toodeemo

TEN YEARS AFTER THE WEEK BEFORE

By Dennis J. D’Amato

Fifteen year old Sammy’s dad died in the World Trade Center attack 10 years ago. His dad left a diary behind that was found in the rubble. His mom gave the diary to Sammy and asked him to write about what he remembers about his dad as the ten year anniversary approaches.  It’s been ten years since Sammy last saw his dad, and Sammy isn’t quite sure what he remembers… or what he should forget.

Dear Diary:

Isn’t that the way you are supposed to start writing these things?  I’m still not sure how they found my dad’s diary. Everyone told me that the floor he worked on was blown away when the plane hit. When I see the videos about it, it sure looks that way to me. Or maybe he wasn’t there when it hit. Not exactly anyway. My mom says he might have been up in the restaurant with my aunt Jessie. Aunt Jessie didn’t come home that day either, so maybe they were hanging out together when it happened.  It’s good that they weren’t alone. I can tell you that if it really sucks to be alone. I know this for a fact. Anyway, my mom told me that about a month after it happened, some guy came to our apartment and gave her some stuff they found that they think was my dad’s, and they wanted her to identify what it was. One of the things they brought over was this leather diary that he used to write stuff in. She gave it to him when I was born she said, and she said it was so he could write about me and him and stuff so he could remember what happened when he got old. I guess that plan didn’t work out, huh? But really, it’s a pretty nice diary. I mean the cover has this tree carved into it and one of the leaves has his initials in it. Kind of sentimental bullshit I think, but still you have to like the way it looks.

Anyways, she gave his diary to me the other day and said I should write about what I remember about him what with it being the 10^th anniversary of what happened and all. Anniversary. I mean what kind of anniversary is this? Anniversaries are supposed to be about remembering good stuff. You know, like the first time you got outside boob or got high. Good stuff.  This isn’t exactly the same kind of thing. Nothing really happy or that I want to remember here. Just a bunch of stuff I can’t forget because it’s plastered all over the City or on television or the internet all the time. It’s like they’re all saying if I don’t want to remember it, they’ll make me remember it. I’ve gone down to the place where it happened every year. Listened to the names being read, sort of blocking his name out when I knew it was coming. I don’t really need to hear it. I know he’s on the list. Mostly I go because my mom wants me to. I don’t know why she needs me to go. She’s always with some dude or another who goes with her and tries to act like he’s my best buddy. Strictly bullshit, but what can I do? So that’s the kind of stuff I guess she wants me to write about.  She even gave me a book that looks just like the one she gave my dad so I would have someplace to write down what I remember and it would look like the book he wrote in. Personally, I think it’s kind of a stupid thing to do because I don’t even really think about him most of the time or remember too much about him either.  But if it gets her off my back for a couple of days, it’s probably worth it.

The shrink I go to thinks writing in the book is a good idea. When I first started going to her, she told me her name was Dr. Summers, but that I could call her Dr. Renee if it made me feel more comfortable. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it wasn’t her name that made me uncomfortable. I knew mom would be pissed if I said that. Anyways, Dr. Renee or whatever is worried about me because she thinks I have been “repressing” my memories of my dad. I’m not really sure if I am, but it sounds pretty official and I guess I sort of stop myself from thinking about him all the time. I can’t tell because if I’m not thinking about him somebody is reminding me about him. I can’t tell where my thinking ends and the telling begins. I mean after all, it’s pretty much impossible for me to do anything or go anywhere without somebody reminding me how much they care about what happened to my dad and how worried they are about me. It gets pretty old after awhile. I mean, how am I supposed to answer questions about something I really don’t remember? I mean, I feel like I’m supposed to feel all depressed and act like I miss him every minute of every day. Fact is, I don’t feel that way. When I think about it, I really didn’t know the guy all that much. I mean yeah, we did stuff together. I know he was a big baseball fan and he wanted me to go meet Derek Jeter someday. Funny thing is I did meet Derek Jeter at the Stadium. It was one of those let’s feel sorry for the kids of the people who died in the World Trade Center things. He shook my hand and kind of rubbed my Yankee hat around. Seemed like a nice guy. I still watch the Yankees play though. When people ask me if it reminds me of my dad, I tell them what they want to hear. Yeah, my dad was a Yankee fan, so I’m a Yankee fan too. That’s not really true though. All this stuff about writing things I remember about my dad made me realize something. I probably know more about Derek Jeter than I do about him. I was thinking about writing about Jeter instead, but the shrink thinks I’m fucked up enough as it is. I don’t want to flip her out more than I have already. Or maybe I do. I haven’t decided yet.

