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In a place called Punxsutawney Pennsylvania, at a glorified bed and breakfast, the alarm clock was blasting to the sound of Sonny and Cher. The duos biggest hit “I’ve got you Babe” is obnoxious enough, but at sun rise it is a perfect song to force you to jump out of a warm bed and shut off the radio. We’ve all seen the movie. Bill Murray (Phil Connors) plays a television weatherman who is sent to Punxsutawney every Feb. 2 to see , or not see, Punxsutawney Phil’s ( the groundhog) shadow, and get an indication of how many more weeks of winter can be expected. After delivering his report on the groundhog a big snow storm arrives forcing Phil C. and his crew to stay another night in Punxsutawney. It is not long before we figure out that tomorrow, only for Phil, is going to be the exact same as yesterday . This is the main plot of the movie Groundhog’s Day and the title has become synonymous for people describing their personal day to day redundancy as living life in a form of “ Groundhog’s Day. For me , at first look, this movie was a sophomoric comedy that gave me a good laugh. As the years have moved on my perspective of the movie has made a dramatic change. I realized this is not some silly movie about living the same day over and over again. It is about human growth, evolution of an individual, introspection, discovery, and personal betterment. But mostly it is a love story. It is about what it takes to earn real love and trust.

The concept of the movie Groundhog’s has a wide spectrum of thought provoking underlying themes. What if you could live today over? What if you could start your life over again retaining the knowledge
and experience you have accrued. We all have fantasized about returning to our youth having the wisdom we gained in the autumn of our years. The movie Groundhog’s Day suggests one do-over isn’t enough. It is not until the fourth or fifth February 2nd that Phil decides he wants to transform himself and try to get all the details right. He had always been an arrogant selfish bastard, unmotivated to facilitate change. Slowly, Phil learns to be a good listener, he has an opportunity to morph into a better self while those around him stand still. He becomes a better person, not a different person. The question is: When we find ourselves stuck in Groundhog’s Day why do we wait so long to escape it. After all, aren’t we ones who can decide any day, any moment, that we want to make changes that move us towards tomorrow. It appears to me most people are comfortable with their redundant lives, tomorrow of course is the unknown and is a scary proposition.

The voice on the other end of the phone I had not heard since 1988. He had been a student of mine in my early days as an educator. He is the middle child surrounded by two brothers, the product of parents who split up when he and his siblings were very young. As we caught up it was evident that the scars still had not healed. “I never wanted my kids to feel the way I did when I was a little boy. My Dad is not a bad man but he was a bad father.” His voice was coming all the way from a small steel town near Pittsburgh Pa.. For two people who only know each other from years gone by the conversation was surprisingly powerful and insightful . My old student had ended up in the abyss of the friendly state because his wife’s family lived there and his wife took a job in the food service industry back in her home town soon after they were married. Twenty five years later he is still there. There are three children and a business that he started which now supports many members of his and his wife’s families. “ I actually hate it here, but will not even think about leaving for another three years until my youngest graduates from high school. I constantly feel like it’s groundhog’s day , but that is the sacrifice I made to ensure I keep my family together. The person on the other end of the phone had me hysterically laughing and crying during the course of our exchange. He was an amazing contradiction, reserved yet open, serious minded but a tremendous sense of humor, stuck in time but somehow evolved, coy in a highly intelligent manner, highly practical but deep down a sentimental dreamer.
It seems flying low under the radar he has learned much about himself after repeating 1000’s of Groundhog Days. In a few years I hope to catch up to him again. Based on our only conversation I predict he will have moved on to February 3rd.

If ever there was a man who lived each day without taking a chance, especially when it came to family it was my friend Max. Married for 20 years , having a eight year old son, possessing a great career , Max, his child and wife ,on the surface presented the perfect family. Underneath Max was exhausted of the mundane, of the repetitiveness of living everyday on the same schedule, of pulling his car into his driveway daily at 5:30. Some like the slow and steady fire, the Ferris wheel, being the company man, the family man. Others like chaos, the rollercoaster , they enjoy the part of the rebel, questioning and challenging every decision made around them. These troubled souls can’t sit still , they are uneasy with the grind of daily life. Still, very few of these mavericks find the courage to disrupt the applecart we call family and marriage. Depending how you look at it, they either stay courageously put , or they are even more courageous and risk hurting all they hold dearest to their hearts for their own happiness. No one would ever argue Max has been a great husband, is a strong father , and has lived his life with his family as his top priority. Max did not wait for the timing to be right to follow his heart. My friends, who are close with Max, are in shock that he actually turned the page. In Max’s mind he needed to live the rest of his life on a different day . Does it make him less of a father? Does it make him an incomplete family man . I truly do wonder.

I was 29 when I left the field of education. I have not awoke to the ringing of an alarm clock nor responded to sound of a bell in the last 28 years. As a teacher and a coach I found my life to be one dimensional, routine, predictable , and controlled. I was living in my own Groundhog’s Day listening to my peers talk about how many more years they had to retirement. I was already, jaded, stale, sarcastic, and worst of all, unmotivated. Towards the end of my teaching career I kept telling myself I had to get out of this rut. For eight years I watched the kids cycle through. I was fully aware that the students kept moving on and I kept standing still. My nightmares saw into the future and consisted of me giving the same history lecture to children whose parent s had heard it 25 years ago. If I didn’t care anymore, how could my charges possibly learn anything from me beyond cynicism ? The wheel of time was spinning in the same direction year after year and would continue to do so unless I decided to jump. The move meant I was giving up health benefits , a solid retirement package , a weekly paycheck . Metaphorically, I was leaving stability, credibility, and a career which defined who I was at the time. I threw away my career path to re-invent myself and start over. Now I was chasing a new life, searching for a new identity , a complete overhaul of my future plans. What I couldn’t get through to anyone at the time was that I was stuck and I needed desperately to do something about it. I wanted to do something about it. I needed to find a new direction as well as financial independence. Something inside me was saying “move on” and set yourself free.

