Friday, March 20, 2009

Answered Prayer



In 1958, my dad was really starting to like baseball. He was about 11 at the time and his dad went to a winter banquet put on by the rotary club. A guy named Stan Lopata was there and he was a star player for the Philadelphia Phillies. In fact, just a couple years earlier than that, he had hit 32 home runs, which was a really big deal! Well, his dad got an autograph from Stan Lopata at this banquet and it was written on an envelope. When he came home, he gave that envelope to my dad. None of his friends' dad went to this banquet, so dad was the only one with his autograph. He was thrilled!!!! It was his most prized possession. When he'd get his cheese boxes out with his baseball cards inside, that envelope was with them too. He showed everyone this autograph and just was so proud of this thing. Now, after a few months, maybe a year, he had left his baseball cards out with this envelope, as he often did, when his mom picked it up and threw it away. Apparently not realizing that THIS was the envelope with Stan's autograph on it! When dad found out, he was crushed. Devastated! He ran upstairs and wept. Thinking maybe it had fallen behind the baseboard, he pulled it from the wall to check. Wasn't there. Dug through the trash. Wasn't there. He looked in every nook and cranny in that house. Looked under every piece of paper. Everywhere!!!! Nothing. He prayed and prayed and prayed, "Lord, PLEASE let me find this envelope!!!!!". Nothing. It was lost forever. God had apparently told him "no". He gave his mom a hard time for years and years. Even in her 70s, he'd bring up the fact that she threw away his autographed envelope. Well....... something amazing happened today. Today he bought a pack of Heritage baseball cards, which are reprints of Topps cards from the 1950s and 1960s. He bought just one pack and as he was going through it, he saw an autographed card. The signature was in red, so he knew it was something special. When he got to that card and read it, do you know who it was? STAN LOPATA!!!! 50 years after his autographed envelope from Stan Lopata was thrown away, he got that autograph back!! Stan is 83 yrs old now and signed just 60 cards. 60! And, dad got #57 today. God DOES answer prayer. Sometimes when he means "wait", he means "wait a really long time". :-) I bet Grandma is looking down from heaven saying, "See? I got it back for you after all.". Wow!!

Dog and Teddy


I asked my dad what his favorite toys were growing up. The first ones that came to mind were his stuffed bear and stuffed dog - named aptly "Dog" and "Teddy". Now, he said when he was 4 or 5, he didn't yet have a bear. Only his older sister Judi had one. But, a family in the church sadly were killed on their way to the church by a drunk driver and he received some of their young boy's toys. In the box of stuff were the bear and dog. Now dad, with the imagination he had, truly believed these animals were alive. They had a REAL dog at the time named Jett, who was a black cocker spaniel and he ate the eyes off teh dog. They were little screw eyes and amazingly Jett didn't seem to have any ill effects from eating them. Anyway, since Dog didn't have eyes any longer, dad considered him blind - thus needing special treatment. You know, as truly blind dogs often do. Every night when he'd go to bed, he's place Teddy on his right and Dog on his left, to make sure they both knew they were loved equally. If any other stuffed animals slept in bed, they would be placed around Teddy and Dog, since they were the leaders. Now, dad had a bit of a bed-wetting problem (I believe this lasted until he was about 24 and regrettably returned earlier this year - it's been a bit awkward actually....). As I was saying, with this bed-wetting problem came washings and over time the washings would make them end up losing an ear or their nose or something. Each time he'd cry over the loss of these appendages. Grandma sewed much of it back on, but even today, as you see above, these friends have seen better days. They were well loved and I always remember as a kid seeing and sometimes playing with these animals. Just as Millie and Janice were his invisable friends, these stuffed friends were faithful companions for many years. Good 'ole Dog and Teddy.
***By the way, he doesn't currently have a bed-wetting problem. I added that for a laugh. But let's be honest, it's just a matter of time, right? Maybe a year....... two tops. ;-)