Sometimes it’s fun when people think you’re nuts. I can make people do stuff I want them to do just by making them think I’m not taking my meds. Everyone knows somebody like me can be very “dangerous” if not properly medicated. That cracks me up. I’ve never even thought of doing anything dangerous. At least not dangerous for someone else. I remember one time when I was about 10 or maybe 12, I went to the Empire State Building instead of going to school. I went up to the top and spent a couple of hours just looking at the City. I guess I wanted to get an idea of what it was like to be in the World Trade Center before it all fell down. I didn’t think about it, but it was the day before September 11 that year. I guess I was thinking about it but not really. So I was up there and looking around and I decided I wanted to go higher up to get a better view, so I started climbing the fence that goes around the top. The guards came running over like I was on fire or something. Everybody was freaking out on me and asking me why I wanted to jump. I didn’t know it at the time, but I guess people try to jump off all the time. But I swear, I was just trying to get a better view. I mean, you’d have to be fucking nuts to try to jump off the Empire State Building. Especially with all those guards up there. Anyways, my mom will do anything I want her to if she thinks I’m going to go all crazy on her or go back to the Empire State Building. I saw what I wanted to see up there already. No reason to go back there.

So this book is sitting here, and the shrink wants me to write stuff about him here. I have the diary book he wrote in too. I suppose I should read it and maybe I’ll get some ideas. But I don’t know. I really don’t want to read it. I mean what could it say? That he had a son he loved and all that? If he loved me so much, maybe he would have stayed home that day instead of going in to work on his day off. If he did that, I wouldn’t have to write this shit just to get my shrink and my mother off my ass. My mother probably has more stories to write about him than I ever will. I don’t see her writing in a book. Or even talking about him much. Maybe she talks about him when she goes to all those meetings. They have all these meetings in restaurants and places like that so everybody can sit around and talk about who died and who didn’t die and who should die. I’m not really all that interested. But I do get pissed off at some of the assholes who talk shit about people like my mom. That scrawny transsexual blonde chick with the huge Adam’s Apple in her neck who is always on television is always doing that. I mean how the fuck can you blame my mother for what happened? Sometimes I think I’d like to meet that bitch in a dark alley. I’m sure she doesn’t come out during the daytime. She’d probably be too scary to meet anyway. I’d sure love to tell her to fuck off though. And to stop giving my mother a bunch of shit. Maybe someday I will.

Anyways, my mom doesn’t really do much of anything when she isn’t at one of those meetings. Mostly she walks around the apartment looking out the window. She smokes a lot and drinks vodka right out of the bottle. I don’t know why she would do that.  Maybe she just doesn’t like to wash glasses. I’m not sure. She has dudes coming over sometimes. I guess they are boyfriends, but mostly they’re just geeks trying to make themselves feel good because they are being nice to a World Trade Center widow. Personally I think they should go try out that Empire State Building thing I told you about. Talk about assholes. My little sister Jess, who was named after my aunt who didn’t come home that day, just gets on her nerves all the time. I mean the kid is only 9 years old and she gets yelled at all the time for no reason. I think maybe my mom shouldn’t have had her. After what happened and all. I don’t ever tell Jess I think that though. I remember when Jess was born. It was a real freak show. All these news people were following us around all the time, taking pictures for the Post and Daily News. Even though I was only a kid, I remember being pissed off about it all the time. When Jess was born, there were pictures of her in the newspaper. All these people stopping by the apartment saying she was the God’s way of replacing dad. All that kind of crap. She’s been living with that stuff all her life. Poor kid can’t get five minutes alone without seeing something to remind her about being dad’s spirit or whatever. This last month or so has been a fucking nightmare. What with the anniversary and all, the news people can’t wait to ask her how she feels about it and all that. She’s nine years old for chrissake. How is she supposed to about having her life plastered all over the internet and the news? Fortunately they stopped asking me. I think they’re afraid I might get all ballistic and stuff.  Anyways, when the shit gets too deep for her, Jess comes into my room and gets on my bed and cries. I want to give her a hug or something, but it’s just too freaking creepy for me to do that. I’m not a hugger type, and I don’t really know what to say to her. What do you tell a kid at a time like that?  I always end up letting her play my Wii when she does that. She’s getting pretty good at Pac Man. She’s got that going for her. It can’t be all that bad.

