tucked away, passing through a verdant but little used corner of the Boston Gardens, a statue I’d never seen before of an angel holding a basket. Inscribed beneath her outstretched wings and flowing robe were the words, “Cast your bread upon the waters and it will return to you after many days”. It could not have been more pointedly received if a boy had driven up on a bike, ringing his bell and handed me, with a flourish, a telegram addressed to me. God was saying, “I know you are disappointed but just keep on doing as I say.” Okay, Dad, you’re the boss. I sniffed and turned my thoughts to the coming wedding which would take place in the Land Down Under that Summer. My earthly father died the same day Ronald Reagan was first inaugurated. He was a loyal Democrat and he could not understand my abandonment of the Party. He loved the Kennedy boys like his own sons and had tended all four of them as they each passed through Harvard Stadium and Dillon Field House where he worked for forty years. He’d taped up ankles of royalty and given whirlpool baths to future senators and congressmen, literary figures in training and future world leaders. He had grown up in Somerville and attended Ringe Tech where he and his older brothers knew Tip O’Neil and Speaker McGee. My dad had aspired to be an osteopath and was mentored by team doctors who must have seen the gift of encouragement he so quietly radiated. He had sold popcorn in the stands as a boy and probably carried water for the team just to observe football and that grew into a career as an athletic trainer. When the war intervened he worked for the Navy keeping pilots in shape and after the war
returned to Harvard and under the direction of team doctors was grand-fathered in and became a Registered Physical Therapist.
He eventually opened an office in Harvard Square and for a while served as president of the Massachusetts Association of Registered Physical Therapists. He often joked he would write a memoir, Forty Years at Harvard Without a Degree. He instilled a strong motivation for a college education in his four children as well as being a model for us generosity, kindness and love.
I remember the things he used to say like “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” This is really good advice especially now with the Internet holding your comments forever in cyberspace.
Dad would also say, “If you go somewhere and don’t have a good time, you have no one to blame but yourself.” These words float back into my mind as I walk through life’s rose gardens and cross dangerous intersections. Dad also taught his children to take responsibility for themselves rather than blaming others. Maybe that is why I have spoken out. I’ve spent hours on Beacon Hill, lobbying, praying, dropping off plea letters, petitions and once delivered Christmas stocking coal to the “bad legislators”. I became involved in my party and was a delegate only to see the Republican platform toss away its pro-life plank in 2006. I wore red duct tape at the convention unable to support the pro-choice candidate that year. My husband And I were demonstrating the fact that there was no one speaking up for the unborn.
On April 15’o9 I went to the TEA Party on Boston Common which was a gathering of a variety of folks who all felt we were Taxed Enough Already.
Although most could be described as conservatives they were angry with the fiscal recklessness of both parties for turning the American Dream into a nightmare for our children and grandchildren. I’d like to see a party that prioritizes respect for life in the womb and defines marriage as between one man and one woman. Nothing radical just return to sanity.On several occasions I’ve testified for those values before the Judiciary Committee listening to the public on various bills representing Commonwealth Covenant Keepers. I know I speak for many who have not known how to enter the political process. They are out there and in huge numbers, like the moral majority these folks are not political, but their platform is older than dirt...hence the term Grass Roots. Early in 2010 we saw the election of Senator Scott Brown and now with the mid-term elections around the corner we anticipate a lot of changes in the state and federal legislatures.Let’s hope after November we see real changes in how things are done in the legislatures. I am looking for a whole boatload of bread to return upon the proverbial waters.
Psalm 68:11, "The Lord gives the word (of power); the women who bear and publish (the news) are a great host."
