Father's Day 2021 (José, Ann, & Carolyn)

Last weekend had both Father's Day and Juneteenth, so I decided to split the difference and make last week's post about Black excellence and this week's post about fatherhood. Enjoy:

José Dominguez

05.20.2021

Maria Breaking the Rules of Good Manners

The dining table was for me and the rest of my brothers a school of good manners and etiquette. My father was in some way solemn and respectful to his traditions. His constant supervision of our eating manners left an imprint on us. To begin with, he had to be the first person to take a seat and had to be at the table headboard. My mother’s place was to his right with the task of supervising the cookery movements from the kitchen, and to serve the food. The kitchen was an independent room out of our sight. The routine started with our hand cleaning. All food had to be eaten. By any means we had to protect the table cloth from food or drink spills. There were no special plates. Cutting the food had to be done with mastery to prevent any spills. We ate in small portions. Never talk when chewing. We were prohibited to clean the plate with bread or tortillas. Don’t interrupt conversations. Tacos are a special plate so we were not allowed to do tacos with our food. We had to say, “please” when asking for something, not to play while eating, etc. After the first plate was done my mother ran to deal with the next until desert was served. Of course that with aging my father became less strict and more permissive. Nevertheless, when married, Maria and I were invited to live with my parents and in a way some formalities were not strictly reinforced; since Maria did not know all the details of our home table culture, she had to learn it. She sat beside to my father’s left side, meaning that she was the most important person after my parents. In one occasion the dessert was mango and my mother included the special trident that we always used to hold, peel and eat that tropical fruit. Nobody told her how to use it but she managed to copy my movements. First, she put pressure to the mango so it could not move. Next, she took the trident and her task was to find the central piece that we called “hueso” or bone in English. Several times she tried to hit the target but was frustrated in her trials. So, she decided not to fail and applied more pressure to the mango and more pressure to the trident and voila!! The mango flew through the air and landed on my father’s lap. My mother was horrified, I was in suspense, Maria was begging for pardon, and my father was laughing with all the strengths of his lungs. The solemnity was broken and Maria become more and more close to my father mostly because of her willingness to help in any endeavor needed to keep our family well attended. She was so supportive that my father in one unusual confession told her in front of me: “Maria I always had the dream of a daughter but God gave 6 sons, but with you I have received the daughter I never had. Thank you.”

 

Ann von Dehsen

03.28.2019

Deer Spotting

During each summer of my childhood, my family went to the Poconos for a few weeks vacation. On the ride up, my father and I would start our weeklong game of deer spotting. Simply, if you saw a deer and called out “deer!” first, you scored a point & the one with the most points at the end of the week won. Being 5 years older than me, I guess my sophisticated sister thought the game was dumb & did not join us. My mother, being from the Bronx and never entirely comfortable in the woods was far too busy looking out for life threatening bears to join us. So it was just a game between the 2 of us that eventually became a tradition. Even years later when riding in the car with him in the suburbs we’d still shout “deer” during a very rare sighting. After suffering a stroke towards the end of his life, my father spent some time at a rehab center.
On golden autumn day as I was pushing his wheelchair thru the gardens, I noticed a deer in the distant woods. I decided not to yell “deer!”, as I was afraid it might scare & confuse him, just as my father yelled “Deer!” and we shared a laugh & a hug. It was also on this walk that he told me he was ready to die & for me to remember happy times together instead of being sad.
Within a few weeks he was back in the hospital and we knew he did not have much time left, yet he continued to have some good days so my sister & I took turns being at the hospital. I had returned home for a day or two to be w/ my children. On the first day home I received a phone call that Drs. Did not think he would make it thru the night so I immediately started the 2 hr. ride back to the hospital. Now it was not uncommon to see deer on my route through N.J. Pine Barrens to the hospital.
But, on this particular night as I approached the last circle on Rt. 70, 3 very large deer walked calmly out of the woods, stopped & appear to look right at me. As they slowly moved on I looked at the car’s clock & saw it was 8:10. A few minutes later I got to the hospital and ran towards my fathers room but was stopped by the nurse & my crying sister. “I’m sorry,” the nurse told me, “but your father did just a few minutes ago, at 8:10.”
So, it may have been a coincidence, but I believe those deer represented my father’s final, loving goodbye.