I was reading some of the stuff he wrote in his diary.  I sort of remember some of it. I had to crack up when he was talking about me checking out Aunt Jessie’s boobs. I should have known he would have caught that. I didn’t know what “hot” meant at the time, but I knew something was going on there that I liked. I’ve seen some pictures of her when she was younger too. Maybe my age even. She definitely was pretty hot. I probably shouldn’t be talking about my aunt that way, but it’s kind of cool that my dad knew it. I guess he was a pretty smart guy. Aunt Jessie used to watch me when my mom and dad went out. Which was often. When I think about it now, I have to figure that she had better things to do. What with her being so hot and all that. But I don’t remember her ever saying no or acting all bitchy and put out or anything like that.  She would just hang out, read stories to me. Even let me watch cartoons later than I was supposed to and let me drink soda and eat cookies. She was just pretty cool. I think I would have liked her even if she didn’t have great boobs. My sister always asks me about Aunt Jessie and what she was like. I usually tell her about the stories and cartoons. I figure telling her about her boobs wouldn’t be right.

I remember the day we all went to Mystic. My dad wrote about it in his diary. I sort of had to laugh when he was talking about putting the crab claw on his nose and screaming for help. Even though I was only five, I knew that was kind of goofy. He did a good job though. I think of that sometimes when I see those crabs on a menu someplace. I never order them though. I guess my dad scared me enough so I stay away from them. He was talking about how I wanted to name my new brother Jeter and how he was worried about how I would take it if my new brother was a sister. He said I asked him if I could name her Jeter. I don’t remember saying that, but it was pretty clever for a five year old kid. Anyways, I never got the chance to do it because of what happened and how much my mom wanted to name her after Aunt Jessie. I guess I can’t argue about that. And when I look at my sister, I can definitely tell you she doesn’t look like a Jeter. Curly red hair and freckles wouldn’t cut it with that name. So naming her Jess was probably the right thing to do.

I remember some stuff my dad didn’t write about in his diary too. Like I remember how he was always working. Leaving early and coming home late. He always found a couple of minutes to come into my room though. Before I went to sleep. We would talk about stuff that happened that day. Not that there was much to talk about. I mean, how much stuff happens to a five year old kid? But whatever we talked about, I remember that he always made it sound like a big deal. He would open his eyes up real wide and get this goofy look on his face as if he was really interested in the caterpillar I found outside. He’d ask me all about it, you know, what color it was, how big, and how did it taste. That always cracked me up when he would ask me about stuff like that. Not that I ever ate a caterpillar or anything. It would have been pretty funny if I did though. Mostly though I remember that no matter how tired he was or how late it was when he came home, he always made sure to tuck me in and give me a hug. I remember that sometimes, if I had a bad day or if I was worried about the monster under the bed, he would always find a way to make me feel better. He’d always tell me not to worry about what happened today.  “We’ll get ‘em tomorrow Sammy, he used to say to me. There’s always tomorrow.”

But you know, I really don’t have a lot of stuff to remember about him. Maybe I didn’t think about it at the time. I mean how many little kids think about shit like that happening? They’re supposed to be here you know. Dads and moms I mean. They are supposed to be around for stuff when it happens. So that day when my mom was watching the television and I heard all this screaming and crying going on, I never thought it had anything to do with me or my mom or my aunt. It was either a very scary movie or something was happening very far away that was getting people all worried and upset. I remember lots of people calling and coming over to the apartment and hugging her and me. Some of them were crying but most of them were asking me how I’m doing and smiling that kind of smile people use when they really don’t mean it. It was kind of confusing. I mean I knew something was up but I never thought it would be as bad as it turned out. Little kids aren’t supposed to have to think those kinds of things. Right?  But I remember that after awhile, I did worry about them.