Isn’t it ironic that even when we know things are not working we still repeat the same action over and over. My golfing buddy hooks every drive, yet stays on the practice tee all day replicating that same bad swing. He toils and sweats yet the results never change. He has just perfected “the hook.” Phil Connors finally realizes that if he wants a different outcome in his life he must commit to change. His journey embodies a view of human growth the natural maturation process that so many of us make a conscious effort to avoid. Groundhog’s Day is a comedy, a parody, a drama, and a love story. The bastard weatherman who wakes up on the original Groundhog’s Day is in love with his producer Andie MacDowell (Anita) but is incapable of even liking himself. But as the same day keeps duplicating itself, Phil learns to see himself for the first time. He also sees and hears Rita, and understands that he loves her. He becomes determined to be a man who deserves her love. The cynical, arrogant, miserable Phil wants to become a good person. Through a cycle of approximately 40 days Phil gets it right. In the end Sony Bono’s voice is blasting as the alarm clock turns to 6:00 pm. This time Phil is not alone, someone reaches across the bed to snuggle, it is Rita. She had been there all along, he only needed to change himself to see her.

It was somewhere that looked like the Australian Outback, many years after she had taken her own life. Jennifer opened the door and had no idea who the man was, standing before her. “May I help you,” Jennifer asked weakly. “Hi, I was in the area and dropped by to say hello,” said the handsome wanderer. Jennifer’s eyes ran up and down the man standing on her front porch and tried to make a connection. ”Many years ago we met briefly. Do you remember?” asked the stranger. He looked to be in his mid fifties, very attractive with dark wavy hair to contrast his piercing blue eyes. “We met one time, back when you were in high school. You were sitting in the hallway reading ‘The Catcher in the Rye.‘ The bell rang and I reached out my hand to help you up . It was only for a moment, but the connection was powerful.” Jennifer stood in her doorway confused and dazed. She vividly remembered the encounter, she even could picture the scene in her head. Jennifer remained silent but continued to listen to the man who had just stepped into her life again talk. “It turns out I was the one you missed. Each soul has a mate, but there is no guarantee that they will find each other on earth. We bumped into each other but it must been the wrong time. Before you arrived here one of the questions you asked was had you found the partner you were suppose to have on earth.“ He was right, Jennifer had posed the question to her handlers. ”Please go away and leave me alone.” Jennifer had her answer, still, she shut the door on what could have been.

Jennifer is a character in a television program. In the scene she was residing in some version of heaven, or quite possibly purgatory. Several years ago she committed suicide shortly after both her children were killed in a car accident. During the interview process for acceptance into heaven she was allowed to ask questions about things she was unable to get answers to during her time on earth. As a person who is not a believer in the life after, the story line intrigued me. If there is a world beyond this one, wouldn’t it be great to have an opportunity to clear up some nagging questions that were never answered in the living years. What unlocked secrets would we be most interested in discovering? Who killed JFK? Whatever happened to D.B.Cooper? What happened to all those planes lost in the Bermuda Triangle? Is there life on other planets? Did Anastasia escape the executioners noose? Who kidnapped JonBenet Ramsey? Did Moses really part the seas? Those are universal questions that provide plenty of lively conversation. But what if you could ask questions directly related to your personal history? The conundrums that had gnawed at us for a lifetime. What if you got to resolve some questions you wrestled with on earth before they decided your fate in a place between heaven and hell. A sort of a waiting period, during which the answers to your questions are revealed by a higher power. What would you being dying to know?

I only knew him toward the end of his life. He spent most of his time laying on a couch in a third floor apartment that was part of a larger house located on Fremont Street in Peekskill NY. I don’t recall ever having a conversation with him or spending more than five minutes in his presence. I do remember him always being under a blanket watching television. There was usually a pack of cigarettes and a empty TV dinner dish within reach. Charles Davis Vail died in his sleep on that sofa, the year was 1968. It wasn’t until many years had passed that my mom and dad told me my grandpa’s story. “When I was little we had a lot of money and lived in a mansion. My father’s family was wealthy, we owned five roller skating rinks and half of the real estate in Peekskill,” my mother would go on. “Your grandfather was a gambler, drinker and philanderer. He lost every penny we had at the horse track. Grandma had to go back to school and get her teaching certificate so we could pay the bills. Still, I loved him very much,” my mother was usually in tears by that point of the story. “He was a great guy,” my father would always chirp in, ”he was club champion in both golf and tennis at the Powelton Club. He was a smooth dresser, with a smoother tongue,” my dad would continue. While in life we didn’t talk, after his death and throughout my life I had many one way conversations with my grandfather. He never answered back but he was a great listener. He doesn’t know it but he helped me through many a difficult spot. When and if my day of judgment comes I will ask the powers to be if I can talk to him. I want to know what it is like living for eternity with his mistakes . There are no “do-overs” but there is regret. I want to know if he was able to see me as I experienced my trials and tribulations. Mostly I would want to tell him that my Grandma and mother forgave him. I hope he has already talked to them both.