Carolyn Boston

01.14.2021

Childhood Bliss

I remember the first time my father took me to the park in the summer and put me on a swing. He placed my small body on the seat and told me to hold on. I can still see that huge metal chains that held the swing
and thought the chains looked like the loops I made in kindergarten out of construction paper.
“I’m going to give you a little,” push my father said “So hold on tight.” At first I was afraid but the sensation of going back and forth felt pleasant almost like being in a rocking chair but in the air instead. As I glided back and forth I thought of how much fun it was.
“Hold your feet up,” my father would say, “So you can go higher.” I was dragging my feet on the ground not realizing that I was limiting my movement in the swing. With a slight small push from my father, I started moving and from that very day I couldn't wait to get to the swing again.
The following summer I had grown to the point that I had the strength to move myself back and forward
with less pushes from my father. Higher and higher I would go. The sun was warm on my face as I soared. I felt like I could fly away. I asked my father to push me higher.
“I don't want to push you too high” he’d say, “because I don't want you to fall.”
The following summer I was a pro. Other kids in the park would challenge me, and I'd have swing races with my friends to see who could go higher. Being in a swing while I soared in the air made all my cares melt away. I could see the backyards of the neighbors in the neighborhood and their roofs. The tree trunks were more visible and beautiful.
I felt like a bird in flight surveying the land.
Unencumbered. My body felt weightless and free.
There was no feeling more blissful to me. Than being in that swing.
When I think of those times in my adulthood, the memories of my dad teaching me how to swing still works wonders.

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have stories of fatherhood, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

 

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Happy Juneteenth (Norman, Denise & Joan)

This Saturday is Juneteenth, the holiday celebrating the abolition of slavery in the United States. It was established when the ratification of the Emancipation Proclamation was announced in Texas, on June 19, 1865, one year and six months after it was signed. As a Confederate State Texas was unwilling to enforce the Emancipation Proclamation, but was forced to follow it after the Civil War ended.

In honor of Juneteenth, this post is all about Black Excellence written by some excellent Black older buds. Enjoy!

Norman Cain

12.05.2019

Shirley Conners, Dance Pioneer

Philadelphia Senior Center’s Shirley Conners, a long time member of 509 Broad Street, is a stately, quiet, and always an immaculately attired individual who has had a life long love affair with dance.
She is a member of an artistic, internationally historical family. Her second cousin is none other than Mariano Anderson and she is third cousin to the renown classical pianist James DePriest, the son of the late Dick Anderson, Former Captain of the All Afro American Phila Detective squad during the 1940’s and 50’s.
Shirley started dancing at the age of 4 or 5, according to her, at a facility called Prestin’s which was located 16th and Chestnut street. Faculty at this facility taught music dance and signing.
Later she studied at the legendary Sydney King Studio where she became friends and danced with Joan Myers, founder of Philadanco.
During her high school years Shirley and her dance crew would go to New York to study under the Queen of Afro Interprative Dance Katherine Dunham.
Shirley danced with the Sydney King group throughout different arenas in Phila, like Town Hall and The University of Penn.
She stated that they won first place on the Wheel of Fortune but because they were an Afro Group their performance was not shown on television.
Shirley’s picture at age 19 appears in a book entitled the Audacity of Hope, which was written by Joan Myers and traces the history of black ballerinas in Phila. Shirley was also involved as a dancer for several years with the Phila Xmas Cotillion that took place from 1949-1959, and mostly held at the old convention hall in West Philly. That event was renown and was written up in Newspapers (white and Black) throughout the nation. The event initiated by Eugene Wayman Jones, professor at Temple Union, started out catering to privileged Afro American youth and eventually incorporated youth from the neighborhoods in Phila. This annual event would have hundreds of youth participating in tuxedos and evening gowns. Our Shirley Conners is a pioneer in the dance.  