First of all, my dad didn’t come home that night. That never happened before. I saw all the stuff on television, even though I don’t think my mom wanted me to. I saw the pictures of the building burning, but I wasn’t sure if it was the same place where my dad worked. It looked pretty different to me so I couldn’t tell. And after everything fell down, there really wasn’t any way to tell. I guess I started to figure out that it was the place he worked when everybody but my dad came to the apartment. Firemen, police, even the Mayor came over to talk to me and my mom. Meeting the Mayor was kind of cool. Even if I didn’t really understand why he was there at the time. I remember meeting all kinds of people and getting my picture taken all the time. I even met the President. Well, not just me. A bunch of people. But still the president was there. But really, there isn’t all that much besides that. I think this is the part that Dr. Renee thinks I am repressing. She may be right. But I have to write something here or I’m never going to here the end of it. To tell you the truth, sometimes I’m just not in the mood for that. So here’s some stuff I do remember pretty good.

Dad, I remember that when I got my first hit in Little League, you weren’t there. Mom had a friend with her though. But I didn’t really like him too much. He kept trying to make me feel like he was proud of me and all that shit. How could he be proud of me? He didn’t even know who I was. It seems as if Mom always had some dude or another showing up instead of you. But I didn’t want some other dude to show up. She always got pissed off at me because I told her that. Oh, and the time I was supposed to tell the other kids in my class about what my father did for a living, I remember the teacher telling me I could stay home that day. I guess she knew I didn’t have a dad to talk about. That’s one good thing about you not being around. Everybody always feels sorry for me and lets me get away with stuff all the time.

Then there was the time when I got caught in school getting high in the bathroom. I told the teacher that it was the first time I ever did anything like that, but I’m pretty sure he knew that was a bunch of bullshit. I was about 12 then. Maybe 13. I’m not sure. But they made a huge deal out of it. Called mom down to the school and tried to figure out what to do about it. That’s when Dr. Renee came around. She’s been asking me about how that made me feel ever since then. I guess she doesn’t get it. It didn’t make me feel anything but high at the time. Which was pretty good. Still is. But I wonder what you would have done if you were there instead of Dr. Renee. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten caught. Or maybe I wouldn’t have even done it in the first place. Hard to tell what would have happened. I guess we’ll never know, huh?

You know dad, the thing that sticks with me is how you always found time to tuck me in at night. Of all the things I’m supposed to remember about you, that’s the one I remember most. To tell you the truth, I really miss that. It’s not like I would want you go come into my room now if you were around. I mean if they think I’m fucked up now, imagine what they would think if a fifteen year old stoner wanted his father to tuck him in at night. But I think about the times I wanted you to be around but you couldn’t be. I remember how pissed off I was that you didn’t come home from work that day. I was even more pissed off when I found out you didn’t have to be there, but you wanted to get your camera for the Yankee game that night. Your fucking camera? Are you fucking kidding me? I remember when you left that morning you were pretty excited about something. You told me that when you came home, we were going to do something special. Something was going to happen at the game that was going to make me very happy. I spent most of that day wondering what it was. Even as the buildings burned and crashed to the ground, I was waiting for you to come home and take me to the game. Nothing was more important. I was really angry when you didn’t show up. Nobody told me why you didn’t show up. They just told me you were going to be late. I didn’t realize you would never come home. It took me a very long time to understand that.  There were so many nights I wanted you to come into my room and read me a story. Or talk about the stuff I did today. Or maybe play some video games, or talk about that first outside boob I got. Maybe you could have taught me how to throw that slider you talked about sometimes. Maybe mom wouldn’t cry herself to sleep at night so much if she knew you were in the room with me. You know. Telling me all about the stuff I’m supposed to know. And on those nights when the monster under the bed is there and I’m still afraid of him, you could tell me not to worry the bad stuff.  Because we’ll get ‘em tomorrow.