The back row of pews at the Saint Joseph Church were starting to fill up. For a Thursday morning at 6:30 am God’s business was bustling. Most of the crowd was probably comprised of “regulars” squeezing their rosary beads. These were definitely people who did not take a day off from the Lord’s good word. Not much different than the “shot and beer” guys who would never dream of missing a day at the local watering hole. Despite the rampant sexual scandals and weathered ideals, Catholicism was still selling well in Kingston NY. Scanning the sanctuary I noticed two men, both of whom had reputations as religious fanatics. From the stories I had heard these gentlemen were faithful in taking in the lord daily and spent the rest of their day judging the minions in town. I admit that seeing them, and the throngs of others, at the crack of dawn, gave me an extremely queasy feeling. What if God was taking attendance? All the “regulars” would definitely have a heads up on me at the pearly gates. Not only did they show up to the house of god religiously but they could recite scripture. Although not a believer, I enjoy reading the good book. One of my favorite passages is “judge not lest you be judged.” If there should actually be a day of reckoning, I will have my own questions and judgments prepared. Do non-baptized children get into heaven? If I eat meat on a Friday am I still in.? What about if I had sex before I was married? I have told more than one lie in my life…in or out? Do all the priests who inappropriately touched children receive absolution? I would need to hear the direct answers to those questions before accepting my invitation to nirvana.

Early January, of this year was the last time I saw my daughters together. Mary Kate and Laura were raised to understand there comes a time to fly away from their parents. This plan may have been taken too far, too fast, because even though neither one has completed college they are both practically and figuratively gone. I do understand we are parents for as long as we live, still I am convinced children morph into parents of both their own children and their parents. These days my girls merely pass through my life for only hours at a time. They are off to semesters abroad, internships, summer jobs, boyfriends’ houses, field hockey practice, the gym, and just about any place they feel like.

I was never much of a disciplinarian, even to the chagrin of Mary Kate, who sometimes will quietly plead for my parenting. “Dad it is too late for you to start acting like a parent,” she recently said after I threatened to lay down the law. I readily admit I have not given my kids enough tough love. For 21 years my main priority has been to garner the affirmation, respect, and confidence of my daughters. If I ever do arrive in the next world their judgment, not any Deity’s, will be all that matters to me. I would tell God to please let me hear the eulogy Mary Kate and Laura recite in their head. I am aware my children know I am a flawed man, but will they forgive and overall deem me worthy? Did I give them every opportunity to make a happy life for themselves? Were they aware of how much I loved them? Did I set a good example for the way a man should act as a husband and a father? Did I put my children ahead of myself? If my daughters can give a yes answer to most of these questions I will rest peacefully no matter what God has to say about it.

Jennifer was not prepared to hear something that contaminated the imagery and brought into question the choices she had made. The man she was suppose to be with had gotten away, she had missed him, they had missed each other. Possibly, because she took her own life she was stuck forever in purgatory and didn’t have a choice in what was going to be exposed. Maybe she was doomed to the hell of living with the pain of never facing her fate. She was left to think about what she had experienced during her living years and how little she had taken control. Will any of us want a choice after we are gone to know if we even had a destiny, let alone whether we fulfilled it. To really know if you made the right choices or you just lived a life that happened to you and that was all there was. We all eventually come to a point where we question the path we have taken. Did I find the vocation that was my passion? Did I accomplish what I wanted to? Did I find my soul mate? Did my children believe I did my best as a parent? Most of us don’t want to hear the answer to these questions? Perhaps there are no answers. Somewhere in the outback, in the gap between reality and regret Jennifer got an answer. He was standing at her door in the flesh. It was too late. Jennifer shut the door that had opened just a crack all those years ago. She was going to stay where she was. There would be no going back, her past was irretrievably lost.

The left window seat of the big greyhound presented a classic view of the New York City skyline. On a bus heading south along the New Jersey Turnpike the music of the time was blasting out of the 1980’s style boom box. A large contingent of eighth grade students, in the hands of five “adult” chaperones were bound for the nation’s Capital. Flighty 14 years olds have a proclivity to play their favorite songs, or the latest hit, over and over again. “One thing is sure. That time will tell. Only time will tell .” I was sitting next to Annie Geisler and the lyrics from Asia’s chart topper “Only Time Will Tell” was unwillingly being imprinted infinitely in my brain. Only 22 years old , the words were gripping to me. I was already conscious that time always gives us an answer. I understood time could not be beaten , and it eventually catches us all . After scanning my surroundings of  the  youthful charges  and their teachers I turned back to the window to see the open fields of Pennsylvania. What did time have in store for me?  What story did time have in store for my traveling companions?

Johnny Atkins was holding court in the seat across from me.  He was a popular, handsome, 14 year old wise guy.  His family had moved from America’s Heartland in the 1970’s and bought a farm in a small New York hamlet.  Johnny’s grades didn’t stand out , but he was certainly not lacking in intelligence. As a first year nervous teacher working hard to earn respect Johnny  stood out to me.  Most of my students made it easy for me to win their affection,  Johnny, was one of the few who challenged me. He always did in private showing maturity beyond his years. “You’re not as cool as you think Mr. Siegel”, or “Stop trying to act like an adult Mr. Siegel.”  He was right on both accounts, I wasn’t that cool,  and was miles away from being a grown up. Johnny and I were  different in many ways , but I always felt we maintained a mutual respect. In doing this story I was anxious to find out what time had done with Johnny. As is becoming common practice for me  I found myself scanning Facebook chasing Johnny’s story. It turns out Johnny had started working on his parents farm before moving upstate.  The kid I remembered as complex, had chosen to live a simple life. As I kept scrolling down I noticed his last post was from 2012.  Curious, I dug deeper, and sent  private messages to a couple of his childhood cronies. To my dismay I learned  Johnny  was taken by cancer in 2012. He left behind a wife, a child , and at least 40 years of living.

