Not for a day, a week, or a college term, but for life!

If you ever wonder whether or not you have true friends, I’ll offer a litmus test; don’t see or talk to some for 10 years. Then, randomly, pick a night to go out to dinner/drinks with them and, if after all that time, you can sit down and pick up as if you saw each other yesterday, it is safe to say that you have some true friends.

Last night I did just that with some guys I went to college with. The bonds of the Kappa Sigma Fraternity made us brothers (gasp) almost two decades ago and this bond is as strong as ever!

Given that my job as a marketing consultant is a lifestyle job (i.e. there is a very blurry line between my professional and private lives) and that I am an active father of eight-year-old triplets, I don’t make the time to see old friends as much as I would like. This is unfortunate given that most of these guys live within a 12-mile radius of my home and some are literally right around the corner. Even though family life and professional responsibilities take priority, it is still important to maintain these old friendships. Every now and then you need to relive the old days while, at the same time, create new memories.

Seated with me at the table were the following (referred to by nickname only) Conan, Sloth, Zach Daddy, Big D, Slaw, and Po. A cast of characters indeed! During our time together, we of course played the “remember when” game and had the opportunity to catch up on more current events; what our kids are into, what we do for work, etc.

After being kicked out of a restaurant in Norwalk at 10 pm, we found ourselves looking for a place where we could extend the evening. We wound up at the Ash Creek Solution; one of those places I have passed a thousand times but never entered. What appeared to our wandering eyes as we entered this fine establishment? Karaoke night in full swing! Couple that with the fact that everyone in that place seemed to know each other and we immediately felt like the odd men out. We immediately knew that this was a world that we could not break into so we went off in the corner and had our final beer.

One by one each of us left citing either having to get up early with the kids in the morning or having to get to work earlier than usual as our primary alibis for leaving (mind you, these thoughts never crossed our minds 20 years ago when leaving Yellow House, Huskies, Teds, or the Upper Deck). As such, I was struck with two sobering (literally and figuratively) thoughts: 1. It is possible for men with nicknames like Conan, Sloth, and Slaw to grow up and 2. Our alcohol consumption has dropped by 110% over the time we have known each other.

Neither of these points are negative, just surprising to anyone who knew us 20 years ago at the University of CT.

Grace Before Meals

I had an embarrassing thing happen today. During breakfast with my boss, Cathy, I noticed that before she ate, Cathy bowed her head and closed her eyes. Remembering that Cathy had been battling a cold for the better part of a month, I interrupted her moment of silence to ask if everything is all right.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just pray before every meal.”

Bonehead alert! Here I am ‘Captain Catholic’ as my friends often call me. I teach a first Communion class to second graders at my church. For Heaven’s sake, I write a Catholic blog and never miss a mass on Sunday. Not only do I not recognize when someone is giving thanks before a meal, but I have the nerve to interrupt them while they do so.

After my interruption Cathy felt as if she had to apologize, “I am sorry. I should have told you.”

Imagine that, I interrupt her during a prayer and she feels the need to apologize to me. What kind of world are we living in?

Why did this happen? Obviously, saying Grace before a meal is something that has gone by the wayside in my own life. Like Saul on the road to Damascus, the event from this morning knocked me on my rear end. It is an opportunity, though, to get back “on the ball” and start the practice of saying Grace before meals again in my own life.

As a result, I have two things to say to Cathy; 1. I am sorry for interrupting your prayer and 2. thank you for shining a spotlight on my own spiritual deficiency. This was the best gift I received today.

Resistance Training

I started working out with weights while I was in college. My best friend, John, was planning on joining the Marine Corps after he graduated and wanted someone to bulk up with. Prior to my junior year at the University of Connecticut, strength training was a foreign concept. Any exercise I did was purely cardio; which explains why I weighed only 135 lbs for most of my college life.

I quickly learned that lifting weights was painful. The day after my first workout with John, I could barely move my arms. The day after that was even worse! “It will get better,” he said to me.

