One Day At A Time in My Life

My mom got the superlative, “A smile for every occasion,” in high school. Her father, my Pop-pop, was in the FBI. There’s a framed photo of him, my grandma, mom and two sisters with Herbert Hoover standing in their living room hanging in my own. He met my grandmother late one night, patrolling the streets of her neighborhood with his partner. When they got to her house, his partner sat down in a chair. The seat was warm, so he concluded that there was a man hiding somewhere. He looked in the closet, found the man, and nabbed him.

Mom grew up in Belmont, Massachusetts with her two sisters, Diane and Barbara. She was beautiful, witty, and hilarious. She went on to secretarial school after working at a driving school in high school. Mom and Dad met skiing in New Hampshire, where she was with a group of friends and he was with his. He drove her home but didn’t speak the entire time. Mom thought she’d never hear back from him, but he called her a few days later.

They dated about two years, and one night at a party, a man put his arm around her. Dad became jealous and stormed off. Mom followed, saying, “Jim, what’s wrong?” He replied, “I thought we were getting married!” And that’s how he proposed.

When he first met Mom’s parents, he wore a fake cast pretending to have been injured in a skiing accident. He was always a jokester, which is probably why my parents got along so well. She had a joke, not just a smile, for every occasion.

Dad went to Babson then BU, majoring in engineering. He then became a computer marketing manager, where he worked for Prime Computers. Mom worked for WR Grace at the time, when my parents lived in Chicago.

Later they moved to Belmont, back to Mom’s hometown. Dad grew up a poor man in Cambridge, with his first job as a shoe-shiner on the streets of Harvard Square. Dad’s parents both worked at Harvard University, which is where they met. Grandma worked in the cafeteria and Grandpa worked the grounds. They both came over separately on the boat from Ireland. I was then adopted in 1980 from Catholic charities in July. I was born on the anniversary of D-Day, the sixth of June.

Immediately, I was welcomed into the family not only by my parents, but also by our Old English Sheepdog, Winston Woodstock. He became like the brother I never had. Desperate, I used to beg my father to, “Buy another kid!” Dad told me it didn’t work that way, and that I had cost $1,000 so another kid was out of the question.

My earliest memory is of my trying to crawl with a bottle in my hand at age one. I then put it in my mouth as a solution. I also remember my dad, seated in a large chair. He looked giant to me, just a young baby at the time. I thought of him as some divine being . He was the best dad possible, providing for my mom and I despite battling an addiction with alcohol.

Mom was one hell of a classy lady. She would always tip gas attendants, a habit I’ve followed in my own adult life. I strive to be half the woman she was. Since I was an only child, I had a lot of free time on my hands. I’d sit in my room for hours, coloring, drawing, and copying books for fun, and I made up games to keep myself occupied. One such “game” consisted of dividing the smaller number on a digital clock into the larger number. Mom deemed me a “genius,” however I must have missed the day they taught how to tell time on a clock. So Mom taught me at home.

When I was in fourth grade, Winston died. He was 11. I wrote my first poem that year in school, and Ms. Sullivan loved it. That same year my mom found a lump. I was seated at the breakfast nook in the kitchen when she clutched her chest with her left hand. I remember her wearing a pink jogging suit. “Jim!” She shrieked. “It hurts!”

Soon I was visiting her in the hospital, bringing her Felix. He was a stuffed bear she’d given to me when I had my appendix removed. Mom winced in pain again, after I gave her a big hug that day. I didn’t understand why, but would later learn she’d had a mastectomy on her right breast the day before.

Before long, I got my first job at Brighams ice cream shop. I was 15, on my way home from a dentist appointment. I worked with the great Becca Pizzi, who has now become a world-renowned marathon champion and trained Zdeno Chara. She has participated in many triathlons, won the 7-7-7 race twice, and has published a children’s book, Becca’s Feat on Feet.