Three years ago this May was a turning point in my life. My story was setting up for the final chapter. I had just gone out on my own to open a business, my daughters had both left the nest and I was proceeding deeper into my new found passion of writing. I had written a book and I was reconnecting with many old friends and former students. I was finding  some answers as to how time had dealt with the some of the people who were heading down the Jersey turnpike all those years ago. Three years ago, my assistant buzzed the intercom to tell me that Bobby Zantz  was  on the phone. I immediately recognized the name of the shy sweet kid that was in one of the first Social Studies classes I ever taught. “Mr. Siegel, I already read your book . I saw on line  that you are having a book signing party and I want to come.” I informed Bobby of the details and immediately after hanging up the phone I looked him up on face book. I know sometimes pictures don’t tell the story so I was anxious to see my old student in person. A few days later Bobby Zantz  came strolling into a favorite local restaurant for an unlikely reunion with his old teacher. It turned out Bobby has been married for 15 years, has two young boys and lives only an hour from me. He said he had seen my book online and wanted to give some insight of what life had given and taken from him. “I am a Social Studies teacher in the same district where you taught. I decided to teach because of the impact you had on me .  I wanted you to know that and thank you in person.” It is touching to be told, in person, how the impression you make on people can steer them in certain directions.  . Life gives to us, and it takes from us. But, I know the students in Bobby’s classes are on the receiving end.

Kris Bayner  always had the right answer in my eight grade history class. She was cute , outgoing , ambitious and most notably exceedingly intelligent. With her shiny silver tinsel teeth she always wore a big smile . She came to class every day with an attitude that was ready to take on the world . There are a few select kids who are “can’t miss” , who possess abundant talent that makes  you sure they will go on and leave an indelible mark with the time they have.  I was positive Kris  was going to be a great attorney, a radio producer for the likes of Don Imus, or a Pulitzer Prize winning  author.  After attending a Catholic  private high school , she went on to a New York City University, where she graduated with high honors. All anyone could ever dream of , including the bright lights of the Big Apple, were in front of her. Instead, Kris decided to head back home to upstate New York and get a job writing for a local newspaper attempting in keep one foot on her career path.  Most of the people close her speculated her other foot was more anchored to her high school boyfriend who was still attending college back in the Hudson Valley. Within a year of returning home, at the young age of 22, Kris was married, put her career plans in the backseat, and traveled across the country with her husband while he pursued his dream of being a professional athlete.  Five years, and two children in they settled into the roles of a coach and a wife. From all accounts she has lived her life supporting her husband’s career of teaching golf. She unselfishly put her personal  aspirations on the  shelf to be a stay at home mom and her husband’s  assistant.  She has spent the last 25 years watching him compete in amateur events, at the same time having the primary duty of raising her family.  I caught up with her recently on Facebook and asked her , as her age is the nearing the half century mark,  if she had any regrets. “No regrets,” she quickly responded. “   Having fun, raising my children, and being  supportive of my husband’s career have been my priorities.  That is more than enough for me. I don’t waste  any energy thinking “what if” or what other people may think what I could have done with my time . “It’s my life , after all.”

Don Lister was far from the stereotypical  Middle School Teacher. A child of the sixties, he graduated from New Paltz Teachers’ college with a  license to teach secondary English. Don loved the classics , and he had a penchant to quote Samuel Johnson or Leo Tolstoy.  Despite his rich knowledge of all literature , he was far from a one dimensional personality. In 1983 he was only 35 years old , had taught 12 years of high school English and was in his second year as a school principal. On a Sunday night deep into May, Don gave me a ride home  back to New Paltz after we had returned from the class trip. He was married , with three young children, but having an affair with the school guidance counselor. He shared with me in the  car that he wasn’t cut out being for being an administrator. On the surface I didn’t think we had  much in common . It was not till much later in life that I grew into appreciating what my leader was experiencing at the time.  He had gotten many intrinsic rewards as a teacher, but felt like a slave to protocol as a high school principal.   Within a year of that night Don Lister walked away from education, took a job as a package delivery driver , and filed for divorce.  I never saw him again, but it turns out he worked 25 years in that delivery career, is now the proud grandfather of 6 and remains  single. It has taken me a very long time to understand  that  change takes tremendous courage. “ Of the blessings set before you make your choice and be content” – Samuel Johnson

The bus continued on its way into the twilight towards  Baltimore. I was 22 years old and my life was only beginning. It was  seven years before I would marry,  I was 13 years short of becoming a father, and 30 away from losing  my mom . The music from the boom box was now  playing the sounds of Joe Jackson “ we are young but getting old before our time” . Looking through the mist on the window out to open fields along the highway, I felt alone despite the noise surrounding me. For the passengers, both chaperones and students,  time was still for the moment.   The future  was on our side,  there was very little behind us , and only the open road in front. As the moon displayed itself in the half light I thought about what a valuable asset time was and how it seemed it would never run out on me.  Today, 35 years later almost to the day,  time is  still flying over the heads of the people on that bus. The shadow it left behind us is much longer now. Bobby became a school teacher , Kris traded in her personal ambitions for a boy, , Don isn’t educating these days but happily carrying boxes ,  Johnny left us way before his time . As for me, I am still trying to find my voice, always searching, prodding, attempting to find a serenity that I know is unattainable. As long as we breathe there is time to cast more shadows. Is the road ahead already determined for us? Or will we be able to determine our own destiny ? As I continue to question, those lyrics embedded on my brain from decades ago keep looping….”One thing is sure ….. only time will tell.”

