The Rookery Does Father’s Day

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We here at Rookerville wanted to pay tribute to our many fathers.  Below are a few of our thoughts on our fathers and father’s day.  Happy Father’s; from Rookerville.

 

Russ Stevens:

If you know me, chances are, you have heard me say that I am my father’s son.  Each year that progresses, I find myself saying things I imagine he would, or behaving in a fashion I imagine he would.  This is not a bad thing, but it’s definitely funny considering the fact that growing up, there’s no worse idea than becoming your parent’s.

The biggest example of how much my dad has influenced the person I am now comes from his driving radio choices.  Growing up on Long Island, if I was in my dad’s Izuzu Trooper, there was a 100% chance we were listening to either “Sports radio 66, THE FAN! WFAN! NEW YORK!” or Steely Dan.  I couldn’t have hated either of these things more as a 10 year old.  Mike and the Mad Dog was the WORST. Who could listen to these guys yell at each other for hours on end? My Dad could.  And he would argue right back at them.  Steely Dan?  Even worse.  Being forced to listen to light rock while we cruise the streets of Uniondale? Not cool dad.  There’s people listening to Snoop (still Doggy) Dogg and Dr. Dre, but we listen to this?

 

Flashforward almost twenty years and I am that same guy.  ESPN Radio is the default station on my car. Mike and Mike, The Stephen A Show, The Michael Kay Show.  None of these are any better than what my dad listened to.  They are all middle-aged men yelling about the Giants and Jets.  Yankees and Mets.  It’s all the same.  It sounds awful most of the time, but I wouldn’t know what else to do in the car.  It’s how I’ve been conditioned.  Also, Steely Dan, while still not a preset in my life, is the default music of choice for me if I happen to go to Long Island (which I try not to).

My dad has never given a flying crap about what other people thought.  He was and still is, his own man. He’s impossible to embarrass, and unflinching in his interests.  Today I am the same way.  I think as far as personality traits being passed down go, you could do a lot a worse. Excuse me while I go listen to Aja.

 

Andrew Rose:

There’s a scene in Talladega Nights where Reese Bobby admits to his son that he has no recollection of uttering the phrase, “If you’re not first, you’re last” – a mantra by which the movie’s protagonist has lived his life. It’s funny how a small, singular event can have a profound impact on someone young and impressionable, yet be just as forgettable moments later to the other party involved. And yet, like most of us, I too have a strong memory of a brief sequence between my dad and I that both sums up our relationship and shared qualities, and also is probably something that he doesn’t even remember doing in the first place.

As a rambunctious kindergartener, I was one of those kids who played in the clothing racks at department stores. For me, they were like an indoor playgrounds, fashion-forward forts constructed by Macy’s for my enjoyment. During one family shopping trip (I think my mom was picking something up), I went my normal way of playing hide-and-seek between racks, darting amongst clearance sales in my own little fabric world. At one point, I emerged into the open and didn’t recognize my surroundings; I had ventured out further than I had realized. But in that moment of confusion, a strong force suddenly scooped me up and cupped a hand over my mouth, securing me without a peep and with no chance to escape.

Uh-oh.

 

Of course, it was my dad, who had been watching me the entire time and decided it would be fun to simultaneously teach me a lesson about running off and also paralyze me with fear. I attribute this moment – and many others like it – to my dark sense of humor (really, who fake-kidnaps their kid?), my love of pranks, and my desire to be always acutely aware of my surroundings (perhaps this was a lesson in street smarts as well). I also learned in that instance that he would always be looking out for me, and always have my back – even if it meant messing with me in the process.

Especially if it meant messing with me in the process.

Happy Father’s Day.

 

Scott Signorino:

Sometimes I wonder how my father and I are related.  His cool, calculating demeanor stands in stark contrast to my Type A exuberance, carelessness, and tendency to proverbially break things.  In addition, I couldn’t care less about spots yet, if a Phillies game is on, you know that’s all my dad is paying attention to for the next ~3 hours.  My dad’s a great guy, everybody likes him.  He’s well traveled, having been all over Europe when he was in the Army, and is a lot of fun to have a conversation with in all things history, spaghetti westerns, cooking, politics, and finance.  Also, our entire neighborhood comes to him when they need something fixed which is admirable because it’s always great to see the old man good with tools.  Unfortunately for me, I’ll never be that old man to anybody.

 

Back in 2010 my dad had some issues with his heart and it was a scary time for our family.  My dad, who’s going to be 75 this coming November, never asks for help from anybody unless he really needs it and back then he really needed it making me the de facto man of the house.  Suffice it to say, my dad made it through the corrective procedures perfectly fine and still continues to keep a part time job in between mowing the lawn, drinking a beer while watching the Phillies, and keeping calm and collected while both my mom and I fall back on our awfully short tempers.  Happy Father’s Day, Dad.  While we may not have a lot in common, I relish and look forward to all of the conversations we have about things in which you have infinite wisdom and understanding and by the way, I still need your help with the frame around my closet door.

 

Justine Kolsky:

“You’re your father’s daughter” is something that I’ve heard more than frequently. As far as looks go, I’d rather look like my mother so if that’s what people mean, I’m not into it. If they are speaking about my character, I’ll take it.

 

My dad raised me as if I was his son. He was my teacher of all things practical. The difference between a flathead and a Phillips screwdriver, how to insulate your windows, how to check your oil, change a tire, paint, move furniture, fish, and any other boyish tasks you can think of.

 

To teach me how to swim, he threw me up in the water and didn’t catch me (it worked), to teach me how to ride a bike he took off my training wheels, pushed me, and let go until I caught on.  He taught me the value of family, a dollar, and how to never “half-ass” something. He may not be the most sensitive, he may not always say the right thing, but he’s always coming from a good place. Dad, thank you for continuing to teach me through the years and always providing me with a good laugh. Happy Father’s Day, I love you!

 

 

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