There’s always tomorrow.

THE WEEK BEFORE

By Dennis J. D’Amato

SEPTEMBER 4, 2001:

I can’t believe that little Sammy is five today. Or that he started kindergarten yesterday. How can that be? Five years ago I held him in my arms when he was brand spankin’ new. His eyes just barely open but staring at me wondering who the hell I was. But I think he knew deep down who I was. Tricia had just gone through hell. Nineteen hours trying to coax Sammy out into the world. She looked tired and drained. But I could tell that if she had it to do all over, she wouldn’t think twice about it. The look in her eyes that day told me having Sammy was worth every bit of pain she felt. Sammy was here. And that was all that mattered. I have to remember to thank Tricia for that someday. Sometimes I forget things I shouldn’t. I must work on it in the future.

NOTE TO ME: THANK TRICIA FOR SAMMY.

My view is truly amazing. Sometimes I have to pinch myself when I look down on the Brooklyn Bridge from my office. Truly fucking amazing really. I never get tired of taking pictures of it. The boats in the river. The bridge below. The ripples in the water. I often keep my little Nikon in my drawer so I can take pictures when the mood strikes me. I like to get into the office early so I can do some busy work. It’s quiet here around 7:00 a.m. and there are no distractions. That comes later! I have the chance to collect my thoughts. Plan my day. And even write a few words in this diary of mine. Hopefully someday Sammy and Tricia will see it. I hope it doesn’t embarrass or offend either of them. Geeze that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. I can’t worry about that today though. When I get home, there’s gonna be a big party for Sammy. I got him his first baseball glove…real one I mean. Just like the one Derek Jeter wears at the Stadium. Sammy will like that. Jeter is his favorite player. You should see his eyes light up when Jeter is on TV. I can’t wait to see him smile when I give him the glove. Oh, and the tickets to the game next week for him and his friends. That’s going to be the real party, but he doesn’t know it yet. He’s been to the Stadium a couple of times. But he was too young to really get excited about it. This time, he’s going to see Derek, and Bernie, and Pauly, and Mo, and Jorge up close. Right behind the dugout. It’s gonna be great! The crew is coming in. I have to stop now.

NOTE AGAIN TO ME: THANK TRICIA FOR SAMMY.

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SEPTEMBER 5, 2001

Sammy’s “fake” party was amazing. I forgot how many little friends he has. That’s kind of what Tricia keeps track of I guess. She’s really something. Everything went off without a hitch. We took Sammy and his friends to his favorite Pizza joint. Twenty little boys and girls having the time of their lives. Some of the moms and dads work a couple of floors up from me. I recognize them when I see them and say hello from time to time. But last night I actually got to know some of them by name. Little Annie looks a lot different as a mom than she does as a stock broker. I wonder if that’s on purpose or not. When she comes to work she’s all decked out and to tell you the truth kind of hot looking in a New York kind of way. At the Pizza joint, she lost all that ‘tude and was just a loving mom spending time with her four year old daughter. It was really kind of neat to see that. But back to Tricia.

Pizzas came out right on time…ten of ‘em. All different kinds of toppings. Sodas and juices, some of those cinnamon rolls you see on TV, all rolling out with efficiency to the delight of the kids. They didn’t know how much work went into planning this party. But I did. It’s easy to take someone like Tricia for granted. Well, there really isn’t anybody exactly like Tricia. The party was a labor of love. Obviously. The double chocolate five layer cake she baked for Sammy…his “flavorite” he calls it…just blew everyone away.

NOTE TO ME: REMEMBER TO THANK TRICIA FOR BEING TRICIA.

But hey, I got some love too last night. Sammy freaked out at his “Derek Jeter Model” glove. It’s a little too big for him, but I assured him that he would grow into it. But the real excitement came when all the kids got an envelope with two tickets to the game next week. One for them and one for a parent. Sammy couldn’t have been more surprised. He’s going to see Derek Jeter with all his friends. You wouldda thought I bought him a Corvette or something for his 16th Birthday. Maybe I will. The tickets cost me a small fortune. But I had a great quarter and got a big bonus. It was worth every penny. Hell, even I’m really geeked up about the party at the Stadium. I have a friend who knows a guy who says he might be able to get Jeter to stop by and say hello. I hope so. Too bad I couldn’t get the tickets for the Red Sox game next Monday. I got the White Sox on the 11th though. Not quite the same I know. But it’s gonna be great.