After the soreness went away, we went back to “the cage” as the gym in the field house was known back then. After a month or so of strength training four days a week I noticed two things; I was getting stronger and I was getting bigger. My friends started to notice too, “Dude, like your getting big,” my roommate 'flounder' said to me one day. I was no longer sore after every workout but only after those where we pushed ourselves. Over time, I learned to enjoy the soreness that came after pushing myself hard; it was like a little reminder that there was always room to grow.

The lessons I learned about resistance training were simple; increase the resistance and increase your strength. Keep the resistance the same, and your body will get complacent and not change; you will plateau. Stop working out all together, and you will loose what you have worked so hard to gain.

There is a parallel in our spiritual lives. Consider that sin can be like a barbell coming towards us as if we were doing a bench press. When our faith lives are strong, we can push sin away more easily. When our faith lives are weak, we have a harder time avoiding sin and, over time, a weakening resistance to sin can lead to it crushing us.

As we get older, the temptation to sin can get bigger as can the sins we are tempted by. As such, it is important to continually grow in our faith so that we can more easily resist sin. There is an unfortunate reality, though. Many of us were born into a faith and spent years, largely at the insistence of our parents, building up our strength in that faith. However, adulthood comes along and we are likely not under the watchful eyes of mom and dad who always “prodded” us to going to church at least once a week.

Adulthood, therefore, is not the time to walk away from faith because we can get away with it. Rather, it is the time to start practicing the faith more seriously so that we can be strong enough to push away the bigger sins that will come our way.

Video Killed the Radio Star?

Bless me father for I have sinned. I have been listening to the 80's channel on Sirius XM and feel quite guilty about it.

I am not sure why I am drawn to this station so much; perhaps it is the original MTV VJs who I watched incessantly (much to my mother’s dismay) in my formative years or perhaps I am living out some “Peter Pan” type issues, but I just cant turn away from the sounds of Cindy Lauper, Tears for Fears, and Simple Minds. One thing is for certain; it certainly takes me back to a time in my life when things were simpler.

The other day I was treated to the sounds of Video Killed the Radio Star by The Buggles. Ironically, Mark Goodman introduced it on the radio. Looking back, the popularity of music videos and MTV certainly changed who could be a pop star; it was no longer good enough to have talent, you also had to have looks.

This was a change in convention, not unlike the change in conventions experienced as a result of Christianity.

In the days before Abraham, the known world was largely polytheistic in that people worshiped many gods. The actions of Abraham and, of course, Moses, would change the convention of polytheism and move civilization towards Monotheism. The changing of conventions, though, did not end with Judaism.

In the days of Christ, the area where He lived was under Roman rule and many were expecting the savior to be a great warrior delivering them from foreign rule. That Christ taught about loving neighbors, “giving Ceaser what is Ceaser’s,” and care for the poor/lowly, confused leaders of the time. That His influence was so strong was a threat to existing conventions.

Changes to convention are of course met with resistance; just like there were accomplished musicians who resisted the MTV phenomenon, there were leaders at the time who resisted the message of Christ. Luckily, there were those who embraced this message and who were courageous enough to spread it under fear of imprisonment, torture, and death.

That Christianity and Roman Catholicism have survived over 2,000 years with the odds stacked against them is testament to how powerful the messages of love, charity, generosity, and forgiveness really are. Of course, we would not have made it so far if it were not for those early martyrs who gave their lives for the faith. Likewise, we would not be able to practice our faith in community with others if it were not for the men who answer their calling towards the Priesthood.

In this year for Priests, I ask that each and every one of you reading this post remember to keep not only your parish priests in your prayers but also all those young men who are discerning a vocation towards the priesthood.

A Life Worth Noting

Growing up as a Catholic boy in Stamford, I went through a rite of passage that my older brother and countless others experienced before me; I became an altar server. While there were those boys whose parents “strongly encouraged” them to serve their parish in this manner, my motivations were different; I was in it for the money.