On a bright June day in 2007 I had plans to spend the night with relatives in town then rise early to shop at Filenes Basement’s annual Running of the Brides to find an outfit for my son’s wedding. Wearing sneakers and earphones, wired to praise music, I had planned to walk to Brookline from a hard day at the Statehouse knowing the exercise and music would help my greatly disappointed soul. We wuz robbed again! were my angry thoughts at the time but having been trained by my gentlemanly father to hold your fire and coincidentally your ire. However, according to the laws of nature and Nature’s God, I had been genetically balanced with a mother who was an artful communicator in her expressions, body language and when necessary words. So I needed some time to let my conflicting feelings come to an understanding. I’ve bided my time as we watched the stock market plunge right after Obama took office. Republicans have been as rare as loons in the Legislature and it was all we could do to wait for 2010. Real estate and the automotive industry tanked and Massachusetts has chased people away with fees and taxes but the sky has not fallen... they keep saying. I discovered that June day, tucked away, passing through a verdant but little used corner of the Boston Gardens, a statue I’d never seen before of an angel holding a basket. Inscribed beneath her outstretched wings and flowing robe were the words, “Cast your bread upon the waters and it will return to you after many days”. It could not have been more pointedly received if a boy had driven up on a bike, ringing his bell and handed me, with a flourish, a telegram addressed to me. God was saying, “I know you are disappointed but just keep on doing as I say.” Okay, Dad, you’re the boss. I sniffed and turned my thoughts to the coming wedding which would take place in the Land Down Under that Summer. My earthly father died the same day Ronald Reagan was first inaugurated. He was a loyal Democrat and he could not understand my abandonment of the Party. He loved the Kennedy boys like his own sons and had tended all four of them as they each passed through Harvard Stadium and Dillon Field House where he worked for forty years. He’d taped up ankles of royalty and given whirlpool baths to future senators and congressmen, literary figures in training and future world leaders. He had grown up in Somerville and attended Ringe Tech where he and his older brothers knew Tip O’Neil and Speaker McGee. My dad had aspired to be an osteopath and was mentored by team doctors who must have seen the gift of encouragement he so quietly radiated. He had sold popcorn in the stands as a boy and probably carried water for the team just to observe football and that grew into a career as an athletic trainer. When the war intervened he worked for the Navy keeping pilots in shape and after the war
returned to Harvard and under the direction of team doctors was grand-fathered in and became a Registered Physical Therapist.
He eventually opened an office in Harvard Square and for a while served as president of the Massachusetts Association of Registered Physical Therapists. He often joked he would write a memoir, Forty Years at Harvard Without a Degree. He instilled a strong motivation for a college education in his four children as well as being a model for us generosity, kindness and love.
I remember the things he used to say like “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” This is really good advice especially now with the Internet holding your comments forever in cyberspace.
Dad would also say, “If you go somewhere and don’t have a good time, you have no one to blame but yourself.” These words float back into my mind as I walk through life’s rose gardens and cross dangerous intersections. Dad also taught his children to take responsibility for themselves rather than blaming others. Maybe that is why I have spoken out. I’ve spent hours on Beacon Hill, lobbying, praying, dropping off plea letters, petitions and once delivered Christmas stocking coal to the “bad legislators”. I became involved in my party and was a delegate only to see the Republican platform toss away its pro-life plank in 2006. I wore red duct tape at the convention unable to support the pro-choice candidate that year. My husband And I were demonstrating the fact that there was no one speaking up for the unborn.
On April 15’o9 I went to the TEA Party on Boston Common which was a gathering of a variety of folks who all felt we were Taxed Enough Already.
Although most could be described as conservatives they were angry with the fiscal recklessness of both parties for turning the American Dream into a nightmare for our children and grandchildren. I’d like to see a party that prioritizes respect for life in the womb and defines marriage as between one man and one woman. Nothing radical just return to sanity.On several occasions I’ve testified for those values before the Judiciary Committee listening to the public on various bills representing Commonwealth Covenant Keepers. I know I speak for many who have not known how to enter the political process. They are out there and in huge numbers, like the moral majority these folks are not political, but their platform is older than dirt...hence the term Grass Roots. Early in 2010 we saw the election of Senator Scott Brown and now with the mid-term elections around the corner we anticipate a lot of changes in the state and federal legislatures.Let’s hope after November we see real changes in how things are done in the legislatures. I am looking for a whole boatload of bread to return upon the proverbial waters.
Psalm 68:11, "The Lord gives the word (of power); the women who bear and publish (the news) are a great host."
