We Don't Ride Bikes Anymore (12/10/06)

It’s interesting how much of your parents you can see directly in yourself. I mean, it makes sense that a product originating from two sources would carry their traits. But, it’s interesting to recognize those traits in both your parent and in yourself and then appreciate the parent and feel that much closer to them.
Both of my parents are people of deep character. They think about life, about the human condition, they treat people well. And they both effect people they talk to. You can easily feel from both my parents that if engaged in a conversation with them, they care about you. But if I had to categorize the way my parents relate to people, I would say that my dad is more public and my mom is more private in their approach.
My dad puts on a show. He will spin a tale and stand up out of necessity, out of sheer need to express. And it’s funny because I’m prone to think of my dad as the entertainer, but seeing my mom in front of a class room full of kids, it’s unbelievable how she works the crowd. I don’t know how she does it. Neither my father nor I could ever wrangle an elementary class, and with such aplomb!
My mom has a shwazé, an élan, a fine air of classical literature, the sentiment of dramatic and the heart of a mother the size which could easily love an entire orphanage. My mother has that type of capacity. She has size of love that reaches into a hard-hearted, neglected, rebellious, sharp-tongued 13 year-old and absolutely melts them, wining their allegiance not just for the day but the rest of their public school days in Fullerton. My mom has legions of rough kids in every class in the Fullerton school district who are loyal to the bone. And if you don’t show respect to Mrs. Pecoraro, one of these toughs will straighten you out before my mom has to say a word. Again, it’s unbelievable.
My mom gets so excited about the growth of a child. I have seen her ecstatic over an example of one child who overcame a learning barrier, learned to feel better about themselves or who finally understood the logic behind long division. Her focus really is on others.
Over the years we’ve often discussed my mother’s childhood and the environment she grew up in. It seems very unusual to me in terms of presence of parenting. But in short, my mother, the middle of five children, never really learned to have much regard for herself. Because she felt lost in the middle and was seldom noticed, recognized or made to feel “special”, my mother went about life as if such were the case.
On one hand this makes my mother a very giving person, selfless and thoughtful. She’s this way with the people in her life. I can’t even measure how this plays out in our relationship. There isn’t a son on planet Earth who has a mother who loves him more than mine. Unfortunately many of you don’t have a problem excepting this, but for those of you who think your mother loves you, she might as well hate you in comparison.
Anyone who has ever met my mother knows this. A case in point, upon meeting my dear friend and coworker Katherine, my mother very earnestly expressed, “it’s nice to meet you. You’re so lucky to be working with my son.” Katherine, of course, knew this to be true, but was taken aback by such a bold statement of love.
My mom’s not blind to my faults but she definitely is near-sighted. And if she does recognize them, she will never mention them to anyone else, ever, only to me. She displays this amount of loyalty to my father as well. And I can’t tell you what a prized virtue that is in a companion. My father is very fortunate to be able to say that my mom never embarrasses him in public by saying he’s wrong, or putting him down. And she would never mention anything to friend that might be between them. My mom hears women complain about their husbands all the time, but no one can say that they have ever heard my mother say anything negative about my dad. I hope this rings as priceless to your ears as well. I fear it’s far too rare a quality, that sort of fidelity. The sort that puts the friendship, the commitment the privacy of two lovers before any other on the planet; two becoming one. That’s how it’s done.
Here’s an example of how much my mom loves me. When I was a child we would go to Mc Donald’s a lot for lunch. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest but we went mostly for the toys in the happy meal. And the great part, the part that makes these trips such a prized memory of my youth, is that we would hit up the four or so closest Mc Donald’s to see if we could collect all the toys in the series. How fun is that?! It would be so great traveling around, like a mission. And the sense of completion I would feel after we had gathered up all the Big Foot monster trucks or Muppet Babies on tricycles, well it felt very nice, until the next series came out.
What other mother would do that? What other mother would have the patience or plain interest to spend that time with her young son Mc Donald hoping for a couple hours? Or spend hours on end going from antique shop to antique shop? Or go on explorations to the “secret park” and Brea’s Best burgers on our two Schwinns. Man, we had so much fun. My mom IS a lot of fun. I miss going about having fun with my mom. Those times are rare these days.
You know, I’m out here in L.A, I’m working a lot at the restaurant, I’m studying acting, I’m auditioning, I’m shooting I’m trying to live a balanced life. I have got to be out here, right? I do think so. And the noise of all the “stuff” that seems to be going on at the “moment” makes me sometimes forget what it’s like to be at home, or what home even is. And when I realize this I feel like an orphan out here. I feel like I don’t have a home. You know where home is for me right now, the restaurant I work at.