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SEPTEMBER 6, 2001

OK. Fake birthday party is over. Cakes are eaten. Pizza’s devoured. And Tricia is starting to get on my nerves a bit. Evidently she thinks I’m spoiling Sammy with all the stuff I get him. What the fuck? He’s my kid, right? She didn’t think I should have bought all the tickets to the game. Gave me a ration of shit about it last night. It’s not like she didn’t know about it. I guess she didn’t really think I would do it. I don’t know. I thought she knew. Anyway when I got home last night, she was giving me the stink eye. When I asked her why she started crying about something or another. I wasn’t really listening. I had a shitload of stuff on my mind. But at some point, it got to be about me spoiling Sammy. I heard that. I told her that’s what fathers do for their kids. I make a lot of money. I should be able to do whatever I want to do with it. She doesn’t mind living on the Park. She doesn’t mind going to shows and dinners. She sure as hell doesn’t mind having the Black Amex card. She really pissed me off when she complained about my spending. I told her if she didn’t like it, she could go out and get a job and pay for her own shit. As soon as those words came out of my mouth I knew I was an asshole for saying it. I wanted to apologize but she ran out of the room crying. She told me to fuck off. I deserved that.

NOTE TO ME: REMEMBER TO APOLOGIZE TO TRICIA. YOU ASSHOLE.

Maybe I’ll take her out to dinner tonight. Someplace nice. We can get her sister Jess to watch the kid. She likes it. And Sammy really likes her. I’m not sure, but I think I catch him looking at her boobs all the time. Especially when she’s in her little restaurant outfit. She works upstairs at the restaurant in the tower. I’ll have to go up there and grab a sandwich and ask her to watch Sammy. I hope she hasn’t talked to Tricia yet. I don’t think I can handle her calling me an asshole in front of all those people. Even though I probably deserve it.

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SEPTEMBER 7, 2001

Jess came through big time for me last night. She knew about the argument I had with Tricia the night before. She told me that I was an asshole, but that Tricia was a little bit distracted about something, and wasn’t in the mood to argue about anything. She figured that Tricia might have been a bit of an asshole too, so she let me off the hook. Anyway, we went out to dinner. When I got home Tricia was in a great mood. Maybe the two dozen red roses helped. Maybe it was the prospect of having the Risotto at Bice later. I don’t know which one. But she was in a great mood. Even for her. Jess was there when I got home too. She was acting kind of strange too. To tell you the truth, they were acting like schoolgirls, all giggly and what not. Sammy ran out and latched himself onto my leg and we all had a good laugh. Sammy was a little bummed because he wasn’t coming to dinner. But he smiled when he look at Jess and her boobs so I knew he would be OK.

We got to Bice around 8:30. When I made the reservation I told them it was a special night and I wanted a great table. They didn’t let me down. I ordered a Martini for myself and a Gimlet for Tricia, but she said she was just going to have a Pelligrino. We ordered the Risotto as an appetizer and were checking out the dinner when the wine steward came over with the wine list. Tricia said she wasn’t going to have wine and suggested that I just get something by the glass for myself. I told the guy to come back in a few minutes. I have to say I was kind of surprised at this. It’s not like she’s a lush or anything. Not getting a Gimlet I could understand. But no wine with dinner? When I looked at her, she started smiling. Kind of a nervous smile, but a smile for sure. I asked her what’s up. And she just kept smiling. She has an amazing smile by the way. I felt the curious look on my face melt into a smile of my own. I figured it out. How fucking stupid could I be, huh?

I asked her when the baby was due. She said sometime in April.

NOTE TO ME: MAKE SURE TO TELL SAMMY HE’S GOING TO HAVE A BROTHER OR SISTER SOON.

