THINK YOU GOT ROTTEN KIDS?

When I was very young, between and five and ten years of age, Dad would occasionally load our car and take us kids out to Patchogue. This was a real treat for us city kids from Brooklyn. As we pulled away from the curb on a Sunday morning, I would look at other children in the neighborhood, and pity them, because they were stuck in the grime of Brooklyn, for the day. We were ‘privileged” to go to Patchogue! How could they stand it, I wondered?

Patchogue is a village on Long Island, on the south shore. Patchogue was the home of an aunt and uncle whom shared a duplex on Norton Street. My grandmother owned the house and rented it to my aunt and uncle.

After the long drive from the city to the country, we started to look for landmarks that hinted we were close to our destination, and fun. One of the landmarks was the old Patchogue Lace Mill. As we motored down Main Street, which was Montauk Highway, there it would stand, to our left. The excitement in the car would now build. Anticipation was great, as we would be seeing our cousins, and my aunt was a great cook!

As the years rolled by, and I lived out in Holbrook, I would on occasion drive by the Lace Mill, and a flood of memories would come back. As I drove by, I would explain to my rotten son, #1 Son, the history of the Lace Mill. This was a defining moment in Fatherhood! Like teaching him to bat, or throw a baseball, or to catch it, or look both ways before crossing the street, a lesson in history was important.

Now you wonder why I call him “Rotten”? Why? Because he would verbatim give me the history back, word for word, while I was speaking? OK, so maybe I HAD mentioned it once before. But hey, that is no way for a four year old to talk to his father!

Please remember DD, and all those that need our prayers.