Category Archives: Family

This goes out to all the Fathers in the world (and out of it) – but especially to my Dad, who raised and supported us – and continues to do so. My brother and I were a handful, and we tried his patience more than we should have, and more than he deserved, but he never wavered in his love for us. If it wasn’t always the most demonstrated, we always knew it was there, in a few quick words of support, a laugh at our antics, or the way he talked about us to other people. That’s where real love gets shown. Happy Father’s Day, Dad.

And to the other father in our family – my brother – a very Happy Father’s Day too!

My first memory of her is running up the dark stairs of their Victorian home and wrapping my arms around her legs, sobbing like a kid of, well, my young age. I couldn’t have been more than five years old, and I was visiting Suzie on my own for the first time. I felt safe and had fun, but when it was time to go and a storm prevented my Mom from picking me up at the designated time, I panicked and ran into her arms. Suzie watched from the family room, probably puzzled at such excessive tears for missing my Mom from just across town. But her mother understood, and comforted me like only a seasoned mother could do. That is who Aunt Elaine will always be to me: a second mother.

A few years later, while my Dad was undergoing eye surgery and my Mom was staying at Albany Med, my brother and I had to spend the night at the Ko home. She tucked us into one of her son’s bedrooms in the attic, and once again we felt safe and cared for, comforted when a small sliver of worry hung over the slowly-ticking hours. I think she knew our latent fears, but she never let us worry or think about it too much.

A summer or two later, I rang the door to pick Suzie up to go somewhere, and Elaine answered with bags under her eyes, like she’d been crying. For the first time, I saw her as a human being. She explained that Dr. Ko had had nightmares of the war again, and had been up all night. All I had ever seen or known of her had been the jovial, unflappable matriarch. It was a glimpse of vulnerability coupled with steely strength, and I never forgot it.

She relied on that strength when Dr. Ko died in what remains one of the saddest things that has ever happened in my lifetime. In the middle of a house filled with family and friends and relatives from around the world, she held it all together, and to this day I don’t know how she didn’t crumble. We all wanted to fall apart that March, but the one person who saw everyone through it was Elaine. I remember hugging her like I did all those years ago, trying to become some small source of comfort, trying to go back to a happier time. Suzie and I grew up then, even if we didn’t want to, even if we weren’t quite ready. And still, her Mom stood, talking to others, comforting them, taking care of us, watching out for everyone.

No one was ever quite the same after that, but somehow Elaine retained her spirit and drive. In some ways I understand that she had to keep going, had to keep giving, in a valiant effort to keep from giving up. There must have been days when it seemed like too much, but she never revealed that to most of us.

Throughout all of it, she had her volunteer work. My Mom and I would marvel at how she did it. Not just at how much she loved it, but how much she physically did – all the hours of traveling, of studying, of helping. My Mom’s a pretty selfless person too, but even she was in awe of the force of nature that is Elaine Ko-Talmadge.

Recently, she received the New York State Liberty Medal, one of the highest honors presented to citizens. Nominated and presented by State Senator Cecilia Tkaczyk, the award represents a lifetime of community service and volunteer work, and nobody exemplifies that more than Elaine. I honestly don’t know one other person who has given so much. I understand now that it was in her nature to give, but it was also what she needed to do to survive.

Fittingly, many of us didn’t find out about this latest honor until it was in the newspaper because she never said anything. It wasn’t her style to make a fuss over herself – and that’s what it means to be a truly charitable person. She never did it for the accolades or the praise. She did it to make a genuine difference.

Congratulations, Aunt Elaine, on a lifetime of work that has not gone unnoticed.

It was never cool to like school. For the most part, I fell into that category too, and most years I couldn’t wait to walk out of those stuffy buildings for the last time in June. But after some years, the good ones, I didn’t want it to end. Secretly I wished we had a few more days or weeks, and privately I knew I’d miss the camaraderie of my classmates. Even then I found comfort in human contact as much as I shrugged it away.

As I was watching my niece and nephew and the graduating class of their pre-school program, I was struck with how the teacher was so moved, as she thanked those who helped her throughout the year. With tears in her eyes, she expounded upon the virtues of each member of the class, predicting what sort of career of future the kids might have, praising their strong-points, and instilling in them a sense of self that the best teachers always manage to bring out.

The pre-schoolers themselves seemed largely unaware of the finality of the moment. Their smiling faces betrayed nothing of worry or consternation at moving on to the next phase of their lives. At such a young age how could they worry about such matters? I wondered instead at their teacher, and what these transitory moments might mean to her. She’s with these kids for a year or two, informing and shaping their lives as they grow up, and at the beginning of summer she’s gone from their lives.

I don’t think I could do that. I couldn’t handle getting attached or affected by people only to have them leave after a year. Over and over again, some years more difficult than others, but each one meaningful in its own way. I don’t think my heart could take having to say goodbye every year like that. As a child I knew no other way but as an adult it’s a choice, and it’s not something I’d want to do. It sounds a bit melodramatic, and perhaps it’s an exaggeration, or at least some connection that only happens in childhood. (I never found quite the same dynamic with any of my college professors, but I remember almost every single one of my grade school teachers.)