Mary Richardson of Chronicle used to come in and order a banana split. Mom remained my best friend through it all, losing her battle with cancer at age 52, when I was just 17 years old. I wrote about my sense of responsibility throughout my high school years for my college essays. I was in Belmontian club, a community service club my mom was in during her high school years when it was at what’s now called Wellington, my elementary school.

I was fortunate to get into all 5 colleges I applied to. Providence, Boston College, St. Mike’s, UVM, and UMass Amherst. When the large white envelope arrived at my front door, from BC, I figured I had to take the opportunity. It was my “reach” school according to my guidance counselor, Ms. Brown. In tenth grade I was nominated by my history teacher, Mr. McMullen, for the National Honors Society. I tried out for the tennis team but ended up running indoor track one year, running the 400 yard dash.

I made lots of friends freshman year at BC. Sophomore year was more difficult, as 7 of my closest friends transferred to different schools. I had a difficult time adjusting, and began drinking alcohol and smoking pot. Not to lie, my first sip of VO on the rocks was when I was about 2 years old. The second drink was a beer at age 7. When I was 15 my cousin David handed me 2-3 beers at my family’s Christmas party. My parents thought I was just having one.

David is my mom’s sister’s son. He used to fill up my uncle’s bottle of vodka with water and put it back in the freezer. Barbara, his mom, once went into the garage and put on his coat. She found a roll of film in the pocket, had it developed, and saw pictures of David and Shannon (his sister), partying. She knew it was from her home because she said to herself, “Those are my children! And that’s my wallpaper!” So she gave the pictures to David for Christmas as a “gift.” When he went to open it, he asked, “Mom, is this going to make me cry?” To which she responded, “It just might!”

Suffice it to say, I did my best to become the “Class partier” my cousin Shannon was during her high school years. My cousin Kara, Mom’s other sister’s daughter, also went to Boston College. David and Shannon went to Providence. My sophomore year was difficult as I stated. To put things mildly, my roommates and I didn’t get along… so when my roommate invited me to Cancun with her friend, I figured what harm could come of that?

Spring Break happened, where I was severely abused, dehydrated, and ended up being med-flighted home to a hospital in Waltham, Massachusetts. It was there I was labeled bipolar and prescribed medication for manic-depression. I still take medication to stabilize my moods, it’s just a different mix nowadays. With medication and therapy, I have found recovery possible.

After Cancun, Dad gave me a book he signed, entitled, Always Believe in Yourself and Your Dreams. I now use that as my motto. I went on to pursue a Bachelor’s degree in Sociology from Regis College, and worked my way through at the office of career development and a daycare at Bright Horizons. After graduating, I went to work at Work, Community, Independence (aka WCI) as a job support specialist for adults with “disabilities.” I like to consider it, “differently abled.”

I remember one man I worked with saying, “Hey. How’s it feel to be able to say you work with retards?” To which I was appalled. One of the young women who went there said it best by saying, “Talk all you want, I’m getting Doritos at the end of the day!”

I had many jobs throughout my career. I worked at MRC (Massachusetts Rehabilitation Commission) for two years. I worked my way from an intern to a paid employee, later going on to work for two pharmacies. CVS, where I got my state license, and Osco, where I trained to give vaccines. I met two highly famous people at Osco, and for a while transcribed taped interviews between a ghostwriter and a different well-known celebrity.

My career was interrupted when my father died in 2015. I was then working at Dunkin Donuts part time. Dad had been the key man in my life until this point, and I was devastated. He always taught me to, “Do your homework and stick to the books.” Mom always said, “Life is too short! Live!” Mom and Dad were amazing people. Dad grew up in the same neighborhood as Joan Baez.

Dad was the pillar in our household, holding both degrees from top-tier schools. He encouraged me to believe in myself, no matter what others might think. I’ve come to learn that self-love is the most valuable love anyone could ask for. Other than, of course, God’s love. So, Mom and Dad are now both in Heaven, and I can only go on by leading from their own example and striving to be the best person possible.