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

The Mitt Trauma



The story I'm about to convey is one of my dad's most defining moments (to quote Dr. Phil). A story so traumatic, so filled with anxiety, that it brings up fear and embarrassment 52 yrs later. This is the tale of (du du duuuuu)...... the mitt. In 1957 my dad loved baseball. He played with the area boys all the time, but didn't have a mitt, so he would borrow some from his friends when they'd play. This was ok for just playing around town, but to join Little League, he needed a mitt of his own. He went to his dad and asked if he could buy him a mitt. He said sure and off they went to a store downtown. The nice mitts they had though were $5 and they couldn't afford $5. There was an old-style mitt there that cost about $2. But, this glove was flat, had shoestring laces, and was something you might have seen Ty Cobb using decades earlier. Dad did NOT want that mitt! He tried talking his dad out of buying it by saying they could look later or that he didn't really need one right then. Anything to get out of his dad buying that particular glove. How could he tell his dad that getting that mitt would be embarrassing to him? His dad was so proud!! Even with all those convincing arguments about why they shouldn't buy the glove, his dad bought the mitt and they took it home. Dad mortified about the idea of showing it to anyone. He was made to show his brother, who just laughed at him. Had to show his mom. But, the worse thing was knowing that he had to show his friends. His knew he would walk to the field with that mitt and be mocked by all his friends. Ridiculed for having such an awful glove. He was around 9 at the time and that kind of teasing really hurt him and he cried and cried over that glove. He couldn't tell anyone that he hated it. He didn't want to hurt his dad's feelings. Admit to his embarrassment over the fact that his dad didn't know enough about baseball to know that this mitt was a terrible one. He knew he would never be willing to use that glove to play Little League. He couldn't do it. So, he came up with a plan to "lose" it. There was a hatbox on top of a wardrobe in his room that he knew no one looked in. So, he hid it there and told his dad he lost it. Well, his dad wasn't about to buy him another one after having just bought him that one, so he went without a mitt - meaning he went without getting to play Little League Baseball. The mitt was hidden for quite a while and every time dad would look at that box, feelings of dread would come up. He was scared to death someone would find the mitt and return it to him and he'd have to once again use it. It was like the tell-tale heart - beating for him. But, no one found it. Months went by, even years! Five years actually until one day, still unknown to this day why, his brother Carl got out the hatbox and exclaimed, "Mark! I found your glove!!!" HORROR!!!!!!!!!!! The moment is seared in my father's memory like it happened yesterday. The panic, the fear...... he wept. Not the glove! Not the mitt he tried so hard to push from his mind. His dad was so excited for him. "You can play baseball now!" He couldn't believe it. He couldn't say to his dad that he hated the glove. That the glove was like the devil to him, out to destroy all happiness in the world. He didn't want to hurt his dad or admit to anyone that he was embarrassed by this glove. There was no one to tell. So, he kept the glove. He tucked it away and every time he'd get a glance at it, the feelings of terror would strike him again. The panic attacks, the cold-sweats. All associated with this glove. When he was 15 his friend Bob Bowers rescued him from mitt-hell and gave him his old one, so dad felt ready to finally try out for baseball. Having missed out now for 5-6 yrs. He played a couple years of Babe Ruth ball and was the first one drafted. But, he wasn't eligible to play in high school as a freshman (which freshman year I don't know, because he took that year twice) because he was failing too many classes. He wanted to try out the next year, as a sophmore, but again had 2 Fs and therefore couldn't play. It wasn't until he was a junior in high school that he finally got to play. His dreams of baseball stardom almost fully realized. It wasn't until the late 60s/early 70s - when dad was late into his college years that he finally told his dad all the sordid details about the glove he had bought years and years earlier. "Why didn't you tell me? I would've gotten you another glove." All those years he suffered, all the times he looked at that glove and cursed it's very existence, were for nothing. All he had to do at the time was tell his dad he didn't like that glove and he might have been the greatest sportsman ever to play the game. We may never know the true potential that could have come from a young Mark Drexler. He may have even rivaled the greats of the time - Richie Ashburn, Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays. And, all because of that mitt. After their conversation the bad feelings that once haunted him for over a decade were put aside and the mitt now sits on display in his office. A mitt I once played with and saw throughout all my growing years, not knowing at one time that a 9 yr old little boy once suffered greatly at having ever owned it in the first place.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

