I went to Boston two weeks ago for the quarterfinal of the World Cup. Well, actually, I didn’t go to the game. Carey took our daughter Tess, his friend Kevin and his son Max. Now tickets were expensive, so you would think I would be a little upset, but I wasn’t because we stayed with my friend Raschelle.
If you are a faithful reader of Town&Style, which I’m sure you are, you remember a column called BackTalk that Raschelle and I used to write. It was an advice column where both of us would weigh-in on readers’ questions. My answers tended to be practical, forthright and kind. OK, that’s a lie. My answers tended towards snarky and confrontational. Raschelle’s were a little gentler and philosophical. We had a blast doing it, but then Raschelle moved to Boston, and the party was over.
I am not sure why, but Raschelle started asking ChatGPT about the column. We had written a lot for two people who had no business giving anyone advice. But, of course, then I had to go down the rabbit hole and ask about this column.
I was stunned, flabbergasted and a little proud when I realized I’ve written more than 200 columns. Two hundred stories mostly about my family, usually my siblings, and random thoughts. Some of them read like things I should’ve told a priest at confession. That hasn’t happened since since high school, so I’ve had a lot of pent-up things to share. An advantage of this column is not being assigned penance upon completion.
I came back from this trip feeling like I had shared enough. What more could I say? Most people would just talk to the publisher about how the time had come to close my laptop and stop blabbing. As you know, I am not most people, and I still have the desire to be a famous columnist.
I did what I do for new ideas and arranged a lunch with my siblings. Even though there are two less of us, my brothers and sister are some of the funniest, best storytellers around. The eating of food is the least important part of these gatherings. The laughter starts after we’ve eaten, paid the bill and the waitress starts giving us the side-eye. But at our age, they just aren’t rude enough to suggest a bunch of old people get up and out.
I told them ahead of time that I needed ideas for the column. We told stories of our crazy neighbors, our parents, growing up with all eight of us in a small house, all the odd jobs we had and who were mom and dad’s favorites (Dennis = mom, Tim = dad). When we left, I said, “You guys didn’t give me anything to write about.” They responded that they had given me more than enough material for the rest of the year. They were right. So, no resignation from this columnist this month because I have lots more stuff to share. I hope you will stay along for the ride. Peace my Peeps.