I really lost interest in the meal though. To tell you the truth, I can’t remember what I had. The couple in the table next to us congratulated us. The lady was crying actually. So was Tricia. I think I was too. I can’t wait to tell everyone at work about it. They should be getting in soon. Tricia promised not to tell Sammy until I got home from work tonight. I bet this will be better than the tickets even. ¬¬¬¬

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SEPTEMBER 8, 2001

Finally the weekend. We’re going up to Connecticut for a couple of days. Sammy loves Mystic Seaport and we held off telling him about the new addition until we get up there. There is nothing more fun than a five year old on sensory overload. Sammy’s gonna freak out. I can just see it. He is always asking when he’s going to have a brother. I’ll have to make sure he understands that it might not be a brother. I’m sure he will understand. I hate driving through the 95 corridor. They’ve been working on fixing that fucking thing around New Haven for twenty years. I suppose sooner or later they’ll get it right. But it’s just one nightmare after another when I go through there. Maybe we can stop by The Rock and grab some hot dogs at Turks. I always get a soft shell crab sandwich when Sammy’s around. I mean I like them and all. But mostly I get them because Sammy can’t stop laughing at the claws sticking out of the toast. So I guess I’ll do that on the way.

Tricia was amazing last night after dinner. Sometimes I forget how great it is just to lie down next to her at night. It meant a lot more than usual. You know that warm feeling you get in your stomach when you are close to somebody you love? That feeling? That’s what it was like last night. Except it was like being next to two people you love if you know what I mean. I don’t even know who is in there yet, and I’m already in love.

NOTE TO ME: SOMETIME IN APRIL TELL WHOEVER IS IN THERE HOW MUCH I LOVE THEM.

Enough of that sappy shit. Time to get the car out of the garage and head up to Mystic. With a side step to Turks on the way. Life is pretty fucking great.

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SEPTEMBER 9, 2001

Sammy is a nut. What a great day we had on the way to Mystic. We stopped at Turk’s and I got the soft shell crab sandwich. It was a great one, with a REALLY big claw. I broke it off and stuck it on my nose and started screaming for Sammy to help me. I thought he was going to pee himself laughing right in the restaurant. I always get him when I do that. He insisted on taking his new baseball glove with him. I asked him why and he said he had to get ready to catch a foul ball. I couldn’t argue with that logic. He wore in into Turks. Somehow, he ate a hot dog while he wore the thing without getting a drop of mustard or relish on it. Tricia was giving me the stink eye again. Not like she did the other night. This was a stink eye with a smile. Much more pleasant! After we left Turks we headed over the Q Bridge and made our way out the shoreline to Mystic. Along the way Tricia decided to tell Sammy about the baby. At first he was pretty excited about having a brother. He sort of lost interest when I told him he might have a sister.

He sat in his car seat and moped all the way up the 95, pounding his glove with an imaginary baseball. The sound was like water torture and the puss on his face was getting on my nerves. But I could tell he was thinking it over. I was hoping he would get over it sooner than later. When we got to the motel in Mystic, he was still acting like a jerk, but I thought he was coming around. I got him out of his car seat and grabbed his hand to walk into our room. He tugged on my arm and looked up at me and asked

“If it’s a brother can we name him Derek Jeter?”

I told him I would ask his mother. I’ll let Tricia handle this one.

I wonder if Derek Jeter would like that. I didn’t tell Sammy, but my buddy came through for me. Jeter was going to stop by our seats before the game and say hello. Maybe Sammy could ask him then.

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SEPTEMBER 10, 2001

What a shitty day. Raining like a bastard. I’m glad I didn’t get the tickets for the Red Sox tonight. Sammy would have been so bummed if the game got rained out. They say tomorrow is going to be a nice day though. So I got that going for me. We had a great time in Mystic. Sammy loves playing Pirate. It was pretty fucking hilarious seeing a Pirate wearing a baseball glove though. The people working at Mystic took it in stride. Maybe it’s not as strange as I think it is. On the way back from Mystic we made another stop for dinner. This time, it was a Pizza joint just outside of New Haven called Zuppardi’s. A friend of mine used to live near there when he was a kid. He’s a futures guy who trades oil. Nice guy but he never stops telling the same joke over and over again. He was in the World Trade Center when it got bombed a few years ago. His company moved out of the towers after that. He’s kind of a pain in the ass sometimes, but I like him. How can you not like a guy who knows a good pie when he sees one? Sammy loves this place. So does Tricia. We get “The Special” well done. A couple of bottles of White Birch Beer. Nothin’ better. We always order another one to go so we can take it home to share with Jess the next day. The little things are what it’s all about.