The Pains We Go Through for Our Kids

One Christmas my dad got a tin garage with a lift in it that he'd crank up. He thought it was so cool! The one thing about it though was it was sharp. The metal had sharp edges and when he woke up that Christmas morning and saw that great gift, he also looked over and saw that his dad's fingers were covered in bandages! Poor grandpa had been up the night before putting that garage together for him, getting cut after cut along the way, just so his boy would have this great toy in the morning. What we do for our kids. :-)

Boxing With Grandpa

My grandpa wasn't a guy who would sit on the floor and play with you. He was a teacher and a very intellectual kind of guy. A deeply religious man, who led the same church for over 50 yrs and could tell you anything you wanted to know about the Bible. He wasn't a hugger and would just pat you on the arm and smile. He wasn't the typical grandpa, but boy did I love him! Well, he was the same way as a father. He loved his kids, but wasn't the type who would sit and play with them often. Dad does remember some of the times he'd play with them. He said he was always fond of cap guns, so dad and Carl would hide from him and then shoot him with their cap guns. He said it was always fun! One of the times he decided to box with his boys. He took dad and Carl downstairs to the basement and had them all put on some boxing gloves (he did as well) and would bat away their punches. Smiling and having a good time, watching his boys try to get a punch in. Gently pushing them back and throwing little swats their way. That is until Carl DID get a punch in, and that's all it took. Gramps pummeled him into the ground, threw off his gloves, and said, "I'm done" and went back upstairs, leaving poor Carl dazed and confused on the ground. They ended up sticking with cap guns fights after that. ;-)

Ahhh...Boys




I love this picture above - taken in 1952 at Sandy Cove. I think it totally epitomizes what it must've been like for my grandma to raise 4 little ones, including 2 very ornery little boys. Carl's running off when she's just trying to get a cute picture of the 4 of them. Can't get them to all stand still and look at the camera. Haven't we all been there, moms? Anyway, Dad told me a very short, but funny little story about how they had a sun lamp growing up and that he and Carl would just stare at it until they couldn't see. Why you ask? Because they were told not to. Sounds like many of the stories I've heard from him. Doing things just because they weren't supposed to. Even more shocking is the fact that aren't both completely BLIND!

Payback...

I was talking to my dad about what his sisters told me about the Ramar incident. He never realized that his sister Debbie had gotten the strap as well after that whole chopping at the doorframe thing. But, that reminded him of how he once got the strap because of something she and Carl had done. One day dad, Carl, and Debbie were playing in the bedroom downstairs and were told to stay in the house until their dad got home. Well, Carl and Debbie decided they didn't want to do that, so they snuck out the bedroom window and ran away. Dad said to them they weren't supposed to leave, but they didn't listen. He decided he'd be the good one and stay like he was told. For once in his life, he was being obediant. ;-) He later fell asleep and forgot about the whole thing until his dad got home and they came looking for his brother and sister. They asked where they were and he told them they went out the window. "WHAT?! Why didn't you stop them?" they asked and dad got in huge trouble and got the strap for not making them do what they all were told to do. Much later, when Carl and Debbie finally got home, his mom was so relieved, that she welcomed them home with open arms. Yes, he said, they had to go to the beds early or something, but so did he, for being part of the whole thing. Plus, he was the one who had gotten the strap as well! So, I guess the Ramar thing just gave him a bit of payback. ;-)

