Fathers and Sons

Fathers & Sons

He was my father,

I was his only son.

Now I am a father

And I have a son.

That is how it works

In this world.

Fathers have sons,

Mothers have daughters.

I can not speak for my sisters

I can not speak for my mother.

As the son of the father,

You watch him

And you see what he does.

And then you decide

What to do.

When you are young,

You do exactly what he does

Because you want to be like him.

Then, later, it gets confusing.

You get older and you see things

That you don’t like or understand.

The influence is still there,

The bond, the frame of reference.

But then you must you decide:

I will or will not do this

or that thing that he does.

But you will always be his son,

And he will always be your father.

You know you will always love him

Even though you do not understand.

What he is thinking, or feeling.

He shows you in different ways.

It may be a horse that

he wants you to ride,

Or an old boat that you know

Is just yours together,

Or it may be a long drive in the car

handing him cup after cup

of black coffee.

It doesn’t matter what you do together.

Every minute is worth days,

Every day is worth months,

A week together is worth a year.

You wait for a word of praise

You remember every one.

“You look natural on that horse”,

“The boat looks good”,

“Good shot, good cast, nice fish…”

Then you go away

And you write your own story.

You have a son.

And you think about him

And what he did and said

And what you will do

And what you must do.

You do some of the same things

That your father did

And you do or say different things.

And you create another son

Who will be a father.

You don’t think about it all the time

But you are trying to improve him,

To make him a better person.

But, instead you make a man.

A man who may become a father

But will always be your son.

And you remember all the good things

That your father did or said

And you hope that your son

will remember, too...

Written 10/11/98 after the death of my father

Frederick Thomas Crowley (1923-1998).

by:

F. Thomas Crowley, Jr.(1948- )

Father of

Thomas Yates Crowley (1975- )

Grandfather of

Lochlan Thomas Crowley (2011- )

The Last Pizza

The Last Pizza

“Tony's Pizza, may I help you?”

How many times in the past 40 years had she answered the phone with this short, simple phrase? She even answered the home phone this way by accident. Tony's “accident” changed all that and a lot more. When he crashed the delivery VW into an oak tree, while trying to pick up a dropped can of Bud, he changed her world.

No insurance, a pile of bills, an underwater mortgage on a shitty house, and a failing pizza business was what he left her.

“Yeah, I want 4 large with 2 white and two half pepperoni, half mushrooms delivered as soon as possible to 12 Oak Street. How much?”

She did not respond but simply looked around the kitchen to see who was on today;

Mike, sluggish high school football moron who drove the new “delivery van”, her own aging Dodge Town & Country van,

Stephanie, brain-dead, pierced, tattooed slut, her cashier who used to take all the calls for Tony. After the funeral, she was not very lively on the phone;

“Yeah, this is Tony's. What?”

Her own daughter had escaped a few years ago, thank God, to finish college at St. Johns and look for a job.

“That will be $48 plus tax and a $5 delivery charge”

“No way! Pizza Hut has a special for $9.99 large and free delivery!”

“Great. Call them.”

She hung up the phone and leaned back against the flour-dusted counter. A few minutes went by and the phone rang again.

“Ok, we want Tony's pizzas. Can you get them here by 6 pm?” It was 5:15. typical.

“6:15 maybe.”

“Ok Ok hurry up we have people coming over at 6” . click.

She was so sick of this. Tony hadn't been sober enough to make a fucking pizza for years. He pushed his hands into the flour and water goo and made little pizza dough balls. laid them out on a huge, stainless tray, and then went in the back to drink 4 beers. That was, he had mysteriously, and inexplicably calculated, the exact time needed for the dough to rise. He would get up out of his favorite drinking chair and come into the store slurring his favorite, stupid, tired line:

“Time to make the doughnuts!”

This meant it was time for HER to make the doughnuts/pizza as he flirted with Stephanie, joked with Mike, and fiddled with the cash register as he watched her to make sure she didn't see him pocket a twenty.

She made the four pizzas mechanically, set them in the oven and told Mike to get the van ready. He always forgot to check the gas and always had to come back in to get money from Stephanie.

The phone rang.

“Tony's”

“Is this Tony's Pizza?”

“Yes. TONY's Pizza”

“I need a huge pizza.”

“Uh. Ok. We have large which feeds 12. What do you want on it?”

“Cheese”

“That's what is usually on a PIZZA….anything else?”

“Like what?”

God help me. Another moron girl from the St. Johns dormitory.

“Pepperoni, sausage, meatballs, mushrooms, green peppers…….”

“Oh no! I'm a Vegan! No meat! Yuck!”

“You mean Vegetarian right?”

“No way. I'm totally Vegan all the way!”

“Soooo, cheese is Ok?”

“Sure, I love pizza!”

“Where and when?”

“What?”

“WHERE do you want the pizza delivered and WHEN do you need it”

“St. Johns University around 5”

“Dorm?”

“Uh, yeah. Dorm 5 by the church on campus”

“OK. That will be $12 plus taxes and a $5 delivery charge”

“Ok. Do you take credit cards?”

“Master Card & Visa. Charged in advance”

“OK, bye”

“Miss. We need the card number “ (you fucking moron)

She took down the information, slipped the pizza in the oven and 12 minutes later pulled it out, sliding it into a pizza box with the clever words “PIZZA” on top. Tony never wanted to spring for his name on the box so she would write it on as it left the store.

“Where's this one going?” Mike reluctantly asked.

“Never mind. I'll deliver it.”

Mike and Stephanie looked at each other as if she had said she was going to put her head in the oven, yet said nothing but “OK” and went back to their lame conversation.

She walked out to the van. Started the engine and looked at the gas gauge. “EMPTY” with the warning light glowing...Big surprise.

She went back into the store, opened the register and took out a twenty. Mike and Stephanie looked at her as if they had never seen her before. Blank expressions, no questions, no comments. She walked back out to the van.

As she drove through the quiet, upscale neighborhood, looking at the houses where they had been delivering pizzas for so long, staring at the beautiful brick and stone mini-mansions with long, curving driveways and two, three and even four car garages or carriage houses that were much bigger and more grand than their own modest raised ranch twelve miles away in another smaller, blue collar town, she thought to herself; “Why?” and “Why not?” and “What happened?” and “where did the time go along with her dreams”?

As her mind wandered, so did the van, into the opposite lane and into a large moving van heading up the hill as she was driving down the same hill.  The funeral was sad.  Tony would have made it a party with free pizza.  Not one customer showed up but Stephanie and Mike were there.  Stephanie cried and Mike held onto her as he sipped from a 24 ounce Bud light undr his Philadelphia Eagles parka.

Note: The last pizza ws never delivered. It was discovered by a lab-shepherd mix who sniffed it out at the junkyard whre the totalled wreck of the van was delivered by Tony's Wrecking Service (no relation) and devoured without incident in about 3 seconds.