 

Denise W

02.11.2021

Ostentatious

I’m in a group called Toastmasters. In Toastmasters just last night, my role was to be a Grammarian. So, as a Grammarian, one thing you do is you pick out a word. You define a word, and then the speakers try to incorporate the word in a conversation. Last night, I chose the word “ostentatious,” which means “attracting or seeking to attract attention, admiration, or envy by gaudiness or obviousness; overly elaborate, et cetera.” So it’s ironic that that was the word because the assignment I thought was talking about clothing and so I wrote when I was little girl, I attended a local Catholic School. Uniforms were required. On Sundays, Mom and I were members of the church to celebrated mass and holy days of obligation. My grandparents however joined the local Baptist church. Clothing on a Sunday was a planned event in which only our finest clothes would be appropriate. My nana was dressed up with a big beautiful hat, gloves, matching outfit that included matching heels, pocketbook and a mink around her shoulders. Grandpop looked debonair in a tailored suit and fancy hat. Mom boasted that we were the best-dressed family in the neighborhood. That didn’t mean much to me but this was my family.
A boutique that sold one-of-a-kind fancy clothes for children was nearby. I was the only girl, the oldest grandchild, so needless to say I had many fancy, frilly dresses with crinoline slips, matching patent leather shoes, gloves, hats corresponding to the handbag, et cetera. Dressing well was a top priority for our family. Favorable appearances and impressions meant everything at the time. I can picture orange high heels in my mother’s shoe closet. Mom enjoyed dancing in the Cotton Club of Harlem, so she had to look the part. It’s time for dress. We went to John Wanamaker’s to purchase her attire, which then was pretty good. However, my personality while playing as a rambunctious daughter: I did not look very presentable at the end of the day, as my hair ribbons were torn, clothes wrinkled, and shoes were scuffed out. My tomboyish behavior was embarrassing for my mom. She would summarize me to come into the house, change into clothes and shoes et cetera, just consumed with the question, “What are the family, church people, neighborhood thinking about us?” So for me, that was pretty hard that I was her daughter because she was trying to be so pristine and always worrying about what people thought, and I didn’t. I could care less. I just wanted to have fun, and I did.
Now, even to her death when she was very well dressed. I found I went to Lord and Taylor and they had very beautiful couture dress, I forgot the designer right now to be honest, but light blue was her favorite color, and I purchased the dress. I took it to my mother, and she did wear it. We didn’t talk about it, but I knew even at death when she was laid out in the casket, she had on that beautiful dress, that couture, and we had a fancy hat on her, and because to her how you looked meant a lot, to me I learned that it doesn’t. But I guess that I was just a little of a misfit of a daughter for her because even as I got, even when I was in my forties I would go to church with her, and by that time, she converted to the Baptist religion, and she said, “Is this what you’re going to wear?” and I said, “Yeah.” She said, “Go to my closet and see what else you can find,” because we were about the same size, but she didn’t approve. Even to the day I like clothes, I’ll either dress very good or casual. I have very little in-between. But clothes are certainly not a priority for me and they never will be. So “ostentatious” was definitely an adjective that describes the way my family saw clothing and impressions.

Joan Bunting

12.12.2019

Don’t Be Afraid of Growing Old

 As I was approaching my senior years, I noticed that some would overly be concerned about them coming into their senior years. We don’t know how we’ll turn out but all we have to do is continue to be ourselves.
Hopefully as we grow older, we have also grown spiritually. The way we’ll be able to also grow gracefully.
This Sunday, if I’m still here, I’ll be eighty years old. For some reason I’ve become very excited about it. I can hardly believe that I have lived (almost) eight decades.
As I think about what I’ve been through here on this Earth, I’m constantly thanking and praising God for bringing this far.
As I go through my senior years, I have to laugh because some of the changes I’ve been through and still are going through are just funny.
For instance one minute I’m just fine and feeling great and the next minute here comes a slight pain out of nowhere. And I’ll say now where did that come from? Then it’s gone like it never happened.
I talk to myself a lot and I laugh at myself a lot. In the morning when I’m in the bathroom I look in the mirror to see what I look like noticing the sagging of my body and the wrinkles, and the bags under my eyes and I make ugly faces at myself and tell myself that this is what I’m supposed to look like at my age so stop trying to find that youthful look that I used to have.
I’ve never had a problem of growing old, I’ve just kept being me and thanking God constantly for keeping me all these years