Lost Treasures

When my dad was little, he and his brother had these really great trucks that they played with. When a store downtown, across from Wallace's was being built, they saw that there were huge mounds of dirt that they had dug up one day. So, dad and Carl went there with their trucks and cars and played most of the day on those big mounds. After a while, they realized they had to get home for dinner and left without their trucks. After dinner, they remembered that they had forgotten them! When they voiced their fears to their mom and dad, they were told they'd have to wait until morning to go get them. So, they went to bed that night, anxious to get back and retrieve their precious toys. As soon as they were able, they ran down to the spot where they had played the previous day and found the mounds of dirt had been carted away!! Carted away along with it, were of course their cars and trucks. So, years from now, maybe one day, the place where those piles were dumped, someone will find those tin trucks and cars from the 50s and count it as a lost treasure. A treasure mistakingly left by 2 little forgetful boys.

Friday, March 13, 2009

He Meant Business!




As I mentioned before my dad's mom was italian. Her mom and dad and 2 older sisters came over to the US shortly before she and her other sister and brother were born. They grew up in the southern part of Philadelphia. His Uncle Joe Sbaraglia (his mom's brother) was the only boy in a family full of girls. His mom loved him deeply and it's obvious he loved her as well. Well, once such occasion of that love and protectiveness was made known when dad was in his young teens, around 14 or 15. His Uncle Joe, a Philadelphia fireman, had had a heartattack and wasn't working for a short while, so he had come to the house to do some painting for my grandma. He was up on a ladder, painting away, while my dad and his brother Carl watched. Grandma came in and told the boys to do something. Dad doesn't remember what they said back, but apparently it was a smart remark of some kind, because after his mom left the room, Uncle Joe very calmly climbed down the ladder, got right in their faces and said, "If you ever talk to my sister like that again, I'll take you outside and beat your ass." hahaha Sufficed to say, my dad and my Uncle Carl never again disrespected their mom in their Uncle Joe's presence again! You don't mess with an italian guy from south philly!!



**Thanks to my Aunt Judi for providing this picture of Uncle Joe when he was painting that day. Can't believe you had actually had this picture!! :-)

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Pretty in Pink


This is a picture of my dad in 8th grade. As you can see, he's sporting some pretty fine grey and white glasses there. Amazingly that was a step up from his previous set. When he was in 6th grade, his dad took him to get glasses. Back then the style was to get dark-rimmed glasses, black glasses, but what did my grandpa get him? Pink, turtleshell glasses. Yes, his 12 yr old son had to wear pink glasses. Now, apparently this was not uncommon for him. Gramps bought my dad several PINK things. When dad wanted a radio for his birthday, gramps went to the local store where his friend Mr. Feldman worked and asked him if he had any radios that were cheap, because they were pretty poor growing up. Well, he just so happened to have a nice pink radio in the store that no one wanted, so guess what dad got for his birthday that year? A pink radio. He even got a pink record player. Pretty hot stuff!! But, to have to wear pink glasses to school, in front of his friends, was something he wasn't thrilled about. The reasoning behind the pink glasses was because his dad was afraid that the black rimmed glasses would interfer with his line of vision and distract him. So, if he was wearing a more flesh-colored pair, it would be a clear shot for him. Only my grandpa would think of something like that. :-) Thankfully at the end of his 7th grade year, he happened to find himself in line between Gerald Rucci and Don Pohlig when they got in an argument and someone threw a punch that hit dad right in the face, breaking his glasses. Now, he wasn't thrilled that he got punched in the face. It hurt and was completely embarrassing, but at least he was now rid of his pink glasses. So, gramps, ever the thinker, got him the grey and white pair, so once again, the frames wouldn't interfere with his line of vision. I'm guessing this is why he didn't date until he was 37. ;-) Just kidding dad. You were a hottie! Really. Not many guys can say outloud that they were once 4'6", pink-wearing, bronchial drop-drinking, 13 yr olds. Oh, and of course, friends with Clauken...... Can't forget Clauken.

