Fathers Day 2024

06/08/2024 by Pat Shiplett 5 Comments

What would you say is the most important thing that your father taught you?“…my father was pretty quiet and led by good example.” — Nancy Myers

“…charity.” — Jenny Hagar

“…when I was trying to make an important decision my father would ask me questions that would help me.”– Ted Buenger

“…I could never do justice in describing all the things my father taught me.” — Edna Grad

“…my father taught me was to look both ways before crossing the street – that saved my life in London years later.”

“…the most important thing my father taught me is to reject a bent board.” — Norm Ewald

“…my father taught me how to ‘tinker.’ To be vigilant and to tease things apart. When you know how to tinker you can solve any problem whether it’s writing a good essay, trying to find where there is a shared neutral wire or how to achieve the elusive Double C on the trumpet. — Marshal MacDonald

“…never give up.” — Scott Pemberton

“…I’ve never forgotten my dad’s four-word sex advice, which I’ve used to advantage in other contexts, too: “Don’t do anything stupid.” — Greg Taubeneck

“…resolve your problems, find a solution, the problem will be solved; and I’ll have your back.” — Will Butzlaff

“…coming from a family of immigrants, my father played football to escape from having to work in the coal mines. For him, everything was a struggle. As his daughter, I learned (or just inherited) a certain fierceness and determination.” — Anna Nardo

“…distilling it all down, the most memorable message I got from my father is, ‘Stand up for yourself. Don’t let anybody push you around.’” — Jim Thompson

“…while academic success eluded him, my father was blessed with a wickedly good sense of humor. He had a special talent to make everyone around him laugh with him. The best lesson that we learned from our fathers? The answer for me was immediately obvious – a sense of humor.”  — Kevin Evanich

“…I learned about speaking with children like they’re people and being honest with them.”

“…my dad taught me people are almost always focused on their own lives. They are not thinking about YOU or anything you may have done to offend them. It’s best to reserve judgement when you feel slighted or neglected…they are in their own reality and are not trying to attack you!” – Paul Rathburn

“…he told my sisters and me to keep moving. He was talking about physical health and well being, that the only way to mitigate some of the inevitable age-related declines was to use your muscles consistently and as best you could. – Sherri Smith

“…my father was a really kind and gentle guy. When we became adults (speaking for my 4 siblings as well), he was our best friend. He passed too soon at 68, and I think of him almost every day.” – Brian Brady

“…the most important thing my father taught me was the importance of sports. He literally taught me how to play baseball, basketball and golf.” – Ron Condon

“…my father’s teaching was ordinarily more example than dictation. A man told me about the time he and my father were members of the same Loop insurance agency. A significant, very lucrative piece of business came my father’s way. However, the opportunity had questionable aspects. ‘Your dad turned it down flat,’ the man said.” – Tom Figel

“……he was a Chicken Delight franchisee, and when the parent company went bankrupt, he lost everything. Many of his fellow franchisees declared bankruptcy. Not my Dad. Call him a sucker, but he sacrificed (and so did we) so he could pay back everything he owed. After that, my smart, cerebral Dad took a series of menial jobs to pay the bills. Because ‘no work is beneath you if it pays the bills.’ I was so proud of him.” – Chris Haxagar

“…I have fond memories of when my Dad taught me to sing and play “Tiny Bubbles” by Don Ho on the ukelele. I was no more than 6 or 7. Funny thing, my son never met him but he also enjoys playing the ukelele. I still have  Dad’s uke!” – Janet Trierweiler

“…quit trying to have the last word!” – Mary Heneby Read more…

Paul Rathburn

04/24/2024 by Pat Shiplett 4 Comments

If you’re looking for an argument, grab yourself a cup of coffee and pull up a chair.

You’ll find yourself in a rag-tag debating society where arguments are floated on topics ranging from trivial to existential.

At any given table and at any spot in the windows of the coffee shop, clusters of people are exchanging opinions.

Irrefutable facts and hard data are duly respected here, of course, but a quick wit wins the day as often as not. There’s a contingent of leg-pullers, hoodwinkers and bomb throwers who keep things from getting tedious.

A guy named Paul (seated center, blue shirt) enjoys a slight advantage given that he’s dedicated years of his life to arguing criminal and civil points of law.

When a lawyer says he was ‘argumentative’ as a child, it’s probably safe to assume he was a manifest pain in the the ass – which happens to be exactly what you want from the court-appointed attorney defending your rights.

Paul’s career included investigating how police departments, prosecutors and judges met, or failed to meet, their constitutional obligations in dealing with defendants.

He litigated employee abuse, domestic violence and suits on behalf of terminally-ill disabled clients. He won receiverships against landlords who cut off heat to drive renters out of their apartments.

At a time when legislators and insurance companies were openly antagonistic toward HIV patients, Paul Rathburn was recruited by the Legal Aid Chicago’s HIV/AIDS Law Project. It took on a personal meaning when he lost his sister to AIDS in 1998

It’s a welcome change, Paul says, that the directions of peoples’ lives don’t hang on the freewheeling debates he enjoys sharing with his buddies these days.