My family belonged to St. Gabriel Parish on Newfield Avenue, which is also where I attended middle school. One of my fellow altar boys, who was a bit older than I and “retiring” from the “club” clued me in on a little secret; when you serve mass at a funeral, you are likely to earn a tip. Furthermore, funeral masses in our parish tended to be at 10 am in the morning during weekdays; as such, if I were scheduled to serve a funeral mass I would not only earn a little extra money, but also be legitimately excused from class. Jackpot!

Even at twelve I was a bit entrepreneurial so, while entering the Church on a Sunday morning, I would always pick up a bulletin and scan it to see if anyone had died that week. If so, I would approach our pastor and ask if he needed any help with the funeral. Father Bob was always more than happy to accept my offer of service and I not only had a ticket out of Ms. Gullo’s Literature class, I would likely have enough money for a new cassette tape (it was the 1980s after all).

In my two years attending St. Gabriel School, I likely served 20 funerals. Initially, it was difficult to see the grief worn by those who came to mourn the deceased; however, over time, I started to become immune to it. Thankfully, I have not had to attend too many funerals since those days in the late 80s.

Last week, however, I found myself sitting in a pew at a St. Cecilia Church to pay my respects to a former neighbor, John Marsalisi. That the church, one of the larger Roman Catholic churches in Stamford, was as crowded as it was serves as witness to the number of lives that John touched in his all to brief 54 years on this planet.

As I sat waiting for the funeral mass to start, I thought to myself this will not be hard to get through. After all, I had so much practice going to funerals in my youth, I was not fearful of shedding a tear. Then, it hit me. As I saw John’s wife Ann being escorted down the aisle by her four children, I felt the tears well up in my eyes and I lost it. I was so full of sympathy for the young family left behind by this untimely death that my only response was to start crying.

The sadness I experienced at the funeral was broken briefly by the sound of children playing. It sounded like they were right underneath all of us sitting in the church. Then I remembered that on cold winter days, the students of St. Cecilia School have gym class in the church hall, located in the basement of the church. What a nice contrast; while we were celebrating the end of one life, we were treated to the joy experienced by those in the beginning of theirs.

Ever since I heard of John Marsalisi’s passing, I scanned my local newspaper for a story on him. Certainly a man who impacted so many lives through his commitment to the community would have an article devoted to his life and untimely passing. Instead, I kept seeing a story on a rectory facing demolition. This inanimate object has no feelings and its demolition would leave no widow or children behind. From what I have read, it is not even usable in its present condition.

As such, I am left with a sobering thought; we sometimes are so blinded by our passion to fight for “little” things that the really important things, life for instance, are often ignored. As we enter 2010, I hope that we as a society choose to devote our time, talents, and resources to things that matter and will have a positive impact on others in the community. RIP John Marsalisi; I will pray for the repose of your soul and for the beautiful family left behind by your untimely passing.

The Fuse

Today I have the unenviable task of putting all of the Christmas decorations away. It seems that it was just yesterday when the kids and I took them down from the attic and I remember completing that task with excitement and anticipation. Today's task, however, is met with sadness; it is hard to believe that another Christmas has come and gone.

This year, my kids made Advent wreaths at school. I am looking at them now and am sad that I have to put them away; not the kids but their wreaths. Since we light one candle a week for four weeks, each wreath has four candles of slightly different lengths. I don't look at these candles, though, as having slow burning wicks; rather, I see them as having fast burning fuses. The Sunday's of advent went past me in the blink of an eye and suddenly, BANG, it was Christmas day. The burned wax on each candle a subtle reminder that the flame that burns down the wick forever alters the candle's shape.

The holiday season is like that as well. As we moved through the Sundays of Advent we were preparing ourselves for the coming of Christ. Those of us who look to Advent as a time for reflection, and not simply a countdown clock for Santa Claus, should leave the liturgical seasons of Advent and Christmas as changed people; as altered as the candles on our Advent wreaths.

I hope that all of you who follow my musings had a very merry Christmas. I wish all of you health, happiness, and prosperity in the new year.