It was approaching 7:00 pm on a classic Georgian spring day. The tall pines were casting their long shadows through the bright setting sun.

There are certain moments in our lives that end up being turning points, likely to go a long way to defining who we are , where we are heading, even, who we have been. Moments that we have already seen in our dreams and tirelessly prepared ourselves for. These occasions occur infrequently when hard work and results, victory and defeat, growth and stagnation, redemption and purgatory come together to make a determination. This past Sunday at the Masters, as the roars echoed through the tall pruned Georgia pines, Sergio Garcia could only hear the thoughts in his head reminding him to stay in the present. Garcia, now 37, had shown great promise as a 19 year wonder boy destined to chase Tiger Woods for many years to come. On this brilliant Sunday, now past his prime, the Spaniard was staring directly at his destiny. In 73 attempts Garcia had failed to bring home a coveted major title. With only a few holes left, and two strokes behind, “El Nino” understood this could possibly be his last opportunity to set the record straight. His chance to toss the giant monkey off his back was right in front of him. Numerous close call losses had earned him the reputation as a choker and a crybaby. Too many times he had whined after defeat and blamed the bad luck delivered by the “Golfing Gods” as a reason for not meeting expectations. With the whole world watching he was in a position to change his legacy.

It has become a tradition that my father and I watch Masters Sunday together at my house. The only changes over the years are the size of the flat screen television and the amount of times we need to get up for a bathroom break. “This is going to be fun to see how Sergio responds to the pressure he must be carrying today.” Although my words fell on deaf ears they got me thinking about my own big moments of reckoning that had left their permanent mark on my soul. In my personal defining moments how had I handled adversity? How did I react to being up against the wall ? While Sergio was digging his golf ball out of scrubs on the 13th at Augusta, looking to fall four strokes behind with five hole to play , my mind was drifting back to the kickball field in New Paltz New York . My family had just moved into town and I was a scared eight year old wanting to fit in. Second graders can be pretty rough on the new kid in school and “little Richie Siegel “ was no exception. Sporting my new slick rain coat I was the last player on my team to get a turn at the plate. Before Kyle Peterson rolled the big red rubber ball in Paul Baker came to the mound and huddled with his infield. First he said, “that is a stupid jacket”, and the next thing I knew both teams moved to a different field and continued the game with me standing alone . Feeling the raw emptiness of possible lifetime abandonment I charged towards the other field . Paul and myself rolled around the grass for approximately one minute. I emerged with a bloodied lip and a tattered green rain coat. I had lost the only physical fight I have had in my entire life, but made a major step towards winning the war.

Garcia fought his way out of the trees on 13 to save a par and was facing a 15 foot eagle putt on 15 to tie for the lead.

By the time the fan crazies had mobbed the court and Rhett Weires was being drowned in a sea of bodies, I had already rushed into the locker room to breathe in the sweet smell of victory. I was the 25 year old New Paltz Boys Varsity Basketball coach who thought he could change the world. Minutes earlier we had defeated perennial power and defending league champion Wallkill High 68-67 on a free throw by Rhett Weires with no time remaining on the clock. Alone, away from the celebration, I could hear someone making their way through the maze of lockers . Embarrassed by the moisture of triumph I wiped my eyes with my cheap sport jacket , stood up straight , and swung around to face my visitor. I recognized the tall man in front of me who leaned his hand on my shoulder. “I am so proud of you. You are one hell of a coach,” before my tears burst into a full bellow the man of few words was gone. Proof that our lives can take drastic turns I only coached for two more years before I was fired. I had other opportunities but I decided to permanently stay out of coaching. That decision to not go back to the hardwood was instrumental to me also giving up my teaching career. But nothing ever tarnished the moment I had with my dad that December night back in 1986.

Garcia and Justin Rose stood on the 72nd tee of the 81st Masters dead even.

Mary Kate came running down from a packed high school gymnasium to give her sister a big embrace. Laura had just completed the speech she needed to deliver as Queen of The May Day festivities at Kingston High School. In my younger days I was convinced that raising children would not be in the cards for me. I was way too selfish and irresponsible to be an acceptable parent. When I was 35 it appeared that having a child was not going to be a possibility. But when Laura was born I was convinced that I did not want her to carry the burden of being an only child. It was 13 months later that Laura welcomed home her baby sister Mary Kate.
Now, 18 years later, the two of them were hugging each other in front of their peers, parents, and teachers. The day symbolized a happy ending to my job as a full time parent . Oh , I know we are parents for eternity and I will always be there for my girls in any situation I am called upon. Though, I believe there comes a day that should signify the end of day to day parenting. When it is time for children to be adults and time for their parents to start making themselves priority number one. Donna and I walked out of the Kate Walton Field House that fine first day of May knowing this was both an ending and a new beginning.

7:15 pm rolled around and the two European golfers were still tied getting ready for a sudden death playoff.