As the twins posed in front of their silhouettes, I wondered what was going through their heads. They still have one more year to go before they move on, and they’re still too young to really remember any of this in the future. That’s all right. I’ll remember it for them.

We attended the pre-school graduation ceremony of my niece and nephew yesterday, and it was kind of fantastic. WHile they don’t technically graduate until next year, they played a part in this year’s festivities, singing and dancing and dressing up as penguins for a Noah’s Ark skit (complete with choreographed waddle down the aisle). For a couple of four-year-olds, they behaved quite well (after having some stage fright at his Christmas pageant, Noah came out of his shell and sang his heart out with grand arm movements to rival any Evita histrionics I have conjured in the past).

After the ceremony, we went back to my parents’ house and had some post-grad fun followed by a little dinner. The rest of the photos speak for themselves. (My heart belongs to any kid with the courage to wear circus-peanut orange. Uncle Al is proud.)

As luck (and a bit of planning) would have it, I’ll be celebrating Mother’s Day with my Mom in New York City, as we will be finishing up our Broadway weekend today. Given the holiday, this is the time and place to extol the virtues of the woman who gave me life, and who continues to support and love me as she has for all of my life.

There’s a bond between mothers and sons that is unlike any other in the world. It’s one of those irrefutable bonds that, for those of us who are lucky, sees us through the best and worst parts of life. It’s made up of the special occasions like birthdays and holidays and weekends on Broadway, vacations and weddings and family reunions, but also in the smaller non-events like a surprise visit to drop off cookies or a late-night call when your heart has just been broken.

There aren’t many things in this life that one can depend upon – but a mother’s love should be one of them. In my case, it has been. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

This morning, Mom and I board the train to New York for a weekend of theater – ‘Mothers and Sons’ and ‘Hedwig & the Angry Inch’ – and perhaps a surprise thrown in for Mother’s Day measure. We will also be having dinner with Suzie, whom I haven’t seen since Thanksgiving last year (how in the hell did that happen?) Those dinners are sometimes more fun than any musical, and occasionally just as dramatic (topic-wise, not in antics – we’re mostly adults now.)

Last year some highlights included a trip to Bloomingdales and a lunch at the Four Seasons, as well as cocktails at The Lambs Club. While the shows are the main impetus for these trips, it’s the incidental in-between time that sometimes becomes more memorable. I wasn’t expecting the Bloomingdales adventure, for instance, nor did I have any clue that The Lambs Club was such a nifty little oasis in the midst of the annoying insanity of Times Square.

What unexpected delights await us this year? We will find out this weekend…

This is my nephew, Noah Thomas, rocking out to ‘Holiday’ by Madonna. My brother sent the video to me tonight, on my anniversary, and it is probably the best present Andy and I received. Only those who truly know me can understand what this means, and how it touches my heart. If I ever had any doubts as to how awesome a father my brother is (and I didn’t), this just proves it. Oh, and here’s a little text follow-up that makes it even better.

Noah, you just made your Uncle Al a very happy and proud man! (Of course, my brother then texted a video of Noah rocking out to his favorite song ‘Undead.’) Baby steps… baby steps.

After a dinner topped with birthday cake (and lots of frosting) the twins needed to let off some steam and sugar energy. We hopped up to the attic and they had the literal run of the place, bounding from end to end, pretending that portions of the floor were lava, and jumping from soft-cushioned chair to chair. At times like this, I am reminded that the most important part of childhood to cultivate is the imagination. If you can refine yours, you can do anything. It’s why I rarely get bored or restless: my head can take me to places my feet could never manage. I hope these kids have the same freedom, and that they don’t fall prey to television or the internet to lazily fill their head with half-baked entertainment. Based on their elaborate lava game, they’re off to a good start. (I’m not sure what part the elephant played in the scene, but I went with it and rode it safely to shore.)

It’s difficult to get one four-year-old to sit still, but when you have two, it’s almost impossible. Thankfully a little bribing with an additional birthday present worked wonders, and I managed to get these shots. (Uncles can do the bribing thing. They may not respect me for it later, but they can take a number and join the line.)

After their birthday dinner we had some additional fun in the living room. It’s always more fun to exit the adult table early and squeeze out a few more hours of play before bedtime. I remember that from my stint as a four-year-old. Some things get passed on from generation to generation.

A short time ago we celebrated the fourth birthdays of my niece and nephew ~ Emi and Noah. Here are some shots from that fun family weekend. They speak more eloquently than anything I could muster, and the twins are already developing voices of their own. (Talk to the hand.)

Family friends Elaine and Tony are due to see our new kitchen for the first time since returning from Florida a couple of weeks ago. They are always a bright presence in our lives, and especially in our home. Since they head down to Florida for the winter, if they’re here it means that spring and summer are on the way. This Saturday we’ll be hosting them and my parents, and I can’t wait.