Hitting Curveballs

When I as knee high to a grasshopper (who says that?) I played in the Springdale Little league for Palmer’s Market (which, like some of the other sponsors including Handyman Hardware and Machlette Laboratories, is no longer in business in Springdale). I remember having a hard time hitting curveballs (to be truthful, I had a hard time hitting anything – the only thing that explained my on base percentage was the fact that my smart ass attitude was a target for pitchers). I think I have a permanent Rawlings tattoo on my left hip!

I remember one game in particular where Palmer’s Market was playing my brother’s team, Handyman Hardware. On my grandmother’s gave, the opposing pitcher was 11 feet tall and had blond hair. He kind of reminded me of William Zabka; the actor who played Johnny Lawrence, the antagonist in the Karate Kid. Any rate, he threw a curveball that curved right towards my body on its journey from the mound to the plate. Being a righty, it slammed into my left hip. I was down for the count. When I took my base, the first base coach asked me, “why didn’t you get out of the way?” I replied, “I did not see it coming.” No more words were spoken between us, but his expression said it all, ‘maybe its time for glasses.’

It dawned on me yesterday though that long after our ball playing days are over, the curveballs keep coming, albeit in different forms. Consider the following events which unfolded over a 12 hour period yesterday;

1. As I was waiting to board a flight from New York to San Diego, I spilled coffee on the only dress shirt I brought on the trip (I was only to be gone overnight). No problem, I said to myself, I was going to have 4 hours to kill once I landed in San Diego as my focus groups were only going to start at 5:30.

2. As we approach the San Diego area, the pilot comes on and tells us that we are being diverted to Long Beach due to bad weather in San Diego. Bad weather? Really? It rains once a decade in San Diego and I have to fly on the day of an apparent monsoon. Okay, stay calm, it will all work out.

3. We land in Long Beach and the pilot does not know how long we will be there. However, anyone with a carry on bag can deplane and make their own transportation arrangements to get to San Diego. Having friends who were stuck on an airplane for 30 hours, I decided to deplane and rent a car. It is only about 119 miles to San Diego from Long Beach and I had 4 hours to make it. This should not have been a problem only for the fact that A. the GPS I rented did not work and B. people in Southern California apparently don’t know how to drive in the rain. It was stop and go as I got onto the 405 S.

At this point, I was fuming. I thought I was going to miss my focus groups; a first in my career. Then, as I was driving south, I saw a break in the clouds and the sun came out for a brief moment. Something caught my periphery vision; the biggest and brightest rainbow I had ever seen in my life. I felt as if I could open my window and touch it. I then looked to my right and saw the Pacific Ocean. I could not help but smile at its beauty. So, I decided to do what one does in such situations and turn on the radio. The first song I heard was Simple Minds’ Alive and Kicking:

You turn me on, you lift me up

And like the sweetest cup I'd share with you

You lift me up, don't you ever stop, I'm here with you

Now it's all or nothing

'Cause you say you'll follow through

You follow me, and I, I, I follow you

What you gonna do when things go wrong?

What you gonna do when it all cracks up?

What you gonna do when the Love burns down?

What you gonna do when the flames go up?

Who is gonna come and turn the tide?

What's it gonna take to make a dream survive?

Who's got the touch to calm the storm inside?

Who's gonna save you?

Alive and Kicking

What an appropriate message to receive at that point in time! Suddenly, I felt the stress and frustration which were on my back like a monkey leave me as I traveled south towards San Diego. I then started to reflect on the topic of the night's focus groups; the US Army. Images of soldiers I had seen in airports reunited with their families after a long deployment only increased my happiness. The thought of soldiers thousands of miles away engaged in war and separated from their families during the holidays made me think that my current ordeal was nothing compared to what they face.

I made it to San Diego with 15 minutes to spare before my first focus group. Not enough time to get a new shirt so I just started off the session making fun of my own clumsiness; group participants always like it when the moderator is a bit self deprecating. The groups went great and I felt as if I did a great job for my client.

At the end of the night I realized that, after 35 years, I finally managed to hit a curveball.