The Fighting Irish

When I was a kid we had thirteen channels to choose from on TV.  Well, that's not really true.  The numbers, 1 -13, were, in fact, on the knob – did you catch that? knob – but I suppose we really only had about five channels from which to make our viewing selections: there were the three major networks, of course, then WPIX out of New York and PBS.  I'm wondering, now, what the other numbers were for – the future, I suppose.  Did anyone back then have any idea of what was really in store for us?  It's good that everything is digital now – you know, cable boxes and remote controls – if not, could you imagine the size of a knob that would hold 900+ numbers? Yeesh!

 

I went to Mexico recently with my brother and his family.  The kids watched TV – beamed in by satellite – the majority of the time it took us to get there.  Oh, sigh… No guessing games, no memory games, no counting license plates, no reading billboards.  To be fair, the only license plates you really see on that trip are AZ plates; here in the Valley you could count license plates all day long – so many recent transplants, part-timers (don't feel comfortable calling them snowbirds in June) and general vacationers – but on the road to Rocky Point… AZ tags mostly, almost exclusively.  And billboards?  Well, if you've ever driven through Ajo or the very lovely Lukeville (a runner-up in the 'Land that God Forgot' contest), you would know that mildly entertaining, conversation sparking billboards are only a road warrior's pipe dream and nothing more – not a one to be found. Truly, those folks on 95 are not fully appreciating the 60 or so miles on either side of the famed 'South of the Border' roadside rest-stop and travel attraction extraordinaire.  Ah, once again, I've digressed. 

 

It's not just TV, either.  Things are just different now.  Again, from my childhood, I remember a little radio that we kept in our kitchen – tuned, always, to WABC.  Was it still only AM?  I can't remember.  I do remember FM broadcasting being a new thing at one time, though, so maybe… 

 

Today, my niece and nephew carry Ipods, those dainty, little devices the size of a large domino, which can store 10,000 or so of your favorite songs.  Have I mentioned they're both under 10?  Honestly, these kids know more songs from the 70s than even I do.  Back then, when these songs were newly gracing the airwaves, I was busy decorating my bicycle (yes, I had a very cool banana seat) with musical eighth note decals distributed by 7-11 for WABC (I suppose, now, in retrospect, that it must have been in honor of the FM launch) and riding all over the neighborhood. 

 

While I enjoyed WABC's free stickers, my sister enjoyed the music the station actually played – singing constantly into her pseudo-microphone (aka, hairbrush) – so she knows all the tunes; and thanks to modern day gadgets like Rock Band, so do my niece and nephew.  I'll tell you what; the three of them together could probably do just as good a rendition of "My Sharona" as The Knack themselves – I am not kidding.

 

Now, I'm not sure this is what he meant, but Bob Dylan was certainly right when he croaked, the times they are a changin'.  But you know, even though some things do change, some things will always remain constant – like childish bickering and fighting, for example. 

 

When you're young, it seems sibling infighting is a fundamental part of the natural process one must go through on the road to maturity.  I often try and mediate when Liv and G go at it – after all, I have a lot of experience in this department.

 

My brother and I had, on several occasions, been sent to our separate rooms – like boxers to their respective corners – for extended cooling off periods of time. 

 

We'd been on road trips where the backseat was delineated in half, by a pillow that, out of nowhere, was gripped, grabbed and slammed down by, really, what must have been an elastic arm, from our father, who, while behind the wheel, threatened to, "drive right off the goddamned road, so help him… if we didn't stop fighting, shut our mouths and settle down."  I can remember how my brother and I would glance at each other – without really moving our heads – out of the corners of our eyes, giving each other the look that said, "Wow, what's up with him?"  See, kids just don't get it.

 

Maybe it was our Irish descent that had us fighting all the time – I don't know.  Do all siblings fight?  I didn't fight with my sister; we're four years apart though – maybe that has something to do with it.  My niece and nephew fight, just as surely as my brother and I did.  It's kind of funny now, but Tim and I don't really remember actually fighting all that much; but we do remember getting in trouble for it quite a bit so… 

 

I remember this one time, in particular; it's a classic.  'Deer in the headlights' would hardly describe the look on my face when I was caught by my father, who had come home from work early one day, to find me, post-fight, smearing a banana down my brother's locked bedroom door (I don't know why).  He was nearly apoplectic when asking me if I lost my mind; and since it was a rhetorical question, he didn't wait for me to respond before reminding me – in his loudest voice – that that was his house, his door and… his goddamn banana!  (Sidenote: I do not have any entitlement issues today.  Thanks, Dad). 

 

This was a different father from the road trip father (remember, I have two) and yet, a very similar reaction – what's up with that?  I guess it was us – me and my brother – we're the common denominator.  We fought right up until the time he went away to college.  I like to think that college matured him.  He was always the antagonizing instigator, after all; but, of course, that's just what I say.   

 

When Liv and Griffin go at it, fighting over what to watch on TV – or whatever, declaring their disdain for one another, I always remind them that one day they may find themselves packing up their lives, like I did, and moving 2400 miles across the country just to be near the other.  As their disgusted facial expressions shout, "Oh, please," I just smile back and ask, "So, who wants to play the Grocery Game?" and without waiting for a response, I say, "I'll start.  I went to the store and bought apples…" 

 

Keeping them engaged, and making memories. 

 

Erin Go Bragh!

 - M