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have stories of Black excellence, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

 

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

 

 

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Everyday Pandemic Life (Norman, Eleanor and John)

More and more people are getting COVID vaccines, more and more places are opening back up, and more and more places are relaxing their mask rules. After over a year of all the things we've done and are doing to keep COVID at bay, I thought it'd be useful to look back at how our older buds keep their days going during then.

Norman Cain

03.04.2021

My Love for Walking and the Pandemic

I love walking, an endeavor that I enjoyed and perfected during the various stages of my life. As a child growing up in West Philadelphia not too far from Fairmount Park, my friends and I were constantly hiking through the interior of what has been know as the largest landscaped park in the world. When I last checked France has the largest park in the world and Philadelphia was the second largest park.
When I went to South Carolina each summer I constantly walked mile upon mile to fields, to town and to play with friends. While as a student at Bluefield State College in West Virginia I had to tediously walk to various locations throughout the mountainous terrain. And then there was the Army, each day our feet and resolve were tested as we balanced heavy backpacks on our backs and almost equally burdened rifles on our shoulders, as we trekked insurmountable and endless miles during our 2-month basic training period.
Walking had become a second nature with me. In fact, my peers, especially during my senior year, marveled at my love for hiking the Wissahickon trail and being able to walk great distances throughout the city. While my walking for the sheer pleasure, that beloved hobby of mine, had dwindled during my senior years, I still was quite active in that activity.
In order to maintain my schedule at the 6 Senior Centers that I faithfully attended before the pandemic, I had to walk on the average of 12 blocks a day to unite with public transportation. During the year-long shutdown caused by the pandemic, I of course was not walking but rather sitting down all day. Non-activity caused my knees to tighten. The few times I would go out each week caused a chore. I had to find some where to sit after I would walk a block.
There are 2 incidents that occurred when I had to walk because of business. The first occurred when I had an 11:45 Covid injection appointment at the Veteran’s Administration Hospital, 39th and Woodland Avenue. When I debarked from the trolley at 40th and Woodland I had to walk an extremely long block to 39th and Woodland, make a southward turn and walk another long block to the entrance to the hospital.
When I arrived, I was told that the entrance was closed and that I would have to enter at another locality, which was located another long block away. Once inside the hospital I had a long walk to the injection area where I had to do some extensive standing. After my injection I had to repeat the same laborious procedure.
The second incident concerning long tedious walks occurred recently. I went to Columbia Commons by way of the 79 bus, whose route is Snyder Avenue, to get a headset at Best Buy. Columbia Commons is right by the Delaware River and I had no idea about where Best Buy was and that gigantic shopping mall. I first walked 2 and a half blocks in the wrong direction, then 4 blocks before I reached my destination. Then there was the return trip to catch the bus to take me home.
The hospital and Best Buy trips taxed my knees, but those hardships paid off. When they open up the city again, I will be able to get some but not all of the kinks out of my knees. I will continue my beloved walking with care.

 

Eleanor Kazdan

06.11.2020

Re: Signs of Hope

Well, I’m very glad to hear your positive stories, because unlike you Ann, this is a very bad day for me when I’m just like “This is not going to end anytime soon.” What are kids going to do when they go back to school? I’m thinking of you know, all the most negative repercussions of this pandemic, which is simply not- the curve is not flattening and all that stuff. So you know, thank you.
Well that’s it. Day by day. Don’t think too far in the future. I guess that’s what you have to do. But it’s good to have some very nice days of normalcy; semi normalcy. You know, every day’s different and that’s what you have to remember when you’re having a negative day; that you may not feel the same way tomorrow, and it’s really the truth.