The moon was giving off so much illumination that the ripples of the Hudson river could be seen clearly from 50 yards away. Well past midnight the Rhinecliff train station paints a picture similar to a scene from an old Sherlock Holmes movie. Walking north in the parking lot adjacent to the train tracks was a lone figure in search of his car. It had been a very long and trying two years since the time I had been unceremoniously fired in the spring of 2013 by my employer of the past 22 years. It was bad enough I was handed my walking papers but on top of that ,a year later, as I struggle to get my start up business off the ground , I was sued for pirating clients by my ex bosses. My counter suit was filled with depositions, strategizing , and exorbitant attorney fees. After a full year of battle I was returning from New York City and a full day of mediation to determine who would win the war of intelligence , emotion, pride, and most importantly, money. The enemy had been out to hurt me making the fight not only about business but personal integrity. It turned out the amount of cash my former employer agreed to pay me that day far exceeded any number speculated by my counsel prior to filing the counter suit. My lawyer later claimed that he had never witnessed such a reversal of fate. For me it represented full vindication of who I was, and who I had been. A huge victory over a large corporation and some small minded , arrogant people with an over bloated opinion of their own importance. Before I reached my vehicle I got on my knees and looked straight up to the perfectly round orange ball in the sky. Out of nowhere I bellowed into the air “That’s what you get for underestimating me!!!!!!”

In the golden twilight of a perfect Sunday at The Masters Sergio Garcia was at the rear of the 18th green of Augusta National Golf Course on his knees kissing the turf.

Finally, he was realizing a moment that he had come so close to capturing on many other weekend’s past. It seemed like only yesterday he was a 19 year old kid clicking his heels and running down the fairway at Medinah stalking a legend it turned out he would never catch. Now at 37 , carrying the demons of past disappointments , on the 60th birthday of his deceased boyhood idol Seve Ballesteros, he had won his first major title. Before he put on the coveted green jacket that goes along with winning the Masters Sergio Garcia looked up to the sky and whispered words of redemption. How far he had traveled to get to this moment. . We all dream our dreams . Some of the fortunate ones have their most glorious visions come to attrition, most of the times we fall short before crossing the finish line. Sometimes we quit on ourselves, other times we keep fighting. On a few rare occasions, when we least expect it, when we are calmer and wiser, we get to feel like we reached the top of the mountain, at least for the moment. The 2016 Master’s champ Danny Willet slipped the green sports coat onto the new champion inside the Butler Cabin. ‘The Golfing Gods finally smiled down on Sergio today’, I uttered out loud. As my dad got up to make his way home I could feel his eyes upon me :” Richie , you should know better, God had nothing to do with it.”

Oh, look. There is Mary Kate surfing on the Gold Coast.

For those who think Trump is a Jackass…… what, say they, about Chuck Schumer.

Ask some recent immigrants who are in the U.S. legally how they feel about the ones who are not.

I was actually giddy reading Julian Barnes novel ‘The Sense of An Ending’…call me a nerd.

If Florida State is not the number one party school in the country then the people who do the ratings have never been there.

For $25,000 you can get a physical exam that will help to extend your life by two decades…I am not sure if this is covered by Obama Care?

‘The Sense of An Ending’ is the only book I have read that after processing the last sentence I returned immediately to page one…

I hate to admit…I have been paying close attention to March Madness this year.

No, it is not because I have Gonzaga in a pool…well maybe.

In a recent survey 95% of the people who a own a car in the U.S. rate themselves as excellent drivers…doesn’t that seem a bit delusional? I mean, even if they just asked men.

I have been traveling…did the house vote on Trump’s Health Care bill yet?

Poor Kellyanne Conway, she is not wearing it well…..only one man’s opinion.

Are you making your life happen? Or, is your life happening to you?

I have been reading more of late…what I have discovered is that I am late in reading more.

Have you heard of a Martian called Calvin? If you haven’t, you will soon.

Come on Tiger…many have called me a “has been” or “never was” writer, but you don’t see me trying to be a pro golfer.

Joe Biden said if he had run for President he would have won. Two words Joe: Shut up.

I have noticed the winning side in these NCAA basketball games usually thank God for helping them to victory. It makes me wonder. Who is God rooting for? I mean, besides Tom Brady.

My two favorite days of the year are May 1 and June 21… just in case anyone is interested.

Gordon Gekko of ‘Wall Street’ fame vs. Bobby Axelrod of ‘Billions’ who would win? I have my money on Mr. Axelrod.

For me, Masters Sunday is the official “opening day” of spring.

I had an epiphany this weekend. I will never entertain writing the insurance for a Frat House.

Life time “jocks”, in most cases are prodigiously arrogant and exceedingly boring…other than that, they’re pretty cool.

Julian Barnes wrote,“we are all unreliable narrators of our own stories.” The older I get the more I understand the wisdom of that quote.

I recently attended a premier of the new movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith part II. It stars Donald Trump and Paul Ryan.

Bob Dylan and Todd Rundgren are both former Woodstock residents…great to see each will be playing Kingston NY this spring. I will pull all the levers to try and get a conversation with both.

April 7^th is the date of the vote on the confirmation of Neil Gorsuch for the Supreme Court…a rejection of him would be comparable to God rejecting Mother Theresa to heaven. Ok maybe not that extreme.

Can you picture Hillary and Bill sitting together on a quiet beach sipping a cold one, staring out upon the ocean…can you give the vision a caption. Here’s mine: “Maybe I should have  gone to Wisconsin? No babe, I think it was those ‘Chairman Mao’ pantsuits you wore everyday.”

The important things happen by chance, only the rest gets planned.