Sammy has softened his position on having a sister. He is seriously entertaining the idea. He’s the consummate negotiator. He told me that he will let us have a sister. As long as we name HER Derek Jeter too. The kid is a fucking natural. The pie was amazing as usual. Tricia loves to get the piece with the big old crust bubble on it. She’s the only woman I know who can get me horny just by watching her eat a piece of Pizza.

NOTE TO ME: MAKE SURE YOU SEND THE ZUPPARDI FAMILY A NOTE THANKING THEM FOR MAKING PIZZA THAT MAKES MY WIFE LOOK SO HOT.

I’m thinking of taking tomorrow off. There is so much I want to do with Sammy before the game. I still didn’t tell him that he is going to meet Derek Jeter. I don’t know if I should or not. If I do tell him, he’ll probably want to leave for the Stadium tonight. It’s hard to explain to a five year old that the place is closed sometimes. I want to get there early. Grab a pretzel or a knish outside. Hang out at the bat. Take a couple of pictures of Sammy and his new glove. Get in there for BP. Sammy loves BP. I think maybe someday Sammy might play for the Yankees. A father can dream. It really doesn’t matter I guess. There is nothing I love more than taking Sammy to Yankee Stadium and shooting the shit about baseball and whatever else comes up. He thinks I’m a genius because I know the guy is going to run with a 3-2 count and two outs. He’ll figure it out someday I guess. But for now, I’ll let him think I’m a genius. Tomorrow is going to be something else. Sammy and his friends are going to meet Derek Jeter. And I’m going to see the look on Sammy’s face when he meets his favorite baseball player. It just doesn’t get any better.

ANOTHER NOTE TO ME: REMEMBER TO THANK DEREK JETER FOR MAKING SAMMY’S DAY. AND REMEMBER TO HUG SAMMY TILL IT HURTS.

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SEPTEMBER 11, 2001

FUCK!!! What an idiot I am! I left the Nikon in my desk over the weekend. We took pictures with Tricia’s camera in Mystic. But only my Nikon would do for Sammy’s meeting with Derek Jeter. So here I am at my desk, looking at the Bridge and wondering how fast I can get out of the office. Just for measure, I’ll take a few pictures of the Bridge again. It’s so clear out today. Hardly the kind of day you would expect for mid September. The air is crisp. The sky is crisp. The sun is bright. It’s a picture perfect day for Sammy’s trip to Yankee Stadium later. I’m so excited I can hardly contain myself. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I’m a bigger kid than Sammy. I hope so. A kid needs to have a father who understands what it means to be a kid.

NOTE TO ME: MAKE SURE SAMMY KNOWS I’M STILL A KID

If I thought I was going to get out of here in a few minutes, I was mistaken. I got in early as usual, but there is just too much bullshit to do. I saw Little Annie on the elevator. She definitely looks different in the office. I have to stop noticing that. Before I knew it, the rest of the crew came straggling in. I’m answering questions about the game. About Derek Jeter. About why I’m in the office on my day off. Nobody believes I’m there just to pick up my camera. They want me to get out of here so I can spend the day with Sammy. It’s 8:30, and the couple of minutes I expected to spend there is turning into two hours. Don’t get me wrong. I love these people. But today is not the day for this stuff. Today is Sammy’s day! It’s going to take some time to get out of here.

I think they finally got the message. I was able to explain that I have a couple of things to do and that I’m going to leave by 9:00. So I’m going to end today’s entry. I think I might run upstairs to the restaurant and say hello to Jess. Maybe grab a cup of coffee and head out. It’s way too nice outside to be stuck in this building. And Sammy is waiting for me.