When I’m at work I have my work wives, my LA mom, plenty of uncles and brothers, my big sis, some little sisters, cousins of sorts, it’s all so familial. I’ve come to realize that I rely on these people a lot emotionally. I would have never thought it would be that way. And with my L.A. friends getting married off one by one, well, it leaves a void of intimacy.
I know that I draw Katherine and Jessica nearer and nearer as we grow in our love for one another. As I think about it, perhaps I require them to be friends as well as mothers to me. I’ve definitely asked more from them emotionally than I have with most girlfriends. That’s a funny thought. I’ve never had the thought that they fulfill a need I have for home.
Actually, last week, as Katherine and I had just moved Jess’ stuff back into her mom’s house, we were having a Newcastle and a smoke on her porch and I remember distinctly saying that that moment felt so much like being at home. It was so familiar, that feeling of having busted your butt to move in a friend and then relaxing with a beer and cooling off on the porch. It was so satisfying, that need for being needed, coming through in the clutch, being called upon to be a friend. You only ask a good friend to help you move. And I suppose I felt, within a very practical application, that I was and I had good friends, in L.A. What a golden moment.
And if I can delve deeper for just one more paragraph, I can’t say how much I enjoyed finally seeing Katherine’s home. It was so, well, homey. It had signs of a mother and a father and a brother and I actually met her grandmother, along with her three dogs. It was just so nice to be in a home, a home that wasn’t furnished almost entirely by Ikea. It was a real home with flavour and colour. I loved it. And that’s what I love about going to Jess’ house too.
That’s probably why I like to pick her up and not meet somewhere, so that I can go inside her home and give her mom a mom hug, all warm and comforting. Like Yesterday when I came in and I shared their burger and fries. Oh man, it was the only family meal I’ve been a part of in ages. It was so simple, and I didn’t even think about it at the time, but it was so nice, so warm.
I also love coming in so I can see all the old family decorations up, and be in a house that has about as many antiques as my parents’. And when Jess mentioned Kath, her and I having some vino with her mom, relaxing in front of the fireplace, well, I could get emotional about fireplaces. They hold a deeply special place in my heart from the early days of my childhood. I could sit forever on a foot stool or upon a rug within the warm embrace of a two-log fire, especially with them.

It’s great that I have what I have in Los Angeles. I can’t imagine not knowing these people and not having them in my life, in my heart. I love them. And I can see how I’ve been a part of making LA my home, making Miceli’s my home, it’s how I like to feel, how I probably need my life to feel and these are wonderful thoughts, but in another sense it saddens me.
I’m saddened because I will never know home to be like the home I knew. “Home” for me will never exist like it did, not even as far up as college never mind high school or before. When I return to my parent’s house it is always so wonderful, it is familiar and filled with memories. My mom’s cooking, the décor, my dad going to bed late and waking up even later, my mom up before everyone drinking coffee, reading the paper/her Bible/Tolstoy…
But I’m not the same, My parents are not the same. I am a man, they are older, we don’t ride bikes anymore. And I don’t even want to return to that time, but I think what I DO wish, what I definitely wish, is that I could simply spend more time with my mom and dad. I miss out on the nitty gritty. I miss out on physical touch. I have missed out on the majority of the past seven years, since I went to college. And I have seen my parents, well, grow older, as is the course of life. And I want to be there for that stage.
I want to share these years as we grow as friends, as a close chord of three. Sometimes I think, “what have I done? What have I missed in these seven years. How long will I continue to miss out on familial intimacy? Will I miss an entire decade?” I can’t believe how quickly that time frame approaches. I feel these feelings even though I also feel like I am where I am supposed to be. I feel God working in me, loving me, building in me, whispering to me, holding me in his hand.
I feel joy in all of this. I feel a quite, moist-eyed love in my heart about my life right now. It’s wonderful in all of the smallest ways. It’s wonderful in the way that my street has lots of leaves on it. It’s wonderful in the way that I can practice piano at 1am at Miceli’s with the ghosts. It’s wonderful that I can spend the first minutes of my birthday with Jess at Canter's, talk with Kath for two hours, go over Ryan’s and see grandma Green before we head out to the Italian bakery for a sandwich and some wonderful friendship, do absolutely nothing in our underwears around the house with Tony and laugh till we cry about a specific humour pretty much only we share. What jewels these moments are to me.
As I write this I am teary because I am so blessed. My cup overflows with goodness. God spares no wonderful thing from me. I couldn’t have more touching people in my life.
I guess I just miss my mom and dad.