My Son, The Chicken

My family has a sense of humor, even, in death.

Nearly two years ago, my father lost his 2-1/2 year battle with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. He had fought a gallant battle and withstood three rounds of chemo and 81 radiation treatments. Our family had chosen to view his cancer as a “teacher” and cherished all the time we had with him. Every holiday, birthday and event took on a new, more purposeful meaning.

For me, the term, “rank it” became more relevant. Traffic bad? It would receive a ranking of “2.” Get upset with someone? Perhaps that would receive a “3” ranking. Dad’s cancer? I gave it an “8.” It received a higher ranking because we knew he was dying, it would be a terrible loss for all of us, but it did not receive a “9” or “10” because dying is, after all, part of the circle of life.

When he had died, we really put a lot of thought and meaning behind each of the items involved: the wreath we displayed with red, white and blue flowers symbolizing his time in the military and our family’s love of celebrating the 4^th of July each year. The program had his coaching motto on it: “Play Hard. Play Smart. Have Fun. Be #1” and photos, and expressions of our love and our senses of humor too. We held a Memorial service one day (with students, players, coaches and childhood friends and family), a religious service at church on another (with whomever wanted to attend) and lastly, we held a burial service with the immediate family on a third and final day honoring and celebrating this wonderful man’s journey through life.

At his military service, there was a 21gun salute. Taps were played. We had to leave the cemetery while his casket was lowered into the ground, as is the tradition. During that time we headed into Old Sacramento to eat lunch. My mom, three siblings and their families, as well as my children and I were all in attendance. We reflected, as we often do, on the past week’s events. We were emotionally drained but content that we had really honored our husband, dad, grandpa and coach.

To kill a few hours, we walked throughout the town of Old Sacramento. It was very hot, even for an August summer day with the thermometer approaching one hundred degrees. We went in and out of shops and chatted amicably. At one point my son and I found ourselves in a very large store standing amidst a vast array of detailed costumes. Halloween was not something currently on our minds as we perused the aisles. However, at one point we stood in front of a large chicken costume. It had a realistic rubber chicken mask, a furry yellow “suit,” red leggings and giant rubber chicken feet. We laughed when we looked at it.

Troy jokingly said, “Mom will you buy that for me?”

I hesitated.

He sensed my hesitation and said, “Look, it’s on sale!” Sale meant it was not the originally priced $200 but a “mere” $115. That’s a hefty price tag for anyone, but for a single parent and teacher with one child currently in college and another two soon approaching, an expensive costume was not in my budget. And yet…

Inside my head I found myself thinking that this chicken suit would make a great costume for Troy. He could use it for Halloween, and pull pranks and have fun while in his leadership class during his senior year of high school. He could then take it to college for further amusement.

I looked at him and found myself saying, “If you put it on right now and walk through downtown Sacramento I will buy it for you. You can go up to grandma, your aunts, uncles and cousins and tease them.” I started laughing at this ridiculous idea, hoping he’d do it, as we all needed a little comic relief in our lives at that point. I remember thinking, how can you put a price on a great memory that was about to be created for the entire family?

“Okay,” he eagerly replied.

I purchased the suit and handed it over to him. We walked to the back of the store near the dressing rooms and he changed. Well, he didn’t actually change, he put it on over his gravesite attire. He was sweating before we even stepped out onto the wooden planked sidewalk in the blistering heat. I was laughing really hard at this point but remained far behind so any family members would not associate he and I as a mother/son combo, or should I say mother/chicken?

First, he walked down the hard wood. He lifted each rubberized chicken foot high into the air and dramatically placed it upon the ground (which with his six-foot two inch tall frame was really quite realistic, I might add). Complete strangers were chuckling as he traipsed along. He began to bob his rubberized chicken head forward and back, forward and back, forward and back as he approached the crosswalk (I could just imagine his clucking!). It just so happened my sister and mom were crossing the street from the opposite direction and headed towards Troy the chicken (a.k.a. my son).

He approached them and did a shy sort of wave at them. They both looked and laughed at the gangly chicken standing before them. He then bobbed his head forward, back, forward, back which encouraged further laughter from the pair of spectators. I loved being able to see the two of them laugh, especially my mom. Troy the Chicken continued to entertain them and then I let the cat out of the bag, which caused them to laugh even more so. We decided to leave Troy to further torment others while my mom, sister and I collected ourselves like a game of sardines across the street. We had a great vantage point for viewing Troy with other members of our family. Soon we were joined by my brother, his wife, my other sister, my two daughers and others. Off into the distance we saw my brother-in-law Dan and my nephew, Ryan approaching Troy the Chicken across the street.

First a bit of background: My nephew, Ryan, HATES people who dress up like characters. He finds them annoying as all get out. Dan, my brother-in-law, has a sense of humor and full belly laugh that my kids and I imitate just to make ourselves laugh. Well, the pair of them were approaching Troy who again did his shy, timid wave as they walked by. Ryan and Dan did not respond. Troy the Chicken then passed them by but immediately turned around so he was directly behind them. In fact, his rubber beak was nearly touching the backs of their heads. He tapped them with his beak. They turned around and looked at him. They were not amused and chose to ignore Troy the Chicken and continue walking. Troy then pecked at them again and when they turned he gracefully flapped his furry "wings." Again, no response other than looking very irritated.

Meanwhile, my mom, brother, sisters, sister-in-law, nieces, nephews, daughters and myself doubled over in pain, chortling and choking. We had tears streaming down our faces as we were spying on the father/son combo with Troy the Chicken who had now once again begun his chicken walk with his gawky stride.