Mr. President , please repeat after me, “ I made a mistake” Ok, good. Now say “I was wrong.” That’s not so hard. A lot easier than….” As soon as they complete the audit” or “Putin’s not such a bad guy.”

Oh, look. There is Mary Kate on the top of the Blue Mountains.

As March continues to roar like a lion, I am reminded of my own words that I have repeated many times . “ When Laura and Mary Kate are of college age I will only be  found in warm climates during the winter months.” Last Tuesday, after I could not get my car out of the driveway due to 30 inch snow drifts , I had reached a breaking point . I returned to my place of refuge and wrote down the recent stream of consciousness that has been flowing through my mind.

It is quite possible Donald Trump is on to something… global warm might be a  hoax after all.

Someone told me shoveling snow was one of the leading causes of death for men  over 50……. I am one hundred percent sure that is not how I will die.

Sydney Australia looks real nice this time of year….. something about it being on the other side of the hemisphere.

My college spring break was a couple a days in Atlantic City………not a cruise to Cozumel.

Sean Spicer should think about wearing a helmet  before Trump shoots him out of a cannon every day.

I am not even close to being over the Super Bowl…… but hopeful I will be, by September.

Nocturnal Animals was one of the best movies I’ve seen in a very long time….. It was written and acted for only the big and the brave . Promise not to be a spoiler , but, there are two endings and both are great..

I wish I had traveled to warm places when I was in college. Instead I live vicariously through my two daughters.

If I haven’t said it enough, my daughter Laura is basically perfect.

Gay Talese wrote a new book called ‘High Points’. In the book is a re-publication of the story he wrote for Vanity Fair in 1966. It is called ‘Frank Sinatra has a Cold”. If you are a fan of the Rat Pack or simply enjoy brilliant writing it is must read. Yeah I know hard to believe…… Gay Talese is still alive.

Just when I am losing total interest in watching sports on TV I got in see Wisconsin upset Villanova and Michigan upset Louisville …… and oh yeah The Masters is coming up. I think I’ll stay tuned for another week and a half.

Mary Kate goes to the beach. I am in the snow. Oh look–there goes MK jumping from a plane. Oh look—there goes Mk climbing the Blue Mountains. Oh look—there is Mk at a Justin Bieber concert.

I wear over-priced clothing… some of my friends even call me pretentious ……..they must be joking , right?

I attended father- daughter sorority week-end alone  last year at FSU. This year it is mother- daughter sorority week-end …… . I will be along for the ride.

I can’t wait to get back to recording my conversations. I have two scheduled in the next few weeks.

Mo’ money mo ’problems .

The science fiction, fantasy genre usually does nothing for me. With ‘Game of Thrones’ I make an exception. Bring on the dragons, ice walls, dead walkers, eunuchs, wildlings, and Giants. The chase to the throne continues in late April…. I can’t wait.

Geography  is not my specialty , but when you accuse of me of not knowing what continent Mexico is a part of you better be ready to fight…… I’m sure it’s in South America?

Trump claims that evidence of voter fraud and Obama’s wire tapping will be brought forth shortly. Pretty much will be about the same time O.J.’s going to bring forth the real killer of Ron and Nicole.

We all have people in our families we wouldn’t mind never seeing again……. But that little guy in North Korea takes things a little too far…. Don’t you think?

Seeing A-Rod prancing around Miami with J-Lo gives me goose bumps. I think this time it may be true love.

Make me watch La La Land.

I know, I know , you never can tell what weather March brings to the Northeast…….but still

Listening to congressional hearings regarding the Russian influence on our recent Presidential election is eye opening. Now what happened election day at my polling place makes sense. That guy walking around whispering to everyone “ we know where you live comrade, vote for Trump.” I am now convinced this is the reason Hillary Clinton lost.

Ok Mary Kate you don’t have to keep convincing me , I am believe you that University of Sydney is equivalent to a Ivy League school.

Laura is living large in Tallahassee . Mary Kate is soaking up the Australian sun. I am here in the snow. I will complain all I want about my upside down world.

Upside-down and inside-out……just like my pockets.

Oh look – there goes MK to the Australian rules football championships.

 

 

The collegians were walking with a casual sense of purpose across the campus of Florida State University. It was just before 9am on an ordinary Tuesday morning in the middle of a north Florida February. The black Tahoe made its way gingerly through the tight interior campus streets and sea of back-packed students. These were brave Seminoles who apparently did not fear the anxieties that can go along with an early morning class. The warm brilliance of the sun was hitting me hard, still, I pushed my  sun glasses up to have a closer, less-shaded look. There had been a time when these moments would make  my eyes moisten and take me backwards to some sappy reflection of a wasted  youth. During my long, extended vacation I deliberately decided it was time to take a giant step forward in my life. It was true. I had allowed myself to stay in neutral the past two years. It was common for me to resist change, and hang on much too tightly to what had gone before. Certainly, I reluctantly made adjustments in my life, even re-invented myself more than once. Observing the undergraduates moving to their sunrise classes I knew it was time to do it again.  As I drove by Doak Campbell stadium and turned onto Varsity Drive, I let my Ray Bans drop down over my peepers. Now, I needed to block the sun and go back to who I was, who I am, and the dreams of who I can become.

Prior to making the trip up I-495 to Tallahassee, I had been on my annual golf vacation in Orlando. Eight guys, who, for six days indulge in golf, gambling, drinking, along with eating every meal as if they are going to the electric chair. The plane leaving the ground aimed towards Orlando was a cruel reminder on my 57th birthday, that I am much closer to a landing than a take-off.