For the modest price of a cup of coffee (decaf served until 11 a.m.) there’s a seat at the table for all comers, but don’t expect to get the last word.

At our humble coffee shop, there is no such thing as a last word.

Mexico City

04/09/2024 by Pat Shiplett 2 Comments

It’s no wonder the Colombian family found itself hunkered down on the curb of Avenida Centenario.

After all Spanish speakers like the Ortizes don’t describe things as happening “sooner or later.” They say exactly the opposite, that things happen “later or sooner.”

The Ortizes seemed content enough waiting an extra thirty or more minutes to climb back onto the hop-on, hop-off bus tour that promised to circulate every twenty minutes.

It was not just the distortion of time they experienced that day, the locations of “must-see” attractions were elastic as well.

The Museo de Frida Kahlo, for example, magically occupied two different locations on the tour map at the same time. Even the museum’s ticket taker was baffled. “Looks like a long walk from here” he explained, as he turned away the Ortizes who hadn’t reserved tickets in advance.

The Colombians walked back to the bus stop alongside a disappointed older couple from the U.S. who had made the same mistake.

The younger Ortiz, Elioct, seizing the opportunity to speak English, introduced each member of his family by name. The American, determined to use the language he studied, responded in his fingernails-on-the-chalkboard Spanish and as if by magic, a third language was created on fly.

They all hopped back onto the double decker, dodging decapitation by flowering Jacarandas and power cables. Back at the
Cibeles Fountain they exchanged URLs and email addresses.

Phenomena that happen routinely here in Coyoacán and neighboring barrios border on magic.

Guardian angels appear out of nowhere when visitors like the Ortizes are lost or locked out. Locals stop to help tourists like the Americans place phone calls when Verizon fucks them over.

And miracle of all miracles, serviceable WIFI is provided free to anyone strolling the streets and plazas of North America’s largest city.

Child and dog Brothers K

03/23/2024 by Pat Shiplett 4 Comments

The kids have left home and the dog has gone to heaven.

For everything there is a season.

A time to reap, a time to sow. A time to bear children and adopt a rescue dog to teach them empathy. The season for orthodontists is followed by the season of U-Hauls and driving kids great distances to start their careers.

The sun cleared the Section-8 unit across the street as a guy inside our coffee shop watched a mother on the sidewalk playing a game with her son.

She would offer a banana which he refused with an exaggerated shake of the head, only to grab her hand and take a bite. It was his job to make his mother laugh.

The boy was a study in motion. At one point he’d rotated himself fully upside down in his stroller. He’d been hearing about this thing called an “indoor voice” and it occurred to him that being out there on the sidewalk, as outdoors as anybody can get, there was no limit to noise he could make.

For the man sitting inside, this was a opportunity to watch a child closely without fear of being falsely accused of something creepy.

He had made thousands of drawings of children during his career. The balance of their heads, the preverbal language of their hands, their examination of objects and that just-delivered newness continued to fascinate him.

A morning customer and her dog took the next table over and instantly the boy had planted himself on the pavement.

The scene played out exactly as scripted; dog begging for attention meets child being coaxed to pet him. Sooner or later there will be a four-legged sibling in this kid’s future.

The man watching all this unfold cherishes memories of the absolute, moment-to-moment closeness he shared with his own children decades ago.

And while he has no desire to relive those years, to see the seasons run backward, he never refuses the chance to hold someone’s baby in his arms when the opportunity is offered.

Selling the house

12/12/2023 by Pat Shiplett 2 Comments

They sold a piece of themselves to the highest bidder.

Owning a house to raise children was especially important for the woman who never lived in one, and had grown up among six people in a 700 sq. ft. flat. The place was her baby.

The center-entrance colonial they bought all those years ago had had a series of owners and renters so the couple left it vacant through several months to make it over as their own.

They opened spaces and raised ceilings. The side yard was awarded a patio with a picket fence. A concrete porch was planked and painted. Even after all that, a neighbor referred to it as the “starter home” around the corner.

After the children ventured out on their own, the couple slowly lost interest in meeting the never-ending demands of a century old home. The retreat where they shared the family’s victories and nursed its setbacks had became too much.

The kids made the pilgrimage home to mark the days before it changed hands.

During the sale the buyer was referred to simply as the “buyer.” Their realtor and their attorney had encouraged them to maintain a distance, knowing buyers back out of deals for any number of reasons.

Neighborhood friends keep them up to date on what the charming and friendly new owner is doing. As is his right, he’s proceeded to reverse many of the decisions they were most proud of.

As the closing approached they watched their house of thirty seven years being reduced to a commodity expressed in abstract numbers on piece of paper. Sign here, initial here.

There should be a specific name for the waves of homesickness that visit the couple from time to time, but there isn’t.