He continued to follow closely behind the two of them. Just as my nephew looks like he's been pushed to the point of punching my son, Troy the Chicken, he stops. My son had pulled back the rubber mask to reveal his now sweat-soaked flushed face. He had a giant grin spread across it and the looks of surprise turned to immediate amusement from both Ryan and Dan as they began laughing out loud. They then noticed the rest of us across the street and joined us in continued laughter and the retelling of the episode which had just unfolded before one another.

Somehow, it seemed the perfect memorable ending to a "new kind of normal" day without our husband, father, grandpa and coach.

The cost of amusing family with Troy the Chicken? Priceless.

The Chain Link Fence

As the youngest of four children, in order to keep up with my siblings, I had to learn to climb the chain link fence that barricaded our yard from the high school located behind it. Beyond the fence lay limitless hours of fun for all us: my dad would practice his golf technique by hitting a giant bucket of golf balls, my older sister and brother would play baseball or practice catching pop-up flies with their friends, while my other sister and I would play “house” on a sound booth’s roof. The sound booth was located down a hill and behind the bleachers where the track lay waiting for the next football game or track meet. The tennis courts and pool were nearby so we would stay for hours, sometimes until dusk was beginning to fall, and then climb back over the fence in time for dinner.

At other times we played “Horse” on the basketball court with our dad, where he was not one to let us win. If we won, we earned it fair and square. We’d go for walks or jogs at the high school and sometimes, when it was really hot and the football players were practicing, we’d get the hose and squirt them with cold water while standing atop our ladder and leaning as far over the fence as possible. Many memories of my childhood involved climbing over that fence. It was, when I was little, quite a feat for a little person to accomplish. I felt strong and empowered when I did it. And later, I was proud when I came across a fence to climb and could jump over it in no time flat. I think it impressed the boys. I suppose that was a motivating factor as well, come to think of it. Still, that fence somehow is intertwined in many adventures at Castro Valley High, which we’d all thought of as an extension of our backyard.

Each fourth of July our family celebrated our country’s birthday in a quaint, time honored tradition: races for the kids, baseball, a barbeque with hot dogs and burgers, watermelon, potato and pasta salads, and we would end the entire extravaganza with a giant display of fireworks at the gravely track behind our house. During the course of the day our entire family, and about fifteen others and all their children, made the trek over the chain link fence…this time it was outfitted with two aluminum ladders, one located on each side of the chain link fence positioned in a giant “A.” Children and parents alike would carefully climb over so the games could begin. My dad would be outfitted in a referee uniform and cap at this point, with a whistle in his mouth. We had sack races, we did cartwheels, we raced, we jumped and we even had the “tiniest steps” contest so each child could win. Raffle tickets were passed out generously to all of the children and were later redeemed for candy and inexpensive prizes. Mom and her friend Joanne would dole out the goods to us. Together, we all made several “crossings” between our backyard and the school. If an elderly person had to cross, we would have spotters helping them over and on either side of the “A” framed ladders to catch them if they had a mishap. Usually, after we lit off the fireworks, we’d hop over one last time to bid good-bye to another year of celebratory fun and then head home tired, dirty and content.

Soon though, we somehow outgrew hopping over the fence. It simply was not cool for us to do it at a certain age, I think about the time my oldest sister entered high school and boys were suddenly becoming of interest. The only exception, of course, was our annual 4^th of July party. Other than that, we learned to walk around the block to the school.

Over the years I’ve crossed many other fences, usually involving a shortcut or to enter an area that was “off limits.” In my mind’s eye, I would inevitably think of our chain link fence…even if the moment of reflection was a fleeting one as I hopped over.

Last night my dad and mom attempted to go to my son’s lacrosse game. I say attempted, because they couldn’t quite make it. They slowly and gingerly got out of their car and carefully made their way across the parking lot and entered the stadium. They sat and rested at a picnic table and then they continued to walk around the track to the chain link fence. We realized the JV game was not even half way finished yet. It would be an hour before Troy’s game began. At this point, my dad, who is courageously fighting cancer and undergoing yet another round of radiation, said, “I can’t make it.” He could not sit for an hour and then endure the cold and the wind, to watch his grandson play a lacrosse game. This was despite the fact that he wanted to so badly. He had yet to make a game this season and was bound and determined to do so. Up to this point, he had only been able to witness Troy’s games on DVD’s that friends of ours had filmed for him.

I said, “Let me go get Troy so he can say hi to you.” I had to walk a ways to an opening in the fence and entered the track area. I explained to Troy that Grandpa and Grandma wouldn’t be able to stay and why. We quickly walked the length of field together and stopped at the chain link fence. Troy graciously thanked them for coming and understood why they had to leave. They all chatted for a brief time and then Troy hugged them both tightly to say good-bye.

I went to bed thinking of that chain link fence. It is a difficult thing seeing a symbol of my youth turn into a symbol of my dad’s physical limitations. I felt sad and I felt love. I felt sad because I could see my dad’s eyes fill with tears as he spoke with my son and how this cancer had changed my strong father. I felt love because of all of the really good memories my mom and dad have given my siblings and I growing up, living life. And now I see the love my dad and mom have for my son, daughters and myself, my siblings and all of the other grandchildren. I see the kind of love that would drive him to the field and to that fence, knowing he might not be able to last through an entire game.

My dad might see the night as a failure, that he only made it to the fence. But he didn’t. My dad succeeded. He gave both Troy and me the gift of love and a memory that will last forever.