Each morning I awakened to the sounds of high-powered lawn mowers, the first tee starters voice, and the door opening as my roommate returned from his early morning work-out. I have continually returned to this golfing haven in the sun for approximately 25 years. Although the cast has rotated over the years, the script for the trip remains intact.  In the 51 weeks of the year that I am not at Bay Hill, I have managed to remain married, raise two children, switch careers three times, been fired, been broke, and found a way to become comfortable financially. The people I travel with have been knocked around themselves, some are still married, some are not .They have lost children, jobs, money, and the strut of youth. What we all share is the understanding of the shortness of life. We embrace the idea that things keep changing as we challenge ourselves to find ourselves.  In recent years, our golfing efficiency is fading, the dinner bills get more expensive, and we raise each other more at the poker table.  At the end of this trip, instead of being tired of each other, we talked about coming back in November and not waiting a full year. As I say to almost all proposed adventures these days – “I am in”.

The sun continued to blister in the blue sky. My ride was already waiting for me outside the Bay Hill lodge. “Austin get over here and get my bag in the trunk, I don’t want to miss any of the Super Bowl.”
A cold corona in hand, I hopped into the back seat of my caddy-for-the-week’s red 2010 Toyota Camry. From the driver’s seat Austin turned to me and said, “Rich, meet my girlfriend Shay.” This unlikely threesome headed west out of Arnold Palmer’s old stomping grounds toward Tampa’s Hard Rock Hotel and Casino. Austin, the tall, lean, handsome, young man from Nowhere, Wisconsin, is dreaming of making his living as a professional golfer. “I am going to work and let Austin pursue a living on the tour,” chimed in his future bride Shay. Trying to balance my admiration for anyone chasing their passion and my practical experience of knowing that most fall short, I did not speak and just nodded my head. I wanted to tell my new young friends all I had witnessed in the past: Young athletes, with no plan B, one-dimensional dreamers who, after falling short of exaggerated ambition, never grow into fulfilled adults. After thinking about my own sometimes failed lofty dreams, I continued chugging on my beer in silence.
About ten minutes before kick-off, the three of us checked in the Hard Rock, secured a seat at the bar, ordered up a seafood platter and were ready to watch some football.
The morning after the Super Bowl, Austin, Shay and I woke up with a Super Bowl hangover that I knew any recovery from would take a while. I dropped mucho shekels as the Atlanta Falcons stole defeat from victory. My two traveling companions drove me back to Orlando where I picked up my black Tahoe rental. Seeking balance and a dose of reality, I pointed my borrowed car north. Surely a surprise visit to Laura in Tallahassee would be the welcome respite I needed. As I hit the open highway, I checked all my messages which had been purposely ignored during the past few days. Besides the usual array of clients, friends and family, there were two texts that jolted my attention. One was from a CNN reporter, and the other from the director of the Oval Office Operations Keith Schiller. CNN is doing a profile on my childhood friend who is now one of the top advisors to the President of the United States. A peer from my adolescence, who the odds said would  never make it out of New Paltz, was now the man closest to the most powerful person in the world. Cruising at 85 mph past Jacksonville, I picked up my phone to return my calls. On hold, I thought about the gap between Austin and Keith. One pursing, and the other already finding the Holy Grail. It really is all about the in-between. Somewhere in that canyon we either get to who we are or we don’t. A familiar thought came over me. I need to keep changing, growing, and evolving. I have been a good time Charlie, a husband, a teacher, a coach, a father, an insurance broker, an entrepreneur and an ex-jock. There is so much more to who I want to become. I raised the radio volume, and my speed, and kept moving down the highway.
FSU’s football stadium is right across the street from my daughter’s apartment. I did not let Laura know I was coming to see her so it was a surprise to catch her home studying. My first child is one of 35,000 undergraduates at Florida’s State University, and every one of them has a lifetime of choices ahead, the person they will marry, the career path they will follow, where they will look to settle,  all the major decisions I have had to make. All of the opportunity that lay ahead for them to go on that journey of trying to become who they are supposed to be. I have the hope that Laura is one of the enlightened ones, one of the lucky ones who will be decisive enough to make well calculated choices, yet strong enough to not be bound by them. During my overnight visit, it was reinforced that Laura is much further down the path of growth than I was at 21. She understands patience and the benefits of not rushing into long-term commitment. If she is ever going to reach her full potential she will have to get knocked down early and often. Hopefully she will come through those times stronger, resilient, and more appreciative for all she accomplishes going forward. “You can have it all Laura. Be patient and independent and every door you knock on will open for you.” At my age I figured a father’s advice may finally have some credibility.

The last leg of my journey was a six hour ride from Tallahassee to the Hard Rock Hotel in Ft. Lauderdale. Alone again, approaching south Florida with the sun setting on the horizon I was passing Exit 352 on Interstate 495. I read the sign aloud “Silver Springs”.

It sounded like a metaphoric place where we all want to go. A place where life experience is valued, an intellectual, spiritual haven where learning and mentoring are equals. Only the well-rounded and weathered travelers are welcomed. A place that getting to will be less important than embracing the idea. The sun had gone down, completely. In the clouds of the half- light, I saw the cast of characters  that had interloped in my latest adventure: my golfing buddies, Keith, Austin, Shay, and Laura. In the twilight of my thoughts, we all raised our glasses and made a toast in unison,  “ To Silver Springs.”