I can almost smell the blown-out candles now. That’s always been the scent of happiness – signifying the end of a special meal with family or friends. As a child, it meant we just had an event that merited candle-light and dining-room settings. The kitchen would be filled with the bustling of dishes being rinsed and loaded, and the banter and laughter of family. My brother and I would spy from other rooms, darker rooms where we could disappear as kids, watching and playing and avoiding the adults as much as we were fascinated by them.

To this day, the smell of a blown-out candle inspires a giddy little thrill. Mostly, it reminds me of my Uncle Roberto, who would often be present at those rare evenings when we brought out the fine china and assembled in the formal dining room. (Usually we ate around the small kitchen table.) Dinner was a chance to listen in to adult talk, and to occasionally hear a conversation in Tagalog – a rare treat for us – but really it was just a waiting period before slipping under the table and ultimately escaping between the cherry legs of chairs. Sometimes we thought the adults didn’t notice us, sometimes we knew they did, sometimes we’d get yelled at, and sometimes we got out without reprimand. It was a tenuous, tacit agreement between us kids and the adults, strained at times, but not wholly without fun and childish amusement.

These days we have a different kind of fun, and my niece and nephew are the ones who hide under the table. I’m the adult Uncle, more concerned with grown-up conversation than disappearing into the imagined world of a kid, but every now and then I’ll excuse myself, answering the pleas of Noah or Emi to play chase, and suddenly I’ll be back three decades ago.

The first sign was disturbing: “Socks must be worn at all times.” Where in the hell were we headed, I wondered with sudden trepidation. Upon opening the doors to the Tree Paad (I don’t understand, or want to understand, the additional ‘A’ in the name) I was greeted with the unmistakable odor of, well, socks. The second thing that hit me was the noise. The noise, noise, NOISE!!! Fighting such decidedly Grinch-like feelings, I took a deep breath of socks and questionable pizza, and headed into the swirling vortex of children.

Packs of kids roamed the expansive fluorescent-lit space like roving bands of wild animals. Shouts and screams and flashing lights surrounded me. It was like ‘The Lord of the Flies’ without the order and structure. I honestly didn’t realize that many children actually existed in the world.

As I was about to settle into a sarcastic revelry and cutting social commentary, I walked over to the bottom of the slides, where Emi and Noah were playing with their cousins. Kids were flying out onto the safety mats, giggling and running back up to do it again. Suddenly, I remembered what it was like to be a kid at a birthday party – the initial shyness and slow indoctrination into the social scene, then the relaxing into the event, and finally the enjoyment and fun and adventure.

Both Emi and Noah were excited and talking with their friends, and then everyone bounced around in a bouncy house before convening in a room for pizza and cake.

As they blew out the candles on their fourth birthday cakes, the magic of childhood drifted across the room on a cloud of smoke.

I may not be the best brother in certain aspects, but one thing I do well is give some great gifts. I’m talking about the metallic cock I gave him for Christmas (a kitchen chicken decoration, you sick fucks), the peeing boy who pulled his pants down and shot water (like the kind you see at hibachi tables for show), or some of my Madonna LPs for his record collection. This year, however, I went a little deeper.

It turns out that my brother is into Tibetan art, and actually visited my favorite Tibetan store in Harvard Square a few months ago. At that time, he was taught about the Tibetan prayer bowl – a hand-made copper bowl, heavy and designed to produce a tone perfect for meditation. The last time I was in Boston, I made up my mind to find one for his birthday present.

These prayer bowls are not inexpensive, but their hand-made and unique nature makes them worthy of such a price, so I went to the Tibetan store on the Boston side of the Charles River and found this one. I’d been there a number of times – it’s toward the end of Charles Street, and down a few steps, hidden away as if saving itself for those who are really looking.

Near the back of the store were a few shelves that held the Tibetan prayer bowls. I tried a few before settling on this one, which called to me with its simple, clear tone, and smaller shape. The kind woman at the store moved its wooden stick around the rim, and it sang the sweetest, calmest song. She struck its side, and the sound of peace overrode whatever else was happening in my head and outside on the street.

She smiled and said it had a nice sound, then asked me what color tissue paper I would like to include with it, as I’d indicated it was a gift. I chose blue and a coppery red, and then found a few Tibetan prayer flags to include with it, and a hanging tapestry, all of which would fit into the attic at my parents’ house that he had re-decorated.

It seems my brother and I have more in common than we sometimes realize. I was about to explain how the lady at the store managed to elicit those dulcet sounds, but he said that he already had a lesson by the man in the Cambridge store (the same one who once taught me how to tie a scarf for maximum warmth), and this man had spoken about meditation, made him close his eyes, and even placed a cape on his back. If you know my brother, you know how strange that sounds – and even if you don’t, it sounds a little odd, but in the best possible way. Perhaps he should be instructing me.