More on Ramar

I got more information tonight about the story I mentioned briefly below about how dad and his younger brother Carl were taking knives to the doorframe. Here's what dad told me tonight...

On Sunday nights, there was church and sometimes they would get to stay home while either his sister Judi or Debbie watched them. The infamous night of "Ramar of the Jungle" was just one of those nights. Dad said he was around 10 at the time, which meant Carl was a year or so younger. He said looking back, he thinks they were a little tipsy when it happened, because they had been drinking some bottles of bronchial drops that Gramps had, as well as some alfalka (he said it's some kind of energy drink that was almost pure alcohol). When I asked why in the heck they would be drinking bronchial drops, he said it's because it tasted good. Weirdos. Anyway, they got it in their head to pretend to be Ramar of the Jungle. Some television show they watched back then. Judi was at church, so Debbie was watching them and he said they could get away with a lot with her. So, they took out butcher knives and started hacking away at the doorframe of the kitchen. Debbie sat in fear on the counter in the kitchen, thinking her brothers had lost their minds. He said he's shocked they didn't somehow cut themselves or each other they way they were swining them around! Then his older sister Judi came home and saw what they had done. Carl started chasing her with the knife, so she ran to the church to get grandma. When they saw she had left to tell on them, they hurried and put the knives away and gathered up all the chunks of door that were on the floor and tried to pretend nothing had happened. Grandma came home and saw what they had done, but didn't do much at that point, because some of the church members were coming over. He says he doesn't really remember much about what happened after that. He just knows that somehow his dad found out and that they were severely punished. Guess he blocked that out. That or BLACKED out, one of the two. So, that's the full story as he remembers it. About how they chopped through the doorframe jungle one drunken night when he was 10. Oh, and of course, it was all Carl's idea. Right? ;-)

Thursday, March 5, 2009

My Dad's Family


Dad has been really busy this week, so I haven't had a chance to chat with him about any new stories. I have stories in my brain that I've heard a million times that I could post about, but I'd rather wait until he tells me again, so I can give the details he remembers that I probably have forgotten. So, I thought I'd just share a bit about his family. That way, if you don't know much about where he came from, this could fill in the pieces a bit. :-) Dad was the 3rd child, the first boy, out of a family of 6. His mom was born of italian immigrant parents and was a petite, sweet woman. His dad was a pastor at the same little church behind their house for over 50 yrs. Apparently they thought they weren't going to be able to have children, but after 6 or so years of marriage, they had Judi. Then I believe 3 years later came Debbie, then right after that was dad, and right after that was Carl. I'm sure they were surprised to end up with such a brood! :-) They lived in that house until my Grandpa, dad's dad, became unable to live alone around the age of 88 and that's when he moved to NC to live with Debbie. That house was a little house. I remember staying there as a kid and not realizing how small it really was, but when I went back as an adult, well, it was tight. Especially for a family of 6! I remember dad taking me through the house many times and telling me stories of things that happened there. He showed me where he and his brother Carl took knives and pretended they were cutting through the jungle, hacking away at the doorframe leading into the kitchen - only to be caught and getting spankings later. ;-) He showed me his old desk that was upstairs in the back room, filled with things from his high school days. He even took us to his elementary school, which was right across the street, and let us see where his classrooms were and told us who his teachers were. He showed us the spot where he had been put in the corner when he'd get in trouble. He told us how he'd spit on the wall to see which spit mark would roll down the farthest on the wall. Nice, huh? All stories that I'll probably ask him to expound on as we get farther into this blog. But, I thought I'd share a bit of where he came from, who his family was, so as you read these stories, they'll make a bit more sense. The picture above I'm guessing my grandpa took. Debbie's on the far left, then Judi, dad, and Carl sitting on Grandma's lap. I'm guessing he's about 3 or 4 in that picture. Is it just me or can you see that ornery little glint in his eye, even then? ;-)