 

John

06.25.2020

Septa

I was going to say that one of the things that surprises me is that I take Septa quite a bit and some of the employees like the train conductor, the guy who gives out the tickets for the train or some of the bus drivers; I get on and they are not wearing a mask.
And I'm looking at them like, you know your telling passengers you must have a mask to get on the bus or the train or anything Septa. And you’re an employee, and work for them, what kind of example are you setting? You're not even putting a mask on. They’re not following their own rules. I take the 40 bus to the Senior Center also, and one driver did not have a mask on. And I remember one day getting on and, he didn't have a mask at all. I didn't say anything, you know I'm not going to cause a problem. But it was just disappointing to see that, that’s all, and I went to the back of the bus. As far away as I could.
I use the LUCY bus I lot, I don't know if you know what the LUCY bus is. I live in University City, and I try to take that every time to go anywhere. Because it's empty. Most of time I get on and I'm the only one on it. So I love that.

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have stories of day to day life, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

 

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

 

 

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Veterans (Mo and Norman)

Last Monday was Memorial Day, a day to honor those who gave their lives fighting for this country. I almost always have a post for each Memorial Day because many of our older buds--and many older buds in general--served in the military. You can find links to their stories here, here, here, and here. I'm continuing the tradition with two more stories from two of Best Day's veterans, Mo and Norman:

Mo McCooper

06.15.2017

In the last 5 or so years things have come to my attention that were shocking but with a little bit of effort I would have realized years ago.
Busy making a buck and playing various sports in the evenings kept me in a comfort zone where I was unaware of even local obstacles in the way of many wonderful fellow Americans.
With curiosity as my formidable ally I am excited about learning more in the area of enlarging the civic rights of the majority of my fellow citizens while enjoying much more of the experiences of my 5 wonderful children and 6 incredible grandchildren.
The perspective I have as a military veteran fuels my interest in providing civilian opportunities for high school students and graduates in lieu of entering the military. More to follow!!!

Norman Cain

05.28.2020

What I want to share today has to do with my rides on airplanes and maybe was in 1965 and I believe it may have been around October, close to Thanksgiving. I took my first plane ride when I was in the Army. I left Charleston, South Carolina Air Force Base, the military base, to go to the republic of Panama, and I was really frightened on our first trip because it was an old plane and it sounded like the engine was going to fall out. So twice after that, when I was in the Army, when I was coming home for Christmas vacation and then coming home permanently, I was on the plane again but that was a better experience coming to Miami Airport and whatnot. But there was one time, to back up a little bit, when I came home for my Christmas experience, I was told by the Sergeant because I had to go from the Atlantic side of Panama to the Pacific side to Fort Kobbe Air Force Base and my Sergeant told me that if there was not a flight going out that I had to come back to the Company, and I know for a fact that he told, called up to the Pacific side and told them to tell me that there was no flight. And this is exactly what they told me, that there was no flight, but a janitor had heard what they had said and that next morning when I came out of my bunk and getting ready to go back to my company, the janitor said, “There is a flight going to the United States,” and would you not know it or believe it, hat flight was actually an Air Force Reserve Company, and they were going right into Pittsburgh. So they took me into Pittsburgh, it was a pleasant flight, and the only problem was that it was the wintertime when I got into Pittsburgh, I didn’t have on any winter clothes, but I did get home.
And then the next time that I took a flight, it was to go to North Carolina to my younger brother’s college ceremony, and then after that I took a flight coming out of Montgomery, Alabama coming into Philadelphia. But then, the last time I took two flights was this past winter when I went to Orlando, Florida, and then I was really surprised because the things have changed with the security measures and the airport was looking like a big city in there with all of the stores and eateries and what not, and you had motorized vehicles taking the passengers through. And generally when I take the bus to go to Orlando, it’ll take me about 22 hours; I got there on that plane and was culture shocked in about two and a half hours. And then to get my baggage I had to go and check out, I called the subway, and that’s when the culture shock came in. Then when I came back from Atlanta coming into Philadelphia, the same thing happened- I still have not gotten over that. So that’s my story for this week.

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have have military stories, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

 

 

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

 

Curated by